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      Chantecler | Project Gutenberg
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<div style='text-align:center; font-size:1.2em; font-weight:bold'>The Project Gutenberg eBook of Chantecler, by Edmond Rostand</div>
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<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: Chantecler<br>Play in Four Acts</div>
<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: Edmond Rostand</div>
<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: January 19, 2004 [EBook #10747]<br>
[Last updated: February 27, 2023]</div>
<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</div>
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<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CHANTECLER ***</div>


<h1>CHANTECLER</h1>

<p class="center big">Play in Four Acts</p>
<p class="center p2">By<br>
<span class="big">EDMOND ROSTAND</span></p>

<p class="center p2">
Translated<br>
<span class="small">By</span><br>
<span class="big">GERTRUDE HALL</span></p>

<p class="center p4">1910</p>


<hr class="x-ebookmaker-drop chap">
<div class="chapter">

<h2><i>DRAMATIS PERSONAE</i></h2>
<p class="poetry">
<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span></span><br>
<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><span class="smcap">Patou</span></span><br>
<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span></span><br>
<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><span class="smcap">The Peacock</span></span><br>
<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><span class="smcap">The Nightingale</span></span><br>
<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><span class="smcap">The Grand-duke</span></span><br>
<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><span class="smcap">The Screech-owl</span></span><br>
<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><span class="smcap">Little Scops</span></span><br>
<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><span class="smcap">The Game-cock</span></span><br>
<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><span class="smcap">The Hunting Dog</span></span><br>
<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><span class="smcap">A Carrier-pigeon</span></span><br>
<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><span class="smcap">The Wood-pecker</span></span><br>
<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><span class="smcap">The Turkey</span></span><br>
<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><span class="smcap">The Duck</span></span><br>
<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><span class="smcap">The Young Guinea-cock</span></span><br>
<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span></span><br>
<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><span class="smcap">The Guinea-hen</span></span><br>
<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><span class="smcap">The Old Hen</span></span><br>
<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><span class="smcap">The White Hen</span></span><br>
<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><span class="smcap">The Grey Hen</span></span><br>
<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><span class="smcap">The Black Hen</span></span><br>
<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><span class="smcap">The Speckled Hen</span></span><br>
<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><span class="smcap">The Tufted Hen</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A Gander. A Capon. Chickens. Chicks. A Cockerel.</span><br>
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A Swan. A Cuckoo. Night-birds. Fancy Cocks.</span><br>
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Toads. A Turkey-hen. A Goose. A Garden Warbler.</span><br>
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A Woodland Warbler. A Spider. A Heron. A Pigeon.</span><br>
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A Guinea-pig. Barnyard animals. Woodland Creatures.</span><br>
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Rabbits. Birds. Bees. Cicadas. Voices.</span><br>
</p>

</div>
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<h2>PROLOGUE</h2>

<p><i>The customary three knocks are heard. The drop-curtain wavers and is
rising, when a voice rings out, “Not yet!” and the</i> <span class="smcap">Manager</span>, <i>a
gentleman of important mien in evening dress, springing from his
proscenium box, hurries toward the stage, repeating, “Not yet!”</i></p>

<p><i>The curtain is again lowered. The</i> <span class="smcap">Manager</span> <i>turns toward the audience,
and resting one hand on the prompter’s box, addresses them:</i></p>

<p>The curtain is a wall,—a flying wall. Assured that presently the wall
will fly—why haste? Is it not charming to delay—and just look at it
for a while?</p>

<p>Charming to sit before a great red wall, hanging beneath two gilt masks
and a scroll—The thrilling moment is when the curtain thrills, and
sounds come from the other side.</p>

<p>You are desired to-night to listen to those sounds and entering the
scene before you see it, to wonder and surmise—</p>

<p><i>Bending his ear, the</i> <span class="smcap">Manager</span> <i>listens to the sounds now beginning to
come from behind the curtain.</i></p>

<p>A footstep—is it a road? A flutter of wings—is it a garden?</p>

<p><i>The curtain here rippling as if about to rise, the</i> <span class="smcap">Manager</span>
<i>precipitately shouts, “Stop!—Do not raise it yet!” Then again bending
his ear, continues making note of the noises, clear or confused, single
or combined, that from this onward come without stop from behind
the curtain.</i></p>

<p>A magpie cawing flies away. Great wooden shoes come running over flags.
A courtyard, is it?—If so above a valley—from whence that softened
clamour of birds and barking dogs.</p>

<p>More and more clearly the scene suggests itself—Magically sound
creates an atmosphere!—A sheep bell tinkles intermittently—Since there
is grazing, we may look for grass.</p>

<p>A tree, too—a tree must rustle in the breeze, for a bullfinch warbles
his little native song; and a blackbird whistling the song he has caught
by ear, implies, we may presume, a wicker cage.</p>

<p>The rattling of a wagon run out of a shed—the dripping of a bucket
drawn up overfull—the patter of doves’ feet alighting on a roof—Surely
it is a farmyard—unless it be a mill!</p>

<p>Rustling of straw, click of a wooden latch—A stable or a haymow there
must be. The locust shrills: the weather then is fine.—Church-bells
ring: it is Sunday then.—Chatter of jays: the woods cannot be far!</p>

<p>Hark! Nature with the scattered voices of a fair midsummer day is
composing—in a dream!—the most mysterious of overtures—harmonised by
evening distance and the wind!</p>

<p>And all these sounds—song of a passing girl—laughter of children
jogged by the donkey trotting—faraway gun-reports and hunting-horns
—these sounds describe a holiday.</p>

<p>A window opens, a door closes—The harness shakes its bells. Is it not
plain in sight, the old farmyard?—The dog sleeps, the cat but
feigns to sleep.</p>

<p>Sunday!—Farmer and farmer’s wife are starting for the fair. The old
horse paws the ground—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">A Rough Voice</span><br>[<i>Behind the curtain, through the horse’s pawing.</i>] Whoa, Dapple!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Another Voice</span><br>
[<i>As if calling to a laggard.</i>] Come along! We shan’t get home till
morning!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">An Impatient Voice</span><br>
Are you ready?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Another Voice</span><br>
Fasten the shutters!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Man’s Voice</span><br>
All right!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Woman’s Voice</span><br>
My sunshade!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Man’s Voice</span><br>
[<i>Through the cracking of the whip.</i>] Gee up!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Manager</span><br>
The wagon to the jingling of the harness rattles off, jolting out
ditties. A turn in the road cuts off the unfinished song.—They are
gone, quite gone. The performance can begin.</p>

<p>Some philosophers would say there was not a soul left, but we humbly
believe that there are hearts. Man in leaving does not take with him all
drama. One can laugh and suffer without him. [<i>He listens again.</i>]</p>

<p>Ardently humming, a velvety bumblebee hovers—then is still; he has
plunged into a flower—Let us begin. Pray note that Aesop’s hump
to-night does duty as prompter’s box!</p>

<p>The members of our company are small, but—[<i>Calling toward the flies.</i>]
Alexander! [<i>To the audience.</i>] He is my chief machinist. [<i>Calling
again.</i>] Let it down!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">A Voice</span><br>
[<i>From the flies.</i>] It’s coming, sir!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Manager</span><br>
We have lowered between the audience and the stage an invisible screen
of magnifying glass—</p>

<p>But there the violins are tuning up: Scraping of crystal bows, picking
of strings!—Hush! Let the footlights now leap into brightness, for at a
signal from their little leader the crickets’ orchestra have briskly
fallen to!</p>

<p>Frrrt! The bumblebee emerges from the flower, shaking the yellow dust—A
Hen comes on the scene as in La Fontaine’s fable. A Cuckoo calls, as in
Beethoven’s symphony.</p>

<p>Hush! Let the chandelier draw in its myriad lights—for the curious
call-boy of the woods has, airily, to summon us, repeated thrice his
double call—</p>

<p>And since Nature is one of our performers, and feathered notables are on
our staff—Hush! the curtain must go up: A wood-pecker’s bill has rapped
out the three strokes!</p>

</div>

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<div class="chapter">


<h2>ACT I<br>
<span class="small">THE EVENING OF THE PHEASANT-HEN</span></h2>

<p><i>A farmyard such as the sounds from behind the curtain have described.
At the right, a house over-clambered with wistaria. At the left, the
farmyard gate, letting on to the road. A dog-kennel. At the back, a low
wall, beyond which distant country landscape. The details of the setting
define themselves in the course of the act.</i></p>
</div>

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<h3><span class="smcap">Scene First</h3>
</div>
<p class="center"><i>The whole barnyard company,</i> <span class="smcap">Hens, Chickens, Chicks, Ducks, Turkeys</span>,
<i>etc.;</i> <span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span> <i>in his cage</i>, <span class="smcap">The Cat</span> <i>asleep on the wall, later</i>
<span class="smcap">A Butterfly</span> <i>on the flowers.</i></p>


<p><span class="smcap">The White Hen</span><br>
[<i>Pecking.</i>] Ah! Delicious!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Another Hen</span><br>
What are you eating?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">All the Hens</span><br>
[<i>Rushing to the spot.</i>] What’s she eating?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The White Hen</span><br>
A small green beetle, crisp and nice, tasting of the rose-leaves he had
lived on.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Black Hen</span><br>
[<i>Standing before the</i> <span class="smcap">Blackbird’s</span> <i>cage.</i>] Really, the Blackbird
whistles amazingly!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The White Hen</span><br>
Any little street urchin can do as much!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Turkey</span><br>
[<i>Solemnly.</i>] An urchin who had learned of a shepherd in Sicily!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Duck</span><br>
He never whistles his tune to the end—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Turkey</span><br>
That’s too easy, carrying it to the end! [<i>He hums the tune the</i>
<span class="smcap">Blackbird</span> <i>has been whistling.</i>] “How sweet to fare afield, and
cull—and cull—” You should know, Duck, that the thing in art is to
leave off before the end! “And cull—and cull—” Bravo, Blackbird!</p>

<p>[<i>The</i> <span class="smcap">Blackbird</span> <i>comes out on the little platform in front of his cage
and bows.</i>]</p>

<p><span class="smcap">A Chick</span><br>
[<i>Astonished.</i>] Can he get out?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Blackbird</span><br>
Applause is salt on my tail!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Chick</span><br>
But his cage?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Turkey</span><br>
He can come out, and he can go in again. His cage has that sort of
spring.—“And cull—and cull—” The whole point is missed if you tell
them what you cull!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Black Hen</span><br>
[<i>Catching sight of a</i> <span class="smcap">Butterfly</span> <i>alighting on the flowers above the
wall at the back.</i>] Oh, what a gorgeous butterfly!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The White Hen</span><br>
Where?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Black Hen</span><br>
On the honey-suckle.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Turkey</span><br>
That kind is called an Admiral.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Chick</span><br>
[<i>Looking after the</i> <span class="smcap">Butterfly</span>.] Now he has settled on a pink.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The White Hen</span><br>
[<i>To the</i> <span class="smcap">Turkey</span>.] An Admiral, wherefore?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span><br>
Obviously because he is neither a seaman nor a soldier.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The White Hen</span><br>
Our Blackbird has a pretty wit!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Turkey</span><br>
[<i>Nodding and swinging his red stalactite.</i>] He has better than wit, my
dear!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Another Hen</span><br>
[<i>Watching the</i> <span class="smcap">Butterfly</span>.] It’s sweet—a butterfly!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span><br>
Easy as possible to make! You take a W and set it on top of a Y!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">A Hen</span><br>
[<i>Delighted.</i>] A flourish of his bill, and there you have your
caricature!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Turkey</span><br>
He does better than execute caricatures! Hen, our Blackbird forces you
to think while obliging you to laugh. He is a Teacher in wit’s clothing.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">A Chick</span><br>
[<i>To a</i> <span class="smcap">Hen</span>.] Mother, why does the Cat hate the Dog?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span><br>
Because he appropriates his seat at the theatre.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Chick</span><br>
[<i>Surprised.</i>] They have a theatre?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span><br>
Where dumb-shows are given.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Chick</span><br>
Eh?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span><br>
The hearthstone from whence both alike wish to watch the play of the
Fire among the Logs.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Turkey</span><br>
[<i>Delighted.</i>] How aptly he conveys that the hatred of peoples is at
bottom a question of wanting the other’s territory. There’s a brain
for you!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Speckled Hen</span><br>
[<i>To the</i> <span class="smcap">White Hen</span>, <i>who is pecking.</i>] Do you peck peppers?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The White Hen</span><br>
Constantly.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Speckled Hen</span><br>
How can you stand the sting?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The White Hen</span><br>
It imparts to the feathers a delicate rosy tint.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Speckled Hen</span><br>
Oh, does it!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">A Voice in the Distance</span><br>
Cuckoo!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The White Hen</span><br>
Listen!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Voice</span><br>
[<i>From a greater distance.</i>] Cuckoo!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The White Hen</span><br>
The Cuckoo!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">A Grey Hen</span><br>
[<i>Comes running excitedly.</i>] Which Cuckoo? The one who lives in the
woods, or the one who lives in the clock?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Voice</span><br>
[<i>Still further off.</i>] Cuckoo!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The White Hen</span><br>
The one of the woods.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Grey Hen</span><br>
[<i>With a sigh of relief.</i>] Oh, I was so afraid of having missed the
other!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The White Hen</span><br>
[<i>Going near enough to her to speak in an undertone.</i>] Do you mean to
say you love him?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Grey Hen</span><br>
[<i>Sadly.</i>] Without ever having set eyes on him. He lives in a chalet
hanging on the kitchen wall, above the farmer’s great-coat and
fowling-piece. The moment he sings, I rush to the spot, but I never get
there in time to see anything but his little wicket closing. This
evening I mean to stay right here beside the door—[<i>She takes up her
position on the threshold.</i>]</p>

<p><span class="smcap">A Voice</span><br>
White Hen!</p>



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<h3><span class="smcap">Scene Second</h3>
</div>
<p><span class="smcap">The Same</span>, <i>a</i> <span class="smcap">Pigeon</span> <i>on the roof, later</i> <span class="smcap">Chantecler</span>.</p>


<p><span class="smcap">The White Hen</span><br>
[<i>Looking about with quick jerks of her head.</i>] Who called me?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Voice</span><br>
A pigeon.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The White Hen</span><br>
[_Looking for him._] Where?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pigeon</span><br>
On the sloping roof.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The White Hen</span><br>
[<i>Lifting her head and seeing him.</i>] Ah!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pigeon</span><br>
Though I am the bearer of an important missive, I would not miss the
opportunity—Good evening, Hen!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The White Hen</span><br>
Postman, howdedo?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pigeon</span><br>
My duty on the Postal Service of the Air obliging me this summer evening
to pass your habitations, I should be most happy if—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The White Hen</span><br>
[<i>Spying a crumb of some sort.</i>] One moment, please.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Another Hen</span><br>
[<i>Running eagerly towards her.</i>] What are you eating?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">All the Hens</span><br>
[<i>Arriving at a run.</i>] What’s she eating?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The White Hen</span><br>
A simple grain of wheat.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Grey Hen</span><br>
[<i>Taking up her conversation with the</i> <span class="smcap">White Hen</span>.] As I was telling you,
I mean to stay right on the door-step there—[<i>Showing the door of
the house.</i>]</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The White Hen</span><br>
[<i>Looking at the door.</i>] The door is shut.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Grey Hen</span><br>
Yes, but I shall hear the hour striking, and I will catch a look at my
Cuckoo by stretching my neck,—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pigeon</span><br>
[<i>Calling, slightly out of patience.</i>] White Hen!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The White Hen</span><br>
One moment, please! [<i>To the</i> <span class="smcap">Grey Hen</span>.]—Catch a look at your Cuckoo,
by stretching your neck where?—Where?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Grey Hen</span><br>
[<i>Pointing with her beak at the small, round opening at the foot of the
door.</i>] Through the cat-hole!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pigeon</span><br>
[<i>Raising his voice to a shout.</i>] Am I to be kept here cooling my feet
on your rain-pipe? Hi, there, whitest of Hens!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The White Hen</span><br>
[<i>Hopping towards him.</i>] You were saying?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pigeon</span><br>
I was about to say—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The White Hen</span><br>
What, bluest of Pigeons?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pigeon</span><br>
That I should consider myself past expression fortunate if—But no! I am
abashed at my own boldness!—if I might be so favoured as to be
permitted to get a glimpse—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The White Hen</span><br>
Of what?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pigeon</span><br>
Oh, just a glimpse, the very least glimpse of—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">All the Hens</span><br>
[<i>Impatiently.</i>] Of what?—What?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pigeon</span><br>
Of his comb!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The White Hen</span><br>
[<i>Laughing, to the others.</i>] Ha! ha! he wishes to see—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pigeon</span><br>
[<i>In great excitement.</i>] That’s it! Just to see—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The White Hen</span><br>
There, there, cool down!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pigeon</span><br>
I am shaking with excitement!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The White Hen</span><br>
You are shaking down the roof!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pigeon</span><br>
You can’t think how we admire him!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The White Hen</span><br>
Oh, everyone admires him!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pigeon</span><br>
And I promised my missis to tell her what he is like!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The White Hen</span><br>
[<i>Quietly pecking.</i>] Oh, he’s a fine fellow, no doubt
of that!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pigeon</span><br>
We can hear him crowing from our dove-cote. The One he is whose song is
more an ornament to the landscape than the white hamlet to the hill! The
One he is whose cry pierces the blue horizon like a gold-threaded needle
stitching the hill-tops to the sky! The Cock he is! When you would
praise him, call him the Cock!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span><br>
[<i>Hopping up and down in his cage.</i>] Tick-tock!—who sets all hearts
a-beating, tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">A Hen</span><br>
Our Cock!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span><br>
[<i>Thrusting his head between the bars of his cage.</i>] My, thy, his, her,
our, your, and their Cock!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Turkey</span><br>
[<i>To the</i> <span class="smcap">Pigeon</span>.] He will soon be coming in from his usual round in the
fields.</p>

<p>THE <span class="smcap">Pigeon</span><br>
You have the honour of his acquaintance, sir?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Turkey</span><br>
[<i>Importantly.</i>] I have known him from a baby. This chick—for to me he
is still a chick!—used to come to me for his bugle lesson.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pigeon</span><br>
Ah, indeed? You give lessons in—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Turkey</span><br>
Certainly. A bird who can gobble is qualified to teach crowing.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pigeon</span><br>
Where was he born?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Turkey</span><br>
[<i>Indicating an old covered basket, badly battered and broken.</i>] In that
old basket.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pigeon</span><br>
And is the hen who brooded him still living?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Turkey</span><br>
[<i>Again indicating the basket.</i>] She is there.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pigeon</span><br>
Where?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Turkey</span><br>
In that old basket.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pigeon</span><br>
[<i>More and more interested.</i>] Of what breed is she?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Turkey</span><br>
She is just a good old-fashioned Gascon hen, born in the neighbourhood
of Pau.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span><br>
[<i>Thrusting out his head.</i>] She is the one Henry the Fourth wished to
see cooking in every Frenchman’s pot!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pigeon</span><br>
How proud she must be of having hatched such a Cock!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Turkey</span><br>
Yes, proud with a lowly foster-mother’s pride. Her beloved chick is
coming to his inches, that is all she seems to understand or care about.
And when you tell her this, her clouded reason gives a momentary gleam—
[<i>Calling towards the basket.</i>] Hey, old lady, he is growing!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">All the Hens</span><br>
He is growing!</p>

<p>[<i>The lid of the basket is suddenly lifted, and a bristling aged hen’s
head appears.</i>]</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pigeon</span><br>
[<i>To the</i> <span class="smcap">Old Hen</span>, <i>gently and feelingly.</i>] Does it make you happy,
mother, to think of him grown to a big fine Cock?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Old Hen</span><br>
[<i>Nodding, sententiously.</i>] Happy?—Wednesday’s crops do credit to
Tuesday! [<i>She disappears, the lid drops.</i>]</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Turkey</span><br>
She opens now and then, like that, and ping! shoots at us some such
pearl of homely lore—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pigeon</span><br>
[<i>To the</i> <span class="smcap">White Hen</span>.] White Hen!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Turkey</span><br>
—not always wholly without point!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Old Hen</span><br>
[<i>Reappearing for an instant.</i>] In the Peacock’s absence, the Turkey
spreads his tail!</p>

<p>[<i>The</i> <span class="smcap">Turkey</span> <i>turns quickly around, the lid has already dropped.</i>]</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pigeon</span><br>
[<i>To the</i> <span class="smcap">White Hen</span>.] Is it a fact that Chantecler is never hoarse,
never the very least husky?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The White Hen</span><br>
[<i>Keeping on with her pecking.</i>] Perfectly true.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pigeon</span><br>
[<i>With growing enthusiasm.</i>] Ah, you must be proud Cock who will be
numbered among Illustrious Animals and his name remembered five, ten,
fifteen years!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Turkey</span><br>
Very proud. Very proud. [<i>To a</i> <span class="smcap">Chick</span>.] Who are the Illustrious Animals?
Tell them off!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Chick</span><br>
[<i>Reciting a lesson.</i>] Noah’s Dove—Saint Rocco’s Poodle—The—the Horse
of Cali—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Turkey</span><br>
Cali—?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Chick</span><br>
[<i>Trying to remember.</i>] Cali—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pigeon</span><br>
This Cock, now—this Cock of yours—Is it true that his song attunes,
inspires, encourages, makes labour light, and keeps off birds of prey?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The White Hen</span><br>
[<i>Pecking.</i>] Perfectly true.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Chick</span><br>
[<i>Still hunting for his word.</i>] Cali—Cali—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pigeon</span><br>
White Hen, is it true that by his song, defender of the warm and sacred
egg, he has frequently kept the lissome weasel from—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span><br>
[<i>Looking out between the bars.</i>]—messing his shirtfront with omelette?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The White Hen</span><br>
Perfectly true.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Chick</span><br>
Cali—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Turkey</span><br>
[<i>Helping him.</i>] Gu?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Chick</span><br>
Gu—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pigeon</span><br>
Is it true—?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Chick</span><br>
[<i>Jumping for joy at having found.</i>] Gula!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pigeon</span><br>
—true that, as report says, he has a secret for his amazing singing, a
secret whereby his crow becomes the brilliant burst of red which makes
the poppies of the field feel themselves contemptible imitations?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The White Hen</span><br>
[<i>Weary of this questioning.</i>] Perfectly true.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pigeon</span><br>
That secret, that great secret, is it known to anyone?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The White Hen</span><br>
No.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pigeon</span><br>
He has not even told his Hen?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The White Hen</span><br>
[<i>Correcting him.</i>] His Hens.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pigeon</span><br>
[<i>Slightly shocked.</i>] Ah, he has more than one?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span><br>
He crows, remember, you only coo.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pigeon</span><br>
Well, then, he has not even told his favourite?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Tufted Hen</span><br>
[<i>Promptly.</i>] No, he has not!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The White Hen</span><br>
[<i>As promptly.</i>] No, he has not!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Black Hen</span><br>
[<i>As promptly.</i>] No, he has not!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span><br>
[<i>Thrusting out his head.</i>] Hush!—An aÎrial drama! The Butterfly,
absorbed in his head of blossom, banquets, all oblivious of—</p>

<p>[<i>A great green gauze butterfly-net appears above the wall, softly
coming towards the</i> <span class="smcap">Butterfly</span> <i>settled on one of the flowers.</i>]</p>

<p><span class="smcap">A Hen</span><br>
What is that?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Turkey</span><br>
[<i>Solemnly.</i>] Fate!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span><br>
In a thin disguise of gauze!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The White Hen</span><br>
Oh, a net—at the end of a cane!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span><br>
No harm in the cane—it’s the kid at the other end of the cane! [<i>Half
aloud, watching the</i> <span class="smcap">Butterfly</span>.] You neat little fop, sailing from rose
to rose, to-night you’ll be neat as a pin can make you!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">All</span><br>
[<i>Watching the cautious approach of the net beyond the wall.</i>]
Nearer—Nearer—Hush! He’ll catch it!—No he won’t!—Yes, he will!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Suddenly Outside</span><br>
Cock-a-doodle-doo!</p>

<p>[<i>At the sound, the</i> <span class="smcap">Butterfly</span> <i>flies off. The</i> <span class="smcap">Net</span> <i>wavers a moment,
with an effect of disappointment, then disappears.</i>]</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Several Hens</span><br>
What?—Eh?—What was it?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">A Hen</span><br>
[<i>Who having hopped up on a wheelbarrow can follow the flight of the</i>
<span class="smcap">Butterfly</span>.] He is off and away, over the meadow.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span><br>
[<i>With ironical emphasis.</i>] It’s Chantecler, practicing knight-errantry!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pigeon</span><br>
[<i>With emotion.</i>] Chantecler!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">A Hen</span><br>
He is coming!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Another Hen</span><br>
He is just outside—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The White Hen</span><br>
[<i>To the</i> <span class="smcap">Pigeon</span>.] Now you will see. He’s a very fine bird indeed.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span><br>
[<i>Thrusting his head between the bars.</i>] Easy as possible to make, a
Cock!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Turkey</span><br>
[<i>Admiringly.</i>] Admirable amenity!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span><br>
You take a melon—a fine specimen, I will grant,—for the trunk. For the
legs, two sticks of asparagus,—prize sticks, of course. For the head, a
red pepper,—as handsome as you may find. For the eye, a
currant,—exceptionally clear and light. For the tail, a sheaf of leeks,
with luxuriant blue-green flags. For the ear, a dainty kidney-bean,
—extra, superfine!—And there you have him, there’s your Cock!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pigeon</span><br>
[<i>Gently.</i>] One thing you have omitted—His heavenly clarion call!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span><br>
[<i>Indicating</i> <span class="smcap">Chantecler</span>, <i>who now appears upon the wall.</i>] Yes, but
with the exception of that—slight detail, you must own my portrait is
a likeness.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pigeon</span><br>
Not at all. Not in the very least. [<i>Contemplating</i> <span class="smcap">Chantecler</span> <i>with a
very different eye from the</i> <span class="smcap">Blackbird’s</span>.] What I see, beneath that
quivering helmet, is Summer’s glorious and favoured knight, who, from a
groaning wain at evening borrowing its golden harvest-robe has arrayed
himself in this, and lifts it from the dust with a gleaming sickle!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>On the wall, in a long guttural sigh.</i>] Coa—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span><br>
When he makes that noise in his throat, he either is in love, or
preparing some poetic outburst.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>Motionless on the wall, with head high.</i>] Blaze forth in
glory!—Dazzle—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span><br>
He’s letting off hot air!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
Irradiate the world!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">A Hen</span><br>
Now he pauses—one claw lifted—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>In a sort of groan of excessive tenderness.</i>] Coa—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span><br>
That, if you please, is ecstasy!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
Thy gold is of all gold alone beneficent! I worship thee!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pigeon</span><br>
[<i>Under breath.</i>] To whom is he talking?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span><br>
[<i>Sneering.</i>] To the sun, sonny, the sun!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">O thou that driest the tears of the meanest among weeds</span><br>
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And dost of a dead flower make a living butterfly—</span><br>
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Thy miracle, wherever almond-trees</span><br>
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Shower down the wind their scented shreds,</span><br>
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Dead petals dancing in a living swarm—</span><br>
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I worship thee, O Sun! whose ample light,</span><br>
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Blessing every forehead, ripening every fruit,</span><br>
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Entering every flower and every hovel,</span><br>
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Pours itself forth and yet is never less,</span><br>
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Still spending and unspent—like mother’s love!</span><br>

<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I sing of thee, and will be thy high priest,</span><br>
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Who disdainest not to glass thy shining face</span><br>
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In the humble basin of blue suds,</span><br>
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Or see the lightning of thy last farewell</span><br>
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Reflected in an humble cottage pane!</span><br>
</p>
<p><span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span><br>
[<i>Thrusting out his head.</i>] Can’t call it off now, boys, he’s started on
an ode!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Turkey</span><br>
[<i>Watching</i> <span class="smcap">Chantecler</span> <i>as by a series of stately hops he comes down a
pile of hay.</i>] Here he comes, prouder than—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">A Hen</span><br>
[<i>Stopping in front of a small tin cone.</i>] See there! The new-fangled
drinking-trough! [<i>She drinks.</i>] Handy!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span><br>
Prouder than a drum major chanting as he marches:
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">“My country, ’tis of thee!”</span><br>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>Beginning to walk about the yard.</i>]
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Thou smilest on the—</span><br>

<p><span class="smcap">All the Hens</span><br>
[<i>Rushing to the</i> <span class="smcap">White Hen</span> <i>who is eating something.</i>] What’s she
eating?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The White Hen</span><br>
Corn. Nothing but corn.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Thou smilest on the sunflower craning after thee,</span><br>
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And burnishest my brother of the vane,</span><br>
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And softly sifting through the linden-trees</span><br>
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Strewest the ground with dappled gold,</span><br>
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">So fine there’s no more walking where it lies.</span><br>

<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Through thee the earthen pot is an enamelled urn,</span><br>
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The clout hung out to dry a noble banner,</span><br>
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The hay-rick by thy favour boasts a golden cape,</span><br>
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the rick’s little sister, the thatched hive,</span><br>
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Wears, by thy grace, a hood of gold!</span><br>

<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Glory to thee in the vineyards! Glory to thee in the fields!</span><br>
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Glory among the grass and on the roofs,</span><br>
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In eyes of lizards and on wings of swans,—</span><br>
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Artist who making splendid the great things</span><br>
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Forgets not to make exquisite the small!</span><br>

<span style="margin-left: 1em;">’Tis thou that, cutting out a silhouette,</span><br>
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To all thou beamest on dost fasten this dark twin,</span><br>
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Doubling the number of delightful shapes,</span><br>
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Appointing to each thing its shadow,</span><br>
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">More charming often than itself.</span><br>

<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I praise thee, Sun! Thou sheddest roses on the air,</span><br>
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Diamonds on the stream, enchantment on the hill;</span><br>
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A poor dull tree thou takest and turnest to green rapture,</span><br>
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">O Sun, without whose golden magic—things</span><br>
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Would be no more than what they are!</span><br>
</p>
<p><span class="smcap">The Pigeon</span><br>
Bravo! I shall have something to tell my mate. We shall long talk of
this!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>Seeing him, with noble courtesy.</i>] Young blue-winged stranger, with
new-fledged bill, thanks! Pray lay my duty at her coral feet!</p>

<p>[<i>The</i> <span class="smcap">Pigeon</span> <i>flies off.</i>]</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span><br>
Jolly your admirers, it pays!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>In a cordial voice, to the whole barnyard.</i>] To work now, all of you,
with a will!</p>

<p>[<i>A </i> <span class="smcap">Fly</span> <i>darts past, buzzing.</i>]</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
Busy and resonant Fly, I love thee! Behold her! What is her flight but
the heart-whole gift of herself?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Turkey</span><br>
[<i>Loftily.</i>] Yes.—She has dropped considerably in my esteem, however,
since that matter of the—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
Of the what?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Turkey</span><br>
Of the Fly and the—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
I never thought much of that story. Who knows whether the coach would
have reached the top of the hill without the Fly? Do you believe that
rude shouts “Gee up! Ge’ lang!” were more effective than the hymn to the
Sun buzzed by the little Fly? Do you believe in the virtue of a
blustering oath? Really believe it was the Coachman who made the coach
to go? No, I tell you, no! She did much more than the big whip’s noisy
cracking, did the little Fly, with the music straight from her
buzzing heart!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Turkey</span><br>
Yes, but all the same—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>Turning his back on him.</i>] Come, let us make of labour a delight!
Come, all of you!—High time, Ganders my worthies, you escorted your
geese to the pond.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">A Gander</span><br>
[<i>Lazily.</i>] Is it quite necessary, do you think?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>Going briskly towards him, with a look that forbids discussion.</i>]
Quite! And let there be no idle quacking and paltering! [<i>The</i> <span class="smcap">Ganders</span>
<i>go off in haste.</i>] You, Chicken, your task, as you know, is to pick off
slugs, your full number before evening being thirty-two.—You,
Cockerel, go practise your crow. Four hundred times cry
Cock-a-doodle-doo in hearing of the echo!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Cockerel</span><br>
[<i>Slightly mortified.</i>] The echo—?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
That is what I was doing to limber up my glottis before I was rid of the
egg-shell sticking to my tail!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">A Hen</span><br>
[<i>Airily.</i>] None of this is particularly interesting!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
Everything is interesting! Pray go and sit on the eggs you have been
entrusted with! [<i>To another</i> <span class="smcap">Hen</span>.] You, walk among the roses and
verbenas, and gobble every creature threatening them. Ha, ha! If the
caterpillar thinks we will make him a gift of our flowers he can stroke
his belly—with his back! [<i>To another.</i>] You, hie to the rescue of
cabbages in old neglected corners, where the grasshopper lays siege to
them with his vigorous battering-ram! [<i>To the remaining</i> <span class="smcap">Hens</span>.]
You—[<i>Catching sight of the</i> <span class="smcap">Old Hen</span>, <i>whose shaking, senile head has
lifted the basket-lid.</i>] Ah, there you are, Nursie! Good day! [<i>She
gazes at him admiringly.</i>] Well, have I grown?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Old Hen</span><br>
Sooner or later, tadpole becomes toad!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
True! [<i>To the </i><span class="smcap">Hens</span>,<i> resuming his tone of command.</i>] Ladies, stand in
line! Your orders are to peck in the fields. Off at a quick-step, go!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The White Hen</span><br>
[<i>To the</i> <span class="smcap">Grey Hen</span>.] Are you coming?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Grey Hen</span><br>
Not a word! I intend to stay behind, to see the Cuckoo. [<i>She hides
behind the basket.</i>]</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
You, little tufted hen, was it just my fancy that you looked sulky
falling into line?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Tufted Hen</span><br>
[<i>Going up to him.</i>] Cock—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
What is it?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Tufted Hen</span><br>
I who am nearest to your heart—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>Quickly.</i>] Hush!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Tufted Hen</span><br>
It annoys me not to be told—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The White Hen</span><br>
[<i>Who has drawn near on the other side.</i>] Cock—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
Well?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The White Hen</span><br>
[<i>Coaxingly.</i>] I who am your favourite—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>Quickly.</i>] Hush!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The White Hen</span><br>
[<i>Caressingly.</i>] I want to know—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Black Hen</span><br>
[<i>Who has softly drawn near.</i>] Cock—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
What?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Black Hen</span><br>
Your special and tender regard for me—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>Quickly.</i>] Hush!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Black Hen</span><br>
Tell me, do—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The White Hen</span><br>
—the secret—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Tufted Hen</span><br>
—of your song? [<i>Going still closer to him, in a voice thrilled with
curiosity.</i>] I do believe that you have in your throat a little copper
contrivance—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
That’s it, that’s what I have, very carefully concealed!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The White Hen</span><br>
[<i>Same business.</i>] Most likely, like great tenors one has heard of, you
gulp raw eggs—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
You have guessed!—A second Ugolino!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Black Hen</span><br>
[<i>Same business.</i>] My idea is that taking snails out of their shells,
you pound them to a paste—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
And make them into troches! Exactly!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">All Three Hens</span><br>
Cock—!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
Off with you all! Be off! [<i>The</i> <span class="smcap">Hens</span> <i>hastily start, he calls them
back.</i>] A word before you go. When your blood-bright combs—now in, now
out of sight, now in again—shall flash among the sage and borage
yonder, like poppies playing at hide-and-seek,—to the real poppies, I
enjoin you, do no injury! Shepherdesses, counting the stitches of their
knitting, trample the grass all unaware that it’s a crime to crush a
flower—even with a woman! But you, my Spouses, show considerate and
touching thought for the flowers whose only offence is growing wild. The
field-carrot has her right to bloom in beauty. Should you spy, as he
strolls across some flowery umbel, a scarlet beetle peppered with black
dots,—the stroller take, but spare his strolling-ground. The flowers of
one same meadow are sisters, as I hold, and should together fall beneath
the scythe!—Now you may go. [<i>They are leaving, he again calls them
back.</i>] And remember, when chickens go to the—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">A Hen</span><br>
—fields—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
—the foremost—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Hens All Together</span><br>
—walks ahead!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
You may go! [<i>They are again starting, he peremptorily calls them
back.</i>] A word! [<i>In a stern voice.</i>] Never when crossing the road stop
to peck! [<i>The</i> <span class="smcap">Hens</span> <i>bow in obedience.</i>] Now let me see you cross!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">A Horn</span><br>
[<i>In the distance.</i>] Honk! Honk! Honk!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>Rushing in front of the</i> <span class="smcap">Hens</span> <i>and spreading his wings before them.</i>]
Not yet!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Horn</span><br>
[<i>Very near, accompanied by a terrific snorting.</i>] Honk! Honk! Honk!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>Barring the</i> <span class="smcap">Hens</span>’ <i>passage, while everything shakes.</i>] Wait!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Horn</span><br>
[<i>Far away.</i>] Honk! Honk! Honk!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>Standing aside for them to pass.</i>] You can safely go!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Grey Hen</span><br>
[<i>From her hiding-place.</i>] He has not seen me!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Tufted Hen</span><br>
You may think this is fun! Now everything we eat will taste of gasoline!</p>


<hr class="x-ebookmaker-drop chap">
<div class="chapter">

<h3><span class="smcap">Scene Third</span></h3>
</div>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span>, <i>the</i> <span class="smcap">Blackbird</span> <i>in his cage, the</i> <span class="smcap">Cat</span> <i>still asleep on the
wall, the</i> <span class="smcap">Grey Hen</span> <i>behind the</i> <span class="smcap">Old Hen’s</span> <i>basket.</i></p>


<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>To himself, after a pause.</i>] No, I will not trust a frivolous soul
with such a weighty secret. Let me try rather to cast off the burden of
it myself—forget and [<i>Shaking his feathers.</i>] just rejoice in being a
rooster! [<i>He struts up and down.</i>] I am beautiful. I am proud. I
walk—then I stand still. I give a skip or two, I tread a measure.—I
shock the cart sometimes by my boldness with the fair, so that it raises
scandalised shafts in horror to the sky!—Hang care!—A barleycorn—Eat
and be merry.—The gear upon my head and under my eye is a far more
gorgeous red, when I puff out my chest and strut, than any robin’s
waistcoat or finch’s tie.—A fine day. All is well. I curvet—I blow my
horn. Conscious of having done my duty, I may quite properly assume the
swagger of a musketeer, and the calm commanding bearing of a cardinal.
I can—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">A Voice</span><br>
[<i>Loud and gruff.</i>] Beware, Chantecler!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
What silly beast is bidding me beware?</p>



<hr class="x-ebookmaker-drop chap">
<div class="chapter">

<h3><span class="smcap">Scene Fourth</span></h3>
</div>

<p><span class="smcap">The Same, Patou</span>.</p>


<p><span class="smcap">Patou</span><br>
[<i>Barking inside his kennel.</i>] <span class="smcap">I! I! I</span>!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>Retreating.</i>] Is it you, Patou, good shaggy head starting out of the
dark, with straws caught among your eyelashes?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Patou</span><br>
Which do not prevent my seeing what is plain as that hen-house rrrroof!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
Cross?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Patou</span><br>
Grrrrrrr—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
When he rolls his r’s like that he is very cross indeed.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Patou</span><br>
It’s my devotion to you, Cock, makes me roll my r’s. Guardian of the
house, the orchard and the fields, more than all else I am bound to
protect your song. And I growl at the dangers I suspect lurking. Such is
my humour.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
Your humour? Your dogma, suspicion is! Call it your <i>dog</i>ma!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Patou</span><br>
You can stoop to a pun? From bad to worse! I m enough of a psychologist
to feel the evil spreading, and I ve the scent of a rat-terrier.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
But you are no rat-terrier!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Patou</span><br>
[<i>Shaking his head.</i>] Chantecler, how do we know?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>Considering him.</i>] Your appearance is in fact peculiar What actually
is your breed?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Patou</span><br>
I am a horrible mixture, issue of every passer-by! I can feel barking
within me the voice of every blood. Retriever, mastiff, pointer, poodle,
hound—my soul is a whole pack, sitting in circle, musing. Cock, I am
all dogs, I have been every dog!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
Then what a sum of goodness must be stored in you!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Patou</span><br>
Brother, we are framed to understand each other. You sing to the sun and
scratch up the earth. I when I wish to do myself a good and a
pleasure—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
You lie on the earth and sleep in the sun!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Patou</span><br>
[<i>With a pleased yap.</i>] Aye!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
We have ever had in common our love for those two things.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Patou</span><br>
I am so fond of the sun that I howl at the moon. And so fond of the
earth that I dig great holes and shove my nose in it!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
I know! The gardener’s wife has her opinion of those holes.—But what
are the dangers you discern? All lies quiet beneath the quiet sky.
Nothing appears to be threatening my humble sunlit dominions.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Old Hen</span><br>
[<i>Lifting the basket-lid with her head.</i>] The egg looks like marble
until it gets smashed! [<i>The lid drops.</i>]</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>To</i> <span class="smcap">Patou</span>.] What dangers, friend?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Patou</span><br>
There are two. First, in yonder cage—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
Well?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Patou</span><br>
That satirical whistling.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
What about it?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Patou</span><br>
Pernicious.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
In what way?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Patou</span><br>
In every way!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>Ironical.</i>] Bad as all that, is it? [<i>The</i> <span class="smcap">Peacock’s</span> <i>squall is heard
in the distance: “Ee—yong!”</i>]</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Patou</span><br>
And then that cry, the Peacock’s!</p>

<p>[<i>The</i> <span class="smcap">Peacock</span>, <i>further off: “Ee—yong!”</i>]</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Patou</span><br>
More out of tune all by itself than a whole village singing society!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
Come, what have they done to you, that whistler and that posturer?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Patou</span><br>
[<i>Grumbling.</i>] They have done to me—that I know not what they may do to
you! They have done to me—that among us simple, kindly folk they have
introduced new fashions, the Blackbird of being funny, the Peacock of
putting on airs! Fashions which the latter in his grotesque bad taste
picked up parading on the marble terraces of the vulgar rich, and the
former—Heaven knows where! along with his cynicism and his slang. Now
the one, travelling salesman of blighting corrosive laughter, and the
other, brainless ambassador of Fashion, their mission to kill among us
love and labour, the first by persiflage, the second by display,—they
have brought to us, even here in our peaceful sunny corner, the two
pests, the saddest in the world, the jest which insists on being funny
at any cost, and the cry which insists on being the latest scream! [<i>The
</i> <span class="smcap">Blackbird</span> <i>is heard tentatively whistling, “How sweet to fare
afield”.</i>] You, Cock, who had the sense to prefer the grain of true
wheat to the pearl, how can you allow yourself to be taken in by that
villainous Blackbird! A bird who practises a tune!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>Indulgently.</i>] Come, he whistles his tune like many another!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Patou</span><br>
[<i>Unwillingly agreeing, in a drawling growl.</i>] Ye-e-es, but he never
whistles it to the end!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>Watching the</i> <span class="smcap">Blackbird</span> <i>hopping about.</i>] A light-hearted fellow!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Patou</span><br>
[<i>Same business.</i>] Ye-e-es, but he lies heavy on our hearts. A bird who
takes his exercise indoors!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
You must own he is intelligent!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Patou</span><br>
[<i>In a longer, more hesitant growl.</i>] Ye-e-e-es! But not so very! For
his eye never brightens with wonder and admiration. He preserves before
the flower—of whose stalk he sees more than of its chalice—the glance
which deflowers, the tone which depreciates!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
Taste, my dear fellow, he unmistakably has!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Patou</span><br>
Ye-e-e-es! But not much taste! To wear black is too easy a way of having
taste! One should have the courage of colours on his wing.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
You will admit at least that he has an original fancy. No denying that
he is amusing.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Patou</span><br>
Ye-e-es—No! Why is it amusing to adopt a few stock phrases and make
them do service at every turn? Why amusing to miscall, exaggerate, and
vulgarise?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
His mind has a diverting, unexpected turn—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Patou</span><br>
Ready but cheap! I cannot think it particularly brilliant to remark,
with a knowing wink, at sight of an innocent cow at pasture, “The simple
cow knows her way to the hay!” Nor do I regard it as evidence of notable
mental gifts to answer the greeting of the inoffensive duck, “The quack
shoots off his mouth!” No, the extravagances of that Blackbird, who
makes me bristle, no more constitute wit than his slang achieves style!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
He is not altogether to blame. He wears the modern garb. See him there
in correct evening dress. He looks, in his neat black coat—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Patou</span>
Like a beastly little undertaker who, after burying Faith, hops with
relief and glee!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
There, there! You make him blacker than he is!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Patou</span><br>
I do believe a blackbird is just a misfit crow!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
His diminutive size, however—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Patou</span><br>
[<i>Vigorously shaking his ears.</i>] Oh, be not deceived by his size! Evil
makes his models first on a tiny scale. The soul of a cutlass dwells in
the pocket-knife; blackbird and crow are of the selfsame crape, and the
striped wasp is a tiger in miniature!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>Amused at</i> <span class="smcap">Patou’s</span> <i>violence.</i>] The blackbird in short is wicked,
stupid, ugly—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Patou</span><br>
The chief thing about the Blackbird is—that you can’t tell what he is!
Is there thought in that head? feeling in that breast? Hear him!
“Tew-tew-tew-tew tew—”</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
But what harm does he do?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Patou</span><br>
He tew-tew-tews! And nothing is so mortal to thought and sentiment as
that same derisive tew-tewing, disingenuous and non-committal! Day by
day, and that is why I roll my rs, I must witness this debasing of
language and ideals. It’s enough to produce rabies!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
Come, Patou!—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Patou</span><br>
In their objectionable jargon, they have the ha-ha on all of us! I am no
fastidious King Charles, but I dislike, I tell you, being referred to as
His Whiskers!—Oh, to be gone, escape, follow the heels of some poor
shepherd without a crust in his wallet, but at least, at evening
drinking from the glassy pond, to have—oh, better than all
marrow-bones!—the fresh illusion of lapping up the stars!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>Surprised at</i> <span class="smcap">Patou’s</span> <i>having lowered his voice to utter the last
words.</i>] Why do you drop your voice?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Patou</span><br>
You see?—If we speak of stars nowadays we must do it in a whisper! [<i>He
lays his head on his paws in deep dejection.</i>]</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>Comforting him.</i>] Be not downcast!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Patou</span><br>
[<i>Lifting his head again.</i>] No, it is too silly and too weak! I ll shout
it if I please! [<i>He howls with the whole power of his lungs.</i>]
Stars!—[<i>Then in a tone of relief.</i>] There, I feel better!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chickens</span><br>
[<i>Passing at the back, mocking.</i>] Stars!—Ho! Stars for ours! Stars!
[<i>They go off, fooling and giggling.</i>]</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Patou</span><br>
Hear them! Our pullets will be whistling soon like blackbirds!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>Proudly strutting up and down.</i>] What care <span class="smcap">I? I</span>sing, and have on my
side the Hens.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Patou</span><br>
Trust not to the hearts of Hens—or of crowds. You are too willing to
take the price of your singing in lip-service.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
But love—love is glory awarded in kisses!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Patou</span><br>
Ah! I too, was young once, I had my wilding devil’s beauty,—an
inflammatory eye, an inflammable heart. Well, I was deceived. For a
handsomer dog?—No, they deceived me for a miserable cur!—[<i>Roaring in
sudden wrath.</i>] For whom?—For whom, do you suppose?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>Retreating.</i>] You alarm me!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Patou</span><br>
For a low-down dachshund who trod on his own ears!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span><br>
[<i>Who has overheard</i> <span class="smcap">Patou’s</span> <i>last words, sticking his head between the
bars of his cage.</i>] Still harping on the dachshund, is he? What’s the
odds, old chappie? You were the goat!—How does being the goat matter?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Patou</span><br>
But you up there, scoffing at everything, who are you, may one ask?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Blackbird</span><br>
I m the pet of the poultry yard!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Patou</span><br>
Bad luck is what you’ll bring them!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Blackbird</span><br>
A prophecy-sharp?—Say, wisteria, we are twisted up with laughter! [<i>He
comes out of his cage and hops to the ground.</i>]</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Patou</span><br>
[<i>As he approaches</i>] Grrrrrrr—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
Hush! He’s a friend!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Patou</span><br>
A false one.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>To</i> <span class="smcap">Blackbird</span>.] Fine things we learn when the talk is of you!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Old Hen</span><br>
[<i>Her head protruding from the basket.</i>] Strike rotten wood, and see the
wood-lice scatter! [<i>The basket-lid drops.</i>]</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Patou</span><br>
[<i>To</i> <span class="smcap">Chantecler</span>.] He laughs at you behind your back!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Blackbird</span><br>
[<i>To</i> <span class="smcap">Patou</span>.] Ha, retriever, you retrieve?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Patou</span><br>
When you pour forth your heart in your ardent cry, giving it over and
over, he calls it the same old saw that your jag-toothed red crest
stands for!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
So that’s what you say?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Blackbird</span><br>
[<i>Affecting simplicity.</i>] You surely don’t mind? How can it affect you?
And a joke about you is always so sure of success!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Patou</span><br>
[<i>To the</i> <span class="smcap">Blackbird</span>.] Point-blank, do you admire or despise the Cock?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Blackbird</span><br>
I make fun of him in spots, but admire him in lump!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Patou</span><br>
You always peck two kinds of seed.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span><br>
My cage has two seed-cups, you see.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Patou</span><br>
I am single-minded and downright!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span><br>
You—are an old poodle of the year 48! I am an up-to-date bird!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Patou</span><br>
[<i>Gruffly.</i>] Out of my way! lest I give your black coat red tails!
[<i>The</i> <span class="smcap">Blackbird</span> <i>nimbly gets out of the way,</i> <span class="smcap">Patou</span> <i>goes into his
kennel grumbling.</i>] I ll show him some up-to-date jaws!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
Be quiet! It’s his way. The truth is that if once he stood in the
presence of beauty, this very Blackbird would applaud!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Patou</span><br>
Not with both wings! What can you expect of a bird who, with woodbine
and juniper full in sight, prefers to go inside and peck at a
musty biscuit?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Blackbird</span><br>
He never seems to suspect that the poacher is a blackguardly sort of
brute!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Patou</span><br>
What I know is that the underbrush is all a delicate golden gloom—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span><br>
Yes, but leaden shot can cleave your delicate gold. The quail is such a
canny bird, that he lies low lest he make his last appearance on toast.
And so, in lack of quail—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Patou</span><br>
Does the great stag delight any the less in his green forest for turning
over among the grass at evening some bit of a rusty cartridge?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span><br>
No, old chap—but the stag, you see, is just another kind of a hat-rack!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Patou</span><br>
Oh, but freedom, freedom, with violets looking on! Love!—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span><br>
Antediluvian pastimes! not nearly such good fun as my nice new wooden
trapeze. Oh, my cage, let us sign a joyful three-six-nine years’ lease!
I live like a Duke, I have filtered drinking-water—[<i>At</i> <span class="smcap">Patou’s</span>
<i>significant start and growl, he springs aside, finishing.</i>] You can
sling mud upon me, I have a porcelain bath!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>Slightly out of patience.</i>] Why not make a practice of talking simply
and to the point?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span><br>
I like to make you sit up, and watch you blinking.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Patou</span><br>
Grrrrr—in the plain interest of public decency, I say it behooves us—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span><br>
Don’t say behooves, say it’s up to you, old chap!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
What’s all this juggling with words?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span><br>
The thing, Chantecler, quite the thing! I knew a city sparrow once, and
it’s the way they talk in fashionable circles.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
I was well acquainted with a little red-breast, who lived beneath a city
poet’s eaves; he did not talk like you.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span><br>
I belong to my time. Every chap that’s a bit of a swell nowadays must be
a bit of a tough. It’s smart, you know.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Patou</span><br>
I froth at the mouth! Smart,—there’s the Peacock’s password!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
Oh, the Peacock, by the way, what is he doing these days?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span><br>
Ogling with his tail-feathers!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Patou</span><br>
Baneful his example has been to many an humble heart.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
What signs do you see of his influence?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Patou</span><br>
A thousand nothings.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Old Hen</span><br>
[<i>Appearing.</i>] Bubbles floating down the stream tell of laundresses up
stream! [<i>The lid drops.</i>]</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
I am sure I have not seen the smallest bubble from which—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Patou</span><br>
[<i>Indicating a</i> <span class="smcap">Guinea-pig</span>, <i>who is passing.</i>] See there, that
Guinea-pig—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>Considering him.</i>] What about him? He is just a yellow Guinea-pig!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Guinea-pig</span><br>
[<i>Snippily correcting.</i>] Khaki, if you please!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>To</i> <span class="smcap">Patou</span>.] Kha—?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Patou</span><br>
A bubble!—And yonder waddling duck—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>Looking at him.</i>] He is going to take his bath—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Duck</span><br>
[<i>Drily.</i>] My tub!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
His—?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Patou</span><br>
A bubble!</p>

<p>[<i>A long grating noise is heard within the house Crrrrrrr, then.</i>]</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Clock</span><br>
Cuckoo!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Grey Hen</span><br>
[<i>Leaving her hiding-place and running towards the cat-hole.</i>] His
voice!—Now through the kitty’s little door I finally shall see him!
[<i>She thrusts her head into the hole. The</i> <span class="smcap">Cuckoo’s</span> <i>call is not
repeated.</i>] Oh, deary, deary me! I am too late! [<i>Calling.</i>]
Bis! Encore!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>Turning around at the noise.</i>] Eh?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Grey Hen</span><br>
[<i>Desperately, with her head in the cat-hole.</i>] He has stopped!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span><br>
It was the half-hour.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>Close behind the</i> <span class="smcap">Grey Hen</span>, <i>abruptly.</i>] How does it happen, my love,
that we are not in the fields?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Grey Hen</span><br>
[<i>Turning, scared.</i>] Goodness gracious!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
What are we doing, my love, in the cat-hole?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Grey Hen</span><br>
[<i>Upset.</i>] I was just taking a peep—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
To see whom?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Grey Hen</span><br>
[<i>More and more upset.</i>] Oh—!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>Dramatically.</i>] Who is it?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Grey Hen</span><br>
Oh—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
Confess!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Grey Hen</span><br>
[<i>In the voice of a woman caught in guilt.</i>] The Cuckoo!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>Amazed.</i>] You love him?—But wherefore?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Grey Hen</span><br>
[<i>Drops her eyes, then with emotion.</i>] He is Swiss!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Patou</span><br>
A bubble!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Grey Hen</span><br>
He is a thinker. He takes his airing—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
She loves a clock!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Grey Hen</span><br>
—always takes his airing at the same hour, like Kant.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
Like what?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Grey Hen</span><br>
Like Kant.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
Did one ever—! Out of my sight!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span><br>
Trot, Kant you?</p>

<p>[<span class="smcap">The Grey Hen</span> <i>hurries off.</i>]</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
Here’s a pretty—Wherever did she learn that Kant—?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Patou</span><br>
At the Guinea-hen’s.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
That foolish old party of the crazy cries and the white-plastered beak?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Patou</span><br>
She has taken a day.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
A day off, do you mean?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Patou</span><br>
No, a day at home.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
A day at—Where does she receive?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span><br>
In a corner of the kitchen-garden.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Patou</span><br>
Under the auspices of that strawman with the unsavoury old top-hat.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
The scarecrow?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span><br>
Yes, his being there makes the affair select.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>Bewildered.</i>] How is that?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span><br>
Don’t you see? He scares off all the puny fowl—. Poor relations are not
wanted at a function.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
So the Guinea-hen has a day!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Patou</span><br>
[<i>Phlegmatically.</i>] A bubble!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
A balloon!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span><br>
[<i>Imitating the</i> <span class="smcap">Guinea-hen</span>.] Mondays, my dear—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
And what do they do at that feather-brain’s parties?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Patou</span><br>
Cluck and cackle. The Turkey-cock airs his social gifts, the Chick gets
into society.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Blackbird</span><br>
[<i>Imitating the</i> <span class="smcap">Guinea-hen</span>.] From five to six—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
Evening?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Patou</span><br>
No, morning.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
What—?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span><br>
You see, she must take advantage of the time when the garden is
deserted, and yet have it a five-o’clock tea. So she chose the hour when
the old gardener is at his early potations.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
What nonsense!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span><br>
Quite so.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Patou</span><br>
You needn’t talk. You go to her teas.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
He goes—?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span><br>
Yes, I am one of their ornaments.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Patou</span><br>
And I am not so sure but that some day—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
What are you mumbling to your brass-studded collar?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Patou</span><br>
—some Hen may get you too to go!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
Me?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Patou</span><br>
You!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
Me?—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Patou</span><br>
Led by the end of your beak.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>In high wrath.</i>] Me?—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Patou</span><br>
For when a new Hen heaves in sight, you can’t help yourself, you
know—you lose your balance-wheel—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span><br>
You slowly circumambulate the fair one—[<i>He imitates the</i> <span class="smcap">Cock</span> <i>walking
around a</i> <span class="smcap">Hen</span>.] “Yes, it’s me.—Here I am!” And you say, “Coa—”</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
I never knew a more idiotic bird!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span><br>
[<i>Continuing to mimic him.</i>] You let your wing hang, sentimentally—your
foot performs a sort of stately jig—[<i>A shot is heard.</i>] Ha! I don’t
like that!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Patou</span><br>
[<i>Starts up quivering, and scents the air.</i>] Poaching Julius is at his
tricks again!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span><br>
Dog, it seems to stimulate you agreeably!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Patou</span><br>
[<i>With ears up-pricked and shining eyes.</i>] Yes! [<i>Suddenly, as if
controlling himself, passionately.</i>] No—!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span><br>
What affects you so?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Patou</span><br>
Oh, horrible, horrible! A poor little partridge perhaps—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span><br>
Is that streaming eye, my friend, a result of age or rheumatism?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Patou</span><br>
Neither! But I have within me several dogs, and there is conflict amidst
me. My hunter’s nostril twitches at a shot, but, directly, my
house-dog’s memory raises before me a bleeding wing, the glazing eye of
a doe, the pathos of a rabbit’s dying look—and I feel the heart of a
Saint Bernard waking in my breast! [<i>Another shot.</i>]</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
Again?</p>



<hr class="x-ebookmaker-drop chap">
<div class="chapter">

<h3><span class="smcap">Scene Fifth</span></h3>
</div>
<p><span class="smcap">The Same, a Golden Pheasant</span>, <i>later</i> <span class="smcap">Briffaut</span>.</p>


<p><span class="smcap">A Golden Pheasant</span><br>
[<i>Flying suddenly over the wall, and dropping in the yard, mad with
fright.</i>] Hide me!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
Heavens!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Patou</span><br>
A golden pheasant!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Golden Pheasant</span><br>
Is this great Chantecler?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span><br>
All over the shop, we’re famous!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Golden Pheasant</span><br>
[<i>Running hither and thither.</i>] Save me, if you are he!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
I am!—Rely on me!</p>

<p>[<i>Another shot.</i>]</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Golden Pheasant</span><br>
[<i>Jumping and casting himself on</i> <span class="smcap">Chantecler</span>.] Merciful powers!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
But what a nervous bird it is—a golden pheasant!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Golden Pheasant</span><br>
I have no breath left! I ran too hard!-[<i>Faints.</i>]</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span><br>
Puff!—Out goes his light!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>Upholding the</i> <span class="smcap">Pheasant</span> <i>with one wing.</i>] How beautiful he is, with
drooping neck and softly ruffled throat-feathers! [<i>He runs to the
drinking-trough.</i>] Water!—One almost hesitates to dim such beauty with
a wetting—[<i>He splashes him vigorously with his other wing.</i>]</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Golden Pheasant</span><br>
[<i>Coming to.</i>] I am pursued! Oh, hide me!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span><br>
“And the villain still—” Here’s melodrama!</p>

<p>[<i>To the</i> <span class="smcap">Pheasant</span>.] How the dickens did he manage to miss you?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant</span><br>
Surprise!—The huntsman was looking for a little grey lark. Seeing me
rise, he cried, “Thunder!” He saw but a flash of gold, and I a flash of
fire.—But the dog is chasing me, a horrible dog—[<i>Seeing</i> <span class="smcap">Patou</span> <i>he
quickly adds.</i>] I am speaking of a hunting-dog! [<i>To</i> <span class="smcap">Chantecler</span>.]
Hide me!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
The trouble is he is so conspicuous. That increases our dilemma. Where
can he lie concealed?—Gentle sir, my lord, most noble stranger, where
might we hope to hide the rainbow, supposing it in danger?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Patou</span><br>
There by the bench with the beehives stands my green cottage, very much
at your service.—Go in, I pray! [<i>The</i> <span class="smcap">Golden Pheasant</span> <i>goes in, but
his long tail projects.</i>] There is too much of this golden vanity!—The
tip is still in sight.—I shall have to sit on it.</p>

<p>[<span class="smcap">Briffaut</span> <i>appears above the wall. Long hanging ears and quivering
chops.</i>]</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Patou</span><br>
[<i>To</i> <span class="smcap">Briffaut</span>, <i>affecting unconcern.</i>] Good afternoon!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Briffaut</span><br>
[<i>Snuffing.</i>] Humph, what a good smell!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Patou</span><br>
[<i>Pointing to his bowl.</i>] My poor dinner! Soup with seasonable
vegetables.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Briffaut</span><br>
[<i>Hurriedly.</i>] Have you seen a pheasant-hen go by?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Patou</span><br>
[<i>In astonishment, reflecting.</i>] A pheasant-hen,—?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>Walking about, with an assumption of gaiety.</i>] Impressive, isn’t he,
Briffaut there? with his look of a thoroughbred old Englishman!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Patou</span><br>
No, but I saw a pheasant.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Briffaut</span><br>
That was she!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Patou</span><br>
A pheasant-hen wears dun. This was a golden pheasant He went off towards
the meadow.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Briffaut</span><br>
It is she!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>Going towards him, incredulous.</i>] A pheasant-hen with golden plumage?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Briffaut</span><br>
Ah, you do not know what sometimes happens?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span> <i>and</i> <span class="smcap">Patou</span>
No.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span><br>
We are in for a hunting yarn!—Give me chloroform!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Briffaut</span><br>
It sometimes happens—the thing is exceptional, of course—My master
knows because he has read about it.—It sometimes happens—An
extraordinary phenomenon to be sure! which is likewise observed among
moor-fowl.—It happens—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Patou</span><br>
What happens?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Briffaut</span><br>
That the pheasant-hen—Ah, my dear fellows—!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>Stamping with impatience.</i>] The pheasant-hen what?—what?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Briffaut</span><br>
Makes up her mind one day that the cock-pheasant goes altogether too
fine. When the male in springtime puts on his holiday feathers, she sees
that he is handsomer than she—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span><br>
And it makes her sore!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Briffaut</span><br>
She leaves off laying and hatching eggs. Nature then gives her back her
purple and her gold, and the pheasant-hen proud and magnificent Amazon,
preferring to put on her back blue, green, yellow, all the colours of
the prism, rather than under a sober grey wing to shelter a brood of
young pheasants, flies freely forth—Light-mindedly she sheds the
virtues of her sex, and having done it—sees life! [<i>He sketches with
his paw a slightly disrespectful gesture.</i>]</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>Dryly.</i>] Pray, what do you know about it?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Briffaut</span><br>
[<i>Astonished.</i>] Is he annoyed?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Patou</span><br>
[<i>Aside.</i>] Already!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
In short, the pheasant your master missed—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Briffaut</span><br>
Was a she!—[<i>He stops and scents the air.</i>] Oh but!—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Patou</span><br>
[<i>Quickly, showing his dish.</i>] You know, it’s my dinner you smell!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Briffaut</span><br>
It smells very unusually good.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>Aside.</i>] I don’t like that way his nose has of twitching.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Briffaut</span><br>
[<i>Starting upon another story.</i>] Fancy such an instance as the
following—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span><br>
Holy Smoke! Here comes another!—Oh, I say, hire a hall!</p>

<p>[<i>A distant whistle is heard.</i>]</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>Quickly.</i>] You are whistled for!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Briffaut</span><br>
The deuce! Good evening! [<i>Disappears.</i>]</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Patou</span><br>
Good evening.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
Gone, at last!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Blackbird</span><br>
[<i>Calling.</i>] Briffaut!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
Great Glory, what are you doing?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span><br>
[<i>Calling.</i>] I have something to tell you!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Briffaut</span><br>
[<i>His head reappears above the wall.</i>] Well—?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span><br>
Look out, Briffaut!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>Low to the</i> <span class="smcap">Blackbird</span>.] Do you make sport of our fears?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span><br>
You are losing something!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Briffaut</span><br>
What?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span><br>
Time!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Briffaut</span><br>
[<i>Disappearing with a snort of fury.</i>] Wow!</p>



<hr class="x-ebookmaker-drop chap">
<div class="chapter">

<h3><span class="smcap">Scene Sixth</span></h3>
</div>
<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler, the Blackbird, Patou, the Pheasant-hen</span></p>


<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>After a moment, to the</i> <span class="smcap">Blackbird</span> <i>who from his cage, which he has
returned, can see off over the wall.</i>] Is he gone?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span><br>
He is nearly out of sight!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>Going toward</i> <span class="smcap">Patou’s</span> <i>kennel.</i>] Madam, come forth!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
[<i>Appearing at the threshold of the kennel.</i>] Well?—A rebellious,
self-freed slave I am—even as that dog was saying! But of great
lineage, and proud as I am free—A pheasant of the woods!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span><br>
Whew! We hate ourself, don’t we!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
In the forest where I live there comes a-poaching—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
That madman who would have given to vile lead a jewel for setting!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
Beneath foliage—not so thick but a sunbeam may glide in!—I make my
home. I am descended, however, from elsewhere. From whence? From Persia?
China? None can tell! But of one thing we may be certain: that I was
meant to shimmer in the blue among the fragrant gum-trees of the East,
and not to be chased through brambles by a hound!—Am I the ancient
Phoenix? or the sacred Chinese hen? Whence was I brought to this land?
And how brought? And by whom? History is not explicit on the point, and
leaves us a splendid choice. Wherefore I choose to have been born in
Colchis, from whence I came on Jason’s fist. I am all gold. Perhaps I
was the Fleece!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Patou</span><br>
You?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
The Pheasant!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Patou</span><br>
[<i>Politely correcting her.</i>] Pheasant-hen.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
I refer to my race, for which I stand, by token of my crimson shield.
Yes, my ancient fate of being a dead leaf beside a ruby, having appeared
to me one day too distinctly dull a lot, I stole his dazzling plumage
from the male. A good thing, too, for it becomes me so much better! The
golden tippet, as I wear it, curves and shimmers. The emerald epaulette
acquires a dainty grace. I have made of a mere uniform a miracle
of style!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
She is distractingly lovely, so much is certain!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Patou</span><br>
He is never going to fall in love with a woman dressed as a man!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span><br>
[<i>Who has again hopped down from his cage.</i>] I must go and tell the
Guinea-hen that a golden bird has blown into town. She’ll have a fit!
She will invite her! [<i>Off.</i>]</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
So you come to us from the East, like the Dawn?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
My life has the picturesque disorder of a poem. If I came from the East,
it was by way of Egypt.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Patou</span><br>
[<i>Aside, heart-broken.</i>] A gypsy, on top of the rest!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
[<i>To</i> <span class="smcap">Chantecler</span>, <i>tossing and twisting her head so that the colours
ripple at her throat.</i>] Have you noticed these two shades? They are our
own especial colours—the Dawn’s and mine! Princess of the underbrush,
queen of the glade, I am pleased to wear the yellow locks of an
adventuress. Dreamy and homesick for my unknown home, I choose my
palaces among the rustling flags and withered irises that fringe the
pool. I dote upon the forest, and when it smells in autumn of dead
leaves and decaying wood—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Patou</span><br>
[<i>In consternation.</i>] She is mad!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
Wild as a tree-bough in a southerly gale, I tremble, flutter, spend
myself in motion, till a vast languor overtakes me—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>Who for a minute or so has been letting his wing hang, now begins
slowly circling about the</i> <span class="smcap">Pheasant-hen</span>, <i>in the manner of the</i>
<span class="smcap">Blackbird</span> <i>aping him, with a very gentle, throaty.</i>] Coa—[<i>The</i>
<span class="smcap">Pheasant-hen</span> <i>looks at him. Believing himself encouraged, he takes up
again louder, while circling about her.</i>] Coa—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
My dear sir, I prefer to tell you at once that if it is for my benefit
you are doing that—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>Stopping short.</i>] What?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
The eye—the peculiar gait—the drooping wing—the “Coa—”</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
But I —</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
You do it all very nicely, I admit; only, it has not the very slightest
effect upon me!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>Slightly abashed.</i>] Madam—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
Oh, I understand, of course. We are the illustrious Cock! Not a Hen in
the world but preens her feathers in the hope—the very touching hope,
certainly—of offering us a moment’s distraction, some day, between two
songs. We are so sure of ourself that we never hesitate, not even when
the lady is a visitor, and not quite the ordinary short-kirtled Hen whom
one can engage without further ceremony by such advances—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
But—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
I do not bestow my affections quite so lightly. For my taste, anyhow,
you are altogether too frankly Cock of the Walk!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
Too—?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
Spoiled! The only Cock to my fancy would be a plain inglorious Cock to
whom I should be all in all.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
But—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
Love a celebrated Cock? I am not such a very woman!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
But—well—still—We might, however, Madam, take a little stroll
together!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
Yes, like two friends.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
Two friends.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
Two chickens.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
Very old!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
[<i>Quickly.</i>] No, no—not old! Very ugly!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>Quicker still.</i>] Oh, no, not ugly! [<i>Coming nearer to her.</i>] Will you
take a turn in the yard?—Accept my wing!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
You shall show me the sights.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>Stopping before the</i> <span class="smcap">Chickens</span>’ <i>drinking-trough.</i>]This, of course, is
hideous. It is a model drinking-trough on the siphon principle, made of
galvanised iron. But everything excepting that is charming, noble, time
and weather worn, from the hen-house roof to the stable door—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span><br>
[<i>Returning.</i>] The Guinea-hen is having a fit!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
[<i>To</i> <span class="smcap">Chantecler</span>, <i>looking about her.</i>] And so you live here untroubled,
and have nothing to fear?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
Nothing whatever. Because the owner is a vegetarian An amazing man, a
lover of animals. He calls them by names borrowed from the poets. The
donkey there is Midas; the heifer, Io.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span><br>
The showman’s on the job!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
[<i>Indicating the</i> <span class="smcap">Blackbird</span>.] And that?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
Our humorist.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
What does he do?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
Oh, he keeps busy!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
Doing what?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
Trying never to appear a fool, and that’s hard work.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
Possibly—but most unattractive! [<i>They move towards the back.</i>]</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span><br>
[<i>With a glance at the</i> <span class="smcap">Pheasant-hen’s</span> <i>scarlet breast.</i>] Size up the
highfalutin’ dame!—Get on to the waistcoat will you?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>Continuing the round.</i>] The hay-cock. The old wall. The wall, when I
sing, is alive with lizards, the hay-cock bends to listen. I sing on the
spot where you see the earth scratched up, and when I have sung, I drink
in the bowl over there.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Pheasant-hen</span><br>
Your song then is a matter of importance?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>Seriously.</i>] The greatest.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
Why?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
That is my secret.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
If I should ask you to tell me?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>Turning the conversation, and showing a pile of brushwood tied in
bundles.</i>] My friends, the fagots.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
Stolen from my forest!—So what they say is true?—you have a secret?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>Dryly.</i>] Yes, Madam.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
I suppose it would be useless to insist—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>Climbing on the wall at the back.</i>] And from here you can see the
remainder of the estate, to the edge of the kitchen-garden, where they
ply at evening a serpent ending like a sprinkling can.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
What?—This is all?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
This is all.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
And do you imagine the world ends at your vegetable-patch?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
No.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
Do you never, as you watch, far overhead, the wedge of the south-flying
birds, dream of vaster horizons?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
No.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Pheasant-hen</span><br>
But all these things about you are dreary and poor and flat!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
And I can never become used to the richness and wonder of these things!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
It is always the same, you must agree!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
Nothing is ever the same,—nothing,—ever,—under the sun! And that
because of the sun!—For <i>She</i> changes everything!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
She—Who?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
Light, the universal goddess! That geranium planted by the farmer’s wife
is never twice the same red! And that old wooden shoe, spurting straw,
what a sight, what a beautiful sight! And the wooden comb hanging among
the farmer’s smocks, with the green hair of the sward caught in its
teeth! The pitchfork, stood in the corner, like a misbehaving child,
dozing as he stands and dreaming of the hay-fields! And the bowl and
skittles there,—the trim-waisted skittles, shapely maids, whose orderly
quadrilles Patou in his gambols clumsily upsets! The great worm-eaten
bowl whose curved expanse some ant is always crossing, travelling with
no less pride than famed explorers,—around her ball in 80
seconds!—Nothing, I tell you, is two instants quite the same!—And I ,
sweet lady, have been so susceptible ever, that a garden-rake in a
corner, a flower in a pot, cast me long since into a helpless ecstasy,
and that from gazing at a morning-glory I fell into the startled
admiration which has made my eye so round!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
[<i>Thoughtfully.</i>] One feels that you have a soul.—A soul then may find
wherewithal to grow, so far from life and its drama, shut in by a
farmyard wall with a cat asleep on it?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
With power to see, capacity to suffer, one may come to understand all
things. In an insect’s death are hinted all disasters. Through a
knot-hole can be seen the sky and marching stars!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Old Hen</span><br>
[<i>Appearing.</i>] None knows the heavens like the water in the well!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>Presenting her to the </i><span class="smcap">Pheasant-hen</span><i> before the basket-lid drops.</i>] My
foster-mother!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
[<i>Politely approaching.</i>] Delighted!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Old Hen</span><br>
[<i>Slyly winking at her.</i>] He’s a fine Cock!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
He is a Cock, moreover, for whom that fact is not the only thing in the
world!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>Who has gone toward</i> <span class="smcap">Patou</span>.] There, my dear boy, is a Hen with whom
one can have a bit of solid conversation.</p>



<hr class="x-ebookmaker-drop chap">
<div class="chapter">

<h3><span class="smcap">Scene Seventh</span></h3>
</div>
<p><span class="smcap">The Same</span>, <i>the</i> <span class="smcap">Guinea-hen</span>, <i>and the whole</i> <span class="smcap">Poultry-yard</span></p>

<p><i>Cries outside, nearer and nearer,</i> “Ah!—” <i>Enter all the</i> <span class="smcap">Hens</span> <i>in
tumult, preceded by the agitated</i> <span class="smcap">Guinea-hen</span>.</p>


<p><span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span><br>
[<i>In his cage.</i>] The next course will be Guinea-hen!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Guinea-hen</span><br>
[<i>Running to the</i> <span class="smcap">Pheasant-hen</span>.] Ah, my dear, my dear, my dear!—A
beauty, a very beauty!—We have come to make your acquaintance, my dear!</p>

<p>[<i>General admiration,</i> “Ah!—” <i>The</i> <span class="smcap">Pheasant-hen</span> <i>is surrounded.
Conversation, cries, clucking.</i>]</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>Watching the</i> <span class="smcap">Pheasant-hen</span>, <i>aside.</i>] How well she walks, with free
and graceful gait!—[<i>He looks at the</i> <span class="smcap">Hens</span>.] So differently from my
Hens! [<i>Irritably, to the</i> <span class="smcap">Hens</span>.] Ladies, you walk as if you had
blisters! You walk as if you trod on your own eggs!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Patou</span><br>
No mistaking the symptoms! He is very much in love.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Guinea-hen</span><br>
[<i>Presenting her son to the</i> <span class="smcap">Pheasant-hen</span>.] The Guinea-cock, my son.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Young Guinea-cock</span><br>
[<i>Looking admiringly at the</i> <span class="smcap">Pheasant-hen</span>.] What a jolly shade of blond!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">A Hen</span><br>
[<i>Disparagingly.</i>] Like butter!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>Turning, dryly to the</i> <span class="smcap">Hens</span>.] It is time you went indoors.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
[<i>Amiably.</i>] So soon?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
They retire early.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">A Hen</span><br>
[<i>A little mortified.</i>] Yes, we must turn in.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
They go in by a ladder!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Guinea-hen</span><br>
[<i>To the</i> <span class="smcap">Pheasant-hen</span>.] Let us be great friends, my dear, shall we?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>Looking at the</i> <span class="smcap">Pheasant-hen</span>, <i>aside.</i>] Her sumptuous court-dress sets
her apart from the rest, and removes her far above.—My Hens
are dowdies!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
[<i>To the</i> <span class="smcap">Guinea-hen</span>, <i>excusing herself.</i>] I return to my forest home
to-night.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Guinea-hen</span><br>
[<i>In excessive grief.</i>] So soon—? [<i>A shot in the distance.</i>]</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Patou</span><br>
They are still after game.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Guinea-hen</span><br>
You must stay.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>Eagerly.</i>] That’s it! Let us keep her a prisoner among us till
to-morrow.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Pheasant-hen</span><br>
But where can I spend the night?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Patou</span><br>
[<i>Indicating his kennel.</i>] There, in my bachelor’s quarters.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Pheasant-hen</span><br>
I ?—Sleep beneath a roof?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Patou</span><br>
[<i>Insisting.</i>] Go in, I pray.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
But you? What shall you do?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Patou</span><br>
I shall do very well!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
[<i>Resigning herself.</i>] I will stay then until to-morrow.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Guinea-hen</span><br>
[<i>With piercing cries.</i>] Ah! Ah! But to-morrow, my dear! to-morrow—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">All</span><br>
[<i>In alarm.</i>] What is it?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Young Guinea-cock</span><br>
To-morrow is my mother’s day!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Guinea-hen</span><br>
[<i>Impetuously.</i>] My dear, would you care to come to-morrow quite
informally, and take a simple snail with us? The Peacock—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>Mounting the ladder, from whence he can inspect the scene.</i>] Quiet, if
you please! Evening has blown its smoke across the sky—[<i>In a tone of
command.</i>] Is every one in his accustomed place?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Guinea-hen</span><br>
[<i>Lower, to the</i> <span class="smcap">Pheasant-hen</span>.] The Peacock is coming. We shall hold our
little gathering among the currant-bushes.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
Are the turkeys on their roost?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Guinea-hen</span><br>
[<i>Same business.</i>] From five to six.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
Are the ducks in their pointed house?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Guinea-hen</span><br>
[<i>Same business.</i>] The Tortoise has kindly said we may expect her.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Pheasant-hen</span><br>
Indeed?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>On the last rung of the ladder.</i>] Is every one under cover?—Every
chick under a wing?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Guinea-hen</span><br>
[<i>Still insisting with the</i> <span class="smcap">Pheasant-hen</span> <i>that she come on the morrow.</i>]
The Tufted Hen has promised to bring the Cock.—[<i>To</i> <span class="smcap">Chantecler</span>.]
Charmed, I am sure.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
But—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Tufted Hen</span><br>
[<i>Looking out of the hen-house.</i>] You will come, won’t you, dear?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
No.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
[<i>At the foot of the ladder, looking up at him.</i>] Oh, but you will?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
Why?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
Because you said “No!” to the other!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>Wavering.</i>] Ah!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Patou</span><br>
Humph! I beseech you—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>Still wavering.</i>] I —</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Patou</span><br>
Humph! He is weakening.—They will make him pay dear if he yields!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Old Hen</span><br>
[<i>Appearing.</i>] Make a reed into a pipe and play a tune upon it! [<i>The
basket-lid drops.</i>]</p>

<p>[<i>Night is thickening.</i>]</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>Still hesitating.</i>] I —</p>

<p><span class="smcap">A Voice</span><br>
Let us go to sleep—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Turkey</span><br>
[<i>On his roost, solemnly.</i>] <i>Quandoque dormitat</i>—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span><br>
[<i>In his cage.</i>] Dormittimus!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>Very firmly to the</i> <span class="smcap">Pheasant-hen</span>.] I will not go. Good night.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
[<i>Slightly offended.</i>] Good night! [<i>With a curt hop she enters the
dog-kennel.</i>]</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Patou</span><br>
[<i>Falling asleep, stretched in front of his kennel.</i>] Let us sleep until
the sky grows pink—pink as—as—a puppy’s tummy—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Guinea-hen</span><br>
[<i>Dropping off.</i>] From five to six—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span><br>
[<i>Likewise dropping off.</i>] Tew—tew—[<i>He nods.</i>] tew—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>Still at the top of the ladder.</i>] All sleeps.—[<i>He spies a</i> <span class="smcap">Chick</span>
<i>stealing out.</i>] Is that a chick I see?—[<i>Springing after him and
driving him in.</i>] Let me catch you!—[<i>In driving back the</i> <span class="smcap">Chick</span>, <i>he
finds himself near the kennel. He calls very softly.</i>] Pheasant-hen!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
[<i>Lost among the straw, sleepily.</i>] What do you want?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>After a moment’s hesitation.</i>] Nothing.—Nothing! [<i>He goes back to
the top of his ladder.</i>]</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
Shall I be able to sleep, I wonder—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Patou</span><br>
[<i>Falling sound asleep.</i>] A puppy’s tum—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
[<i>Indistinctly, overcome by slumber.</i>] To sleep under a roof?—I with
my gypsy tastes?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
I am going in. [<i>He disappears in the hen-house. He is heard saying in a
dreamy voice.</i>] It is time to shut my—my—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
[<i>In a last effort.</i>]—gyp—sy—tastes.—[<i>Her head nods and disappears
among the straw.</i>]</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>His voice, sleepier and fainter.</i>]—to shut my eyes—[<i>Silence. He
sleeps. Two green eyes are seen suddenly kindling at the top of
the wall.</i>]</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Cat</span><br>
And to open mine! [<i>Immediately two more yellow eyes shine forth from
the darkness above the hay-cock.</i>]</p>

<p><span class="smcap">A Voice</span><br>
And mine! [<i>Two more yellow eyes on the wall.</i>]</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Another Voice</span><br>
And mine! [<i>Two more yellow eyes.</i>]</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Another Voice</span><br>
And mine!</p>



<hr class="x-ebookmaker-drop chap">
<div class="chapter">

<h3><span class="smcap">Scene Eighth</span></h3>

<p><i>The</i> <span class="smcap">Poultry-yard</span> <i>asleep. The</i> <span class="smcap">Cat</span> <i>awake. Three</i> <span class="smcap">Screech-owls</span>,
<i>later the</i> <span class="smcap">Mole</span> <i>and the</i> <span class="smcap">Voice</span> <i>of the</i> <span class="smcap">Cuckoo</span>.</p>

</div>
<p><span class="smcap">First Voice</span><br>
Two green eyes?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Cat</span><br>
[<i>Sitting up on the wall, and looking at the other phosphorescent
eyes.</i>] Six golden eyes?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">First Voice</span><br>
On the wall?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Cat</span><br>
On the rick?—[<i>He calls.</i>] Owls!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Owls</span><br>
Cat!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span><br>
[<i>Waking up.</i>] What’s this?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Screech-owl</span><br>
[<i>To the</i> <span class="smcap">Cat</span>.] Great plot against him!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Cat</span><br>
To-night?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Three Owls</span><br>
To-night, too-whit!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Cat</span><br>
Pfitt!—Where?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Owls</span><br>
The hollies, too-whoo!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Cat</span><br>
What o’clock?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Owls</span><br>
Eight, too-whit! too-whoo!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">First Owl</span><br>
Bats weaving soft black snares of flight—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Cat</span><br>
Are they with us?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Three Owls</span><br>
They are!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">First Owl</span><br>
Mole, burrowing from nether to upper night—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Cat</span><br>
Is she with us?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Three Owls</span><br>
She is!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Cat</span><br>
[<i>Talking toward the house-door.</i>] You, strike your eight strokes
bravely, Cuckoo of the little clock!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Screech-owl</span><br>
Is he with us?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Cat</span><br>
He is!—And I am pleased to tell you, silent night-watchers that some of
the day-birds are likewise with us.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Turkey</span><br>
[<i>Coming forward surrounded by a number of the barnyard constituents,
obsequiously.</i>] So it is settled for this evening, dear Round Eyes? You
will be there?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Owls</span><br>
We will be there! All the Round Eyes of the neighbourhood will be there!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span><br>
That’s a show I d like to see!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Patou</span><br>
[<i>In his sleep.</i>] Grrrrrrr—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Cat</span><br>
[<i>To the startled</i> <span class="smcap">Night-birds</span>.] The dog is dreaming.—He growls in his
sleep.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>Inside the hen-house.</i>] Coa—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Owls</span><br>
[<i>Frightened.</i>] Himself!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Turkey</span><br>
Fly!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">First Owl</span><br>
No need. The night is dark. We can vanish by merely closing our eyes.
[<i>They shut their luminous eyes. Darkness.</i> <span class="smcap">Chantecler</span> <i>appears at the
top of the ladder.</i>]</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>To the</i> <span class="smcap">Blackbird</span>.] Did you hear anything, Blackbird?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span><br>
I did, indeed, old chap.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Owls</span><br>
[<i>Frightened.</i>] What’s this?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span><br>
A black conspiracy—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
Ah?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span><br>
[<i>With melodramatic emphasis.</i>] Against you!—Tremble!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>Going in again, unalarmed.</i>] Joker!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Owls</span><br>
He has gone in.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span><br>
I have betrayed no one!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">An Owl</span><br>
The Blackbird then is with us?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span><br>
No—but may I come and look on?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">An Owl</span><br>
A Night-bird never eats a black bird. You can come.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span><br>
The password?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Owl</span><br>
Terror and Talons!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
[<i>Putting her head out of the dog-kennel.</i>] I can’t breathe in that
stifling, low-roofed little house, and—[<i>Catching sight of the</i>
<span class="smcap">Night-birds</span>.] Oh!—[<i>She darts aside, behind the kennel, and watches.</i>]</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Owls</span><br>
Hush! [<i>They close their eyes.</i> <span class="smcap">The Cat</span> <i>does the same. After a time,
hearing no further sound, they open them again.</i>] It was nothing. Let
us be off.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Group of the Disaffected</span><br>
[<i>With fawning obsequiousness to the</i> <span class="smcap">Night-birds</span>.] Success to you,
Owls,—success!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Owl</span><br>
Thanks! But how is it that you are with us?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Cat</span><br>
Ah, night brings out what daylight will not own to! I do not like the
Cock because the Dog does.—There you have it!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Turkey</span><br>
I do not like him, for the reason that having known him as a Chick I
cannot admit him as a Cock!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">A Duck</span><br>
I do not like the Cock because, not being web-footed, he marks his
passage by a track of stars!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">A Chicken</span><br>
I do not like the Cock because I m such a homely bird!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Another Chicken</span><br>
I do not like the Cock because he has his picture painted in purple on
all the plates!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Another Chicken</span><br>
I do not like the Cock because on all the steeples he has his statue in
gilt-bronze!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">An Owl</span><br>
[<i>To a big overgrown</i> <span class="smcap">Chicken</span>.] Well, well!—And you, Capon?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Capon</span><br>
[<i>Dryly.</i>] I do not like the Cock!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Cuckoo</span><br>
[<i>Beginning to strike eight inside the house.</i>] Cuckoo!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">First Owl</span><br>
The hour!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Cuckoo</span><br>
Cuckoo!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Second Owl</span><br>
Let us go!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Cuckoo</span><br>
Cuckoo!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">First Owl</span><br>
The moon!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Cuckoo</span><br>
Cuckoo!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">First Owl</span><br>
Silently cleave the blue air—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Cuckoo</span><br>
Cuckoo!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Mole</span><br>
[<i>Suddenly pushing up through the ground.</i>]—the dark earth!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">First Owl</span><br>
There comes the Mole!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Cuckoo</span><br>
Cuckoo!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">First Owl</span><br>
[<i>To the</i> <span class="smcap">Mole</span>.] And you, why do you hate him?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Mole</span><br>
I hate him because I have never seen him!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Cuckoo</span><br>
Cuckoo!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">First Owl</span><br>
And you, Cuckoo, do you know why you hate him?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Cuckoo</span><br>
[<i>On the last stroke.</i>] Because he does not have to be wound up! Cuckoo!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">First Owl</span><br>
And we do not love—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Second Owl</span><br>
[<i>Hurriedly.</i>] We are keeping the others waiting—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">All</span><br>
—the Cock, because—[<i>They fly off. Silence.</i>]</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
[<i>Coming slowly from behind the kennel.</i>] I am beginning to love him!</p>

<p class="center p2"><span class="smcap">Curtain</span></p>


<hr class="x-ebookmaker-drop chap">
<div class="chapter">


<h2><span class="smcap">Act Second</span><br>

<span class="small"><span class="smcap">The Morning of the Cock</span></span></h2>

<p class="center"><i>Wild hillside, moss-grown and ferny, overlooking a valley with
scattered villages and winding river. Ruined wall, fragment of some
vanished terrace. Gigantic chestnut tree, rank hollies and foxgloves.
Litter suggesting neglected corner of a park: gardening implements lying
on the ground, fagots, broken flower-pots.</i></p>


</div>
<hr class="x-ebookmaker-drop chap">
<div class="chapter">

<h3><span class="smcap">Scene First</span></h3>
</div>
<p><i>The</i> <span class="smcap">Night-birds</span>, <i>of all sorts and sizes, form a great circle,
perching in tiers on the branches, the briers, the stones; the</i> <span class="smcap">Cat</span>
<i>crouches in the grass; the</i> <span class="smcap">Blackbird</span> <i>hops hither and thither on
a fagot.</i></p>

<p><i>At the rise of the curtain the</i> <span class="smcap">Night-birds</span> <i>are discovered,
motionless, black shapes with closed eyes. The</i> <span class="smcap">Grand Duke</span> <i>is perched
upon a tree branch above the rest. The</i> <span class="smcap">Screech-owl’s</span> <i>phosphorescent
eyes alone are wide open. He proceeds with the roll-call, and at every
name two great round eyes brighten in the dark.</i></p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Screech-owl</span><br>
[<i>Calling.</i>] Strix! [<i>Two eyes light up.</i>] Scops! [<i>Two more eyes light
up.</i>] Grand-Duke! [<i>Two more eyes.</i>] Metascops! [<i>Two more eyes.</i>]
Minor! [<i>Two more eyes.</i>]</p>

<p><span class="smcap">One Night-bird</span><br>
[<i>To the other.</i>] The Great Bubo presides.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Screech-owl</span><br>
[<i>Calling.</i>] Owl of the Wall! Of the Belfry! Of the Cloister! Of the
Yew! [<i>At every name two more eyes have opened wide.</i>]</p>

<p><span class="smcap">A Night-bird</span><br>
[<i>To another just arriving.</i>] The roll is called!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Other</span><br>
I know. All there is to do is to open our eyes.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Screech-owl</span><br>
Asio! Nictea! Nyctalis! [<i>Three more pairs of eyes have opened.</i>]
Brachyotus! [<i>No eye opening at the name, he repeats.</i>] Brachyotus!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">One of the Night-birds</span><br>
He will be here directly. He stopped to eat a linnet.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Brachyotus</span><br>
[<i>Arriving.</i>] Present!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Screech-owl</span><br>
Not one of them would miss, when the meeting relates to the Cock!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Brachyotus</span><br>
Not one!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Screech-owl</span><br>
Carine! [<i>Two eyes open.</i>] Caparacoch! [<i>No eye opening, he repeats
emphatically.</i>] Ca-pa-ra-coch!—Well?—Well?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Caparacoch</span><br>
[<i>Arriving out of breath, opens his eyes, faltering an excuse. </i>] I live
a long way off!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Screech-owl</span><br>
[<i>Dryly.</i>] You should have started the earlier! [<i>Looking around.</i>] We
are all present, I believe. [<i>Calling.</i>] Flammeolus! And Flammeoline!
[<i>All the eyes are now open.</i>]</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Grand-duke</span><br>
[<i>Solemnly.</i>] Before beginning, let us give, but not too loud, the cry
which makes us all as one!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">All</span><br>
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Long live the Night!</span><br>

<p><i>And in a weird, savage, hurried chorus, interspersed with hoots and
flapping of wings, all talking together and rocking themselves in
hideous glee.</i></p>


<p><span class="smcap">The Grand-duke</span><br>
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Praise the Night, discreet, propitious,</span><br>
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When with wadded wing and muted</span><br>
<span style="margin-left: 2em;">O er the sleeping world we fly,</span><br>
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the partridge in the bracken</span><br>
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ne’er suspects the hovering presence</span><br>
<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Till we pounce without a cry.</span><br>

<p><span class="smcap">The Screech-owl</span><br>
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Praise the Night, convenient, secret,</span><br>
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When in slaughtering baby rabbits</span><br>
<span style="margin-left: 2em;">We can do it at our ease,</span><br>
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Daub the grass with blood in comfort,</span><br>
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Spare the pains to look like heroes,</span><br>
<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Be ourselves where no one sees!</span><br>

<p><span class="smcap">An Old Horned-owl</span><br>
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Praise the density of darkness!</span><br>

<p><span class="smcap">A Wood-owl</span><br>
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The intensity of stillness</span><br>
<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Letting crunching bones be heard!</span><br>

<p><span class="smcap">A Barn-owl</span><br>
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Freshness pleasantly contrasting</span><br>
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With the genial warmth of blood drops</span><br>
<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Spurting from a strangled bird!</span><br>

<p><span class="smcap">The Wood-owl</span><br>
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Praise the black rock oozing terror!</span><br>

<p><span class="smcap">The Screech-owl</span><br>
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the cross-roads where our screeches,</span><br>
<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Furrowing the startled air,</span><br>
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Our demoniac yelling, hooting,</span><br>
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Make the hardened unbeliever</span><br>
<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Cross himself and fall to prayer!</span><br>

<p><span class="smcap">The Grand-duke</span><br>
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Praise the snares of the great Weaver,</span><br>
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Night, whose only fault or weakness</span><br>
<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Is her tolerance of stars!</span><br>

<p><span class="smcap">The Screech-owl</span><br>
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For spectators are not wanted</span><br>
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">At the work of plucking fledglings—</span><br>
<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Be they Jupiter and Mars!</span><br>

<p><span class="smcap">The Grand-duke</span><br>
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Praise the Night, when we take vengeance</span><br>
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">On the goldfinch for his beauty,</span><br>
<span style="margin-left: 2em;">On the titmouse for his grace!</span><br>
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When the darkness takes possession</span><br>
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Let them tremble, those confiding</span><br>
<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Hostages of Day’s!</span><br>

<p><span class="smcap">The Wood-owl</span><br>
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For there is a choice in murder!</span><br>

<p><span class="smcap">The Grand-duke</span><br>
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the inkier the blackness</span><br>
<span style="margin-left: 2em;">All the clearer do we see</span><br>
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To select the whitest pigeon</span><br>
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In the dove-cote, and the bluest</span><br>
<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Blue jay on the shuddering tree!</span><br>

<p><span class="smcap">The Barn-owl</span><br>
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Praise the hour and taste and relish</span><br>
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of the eggs we suck, destroying</span><br>
<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Hopes of many a haughty line!</span><br>

<p><span class="smcap">The Screech-owl</span><br>
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the councils where in whispers</span><br>
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">We prepare what shall resemble</span><br>
<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Accidents by every sign!</span><br>

<p><span class="smcap">The Grand-duke</span><br>
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Praise the shadow’s grim suggestions!</span><br>
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The advantage over others</span><br>
<span style="margin-left: 2em;">We inherit through their fright!</span><br>

<p><span class="smcap">The Screech-owl</span><br>
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For our grisly cachinnations</span><br>
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Give the very eagle goose-flesh—</span><br>

<p><span class="smcap">All Together</span><br>
<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Praise our patroness, the Night!</span><br>

<p><span class="smcap">The Grand-duke</span><br>
And now let the Screech-Owl in his russet robe take the floor.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Several Voices</span><br>
Silence!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span><br>
[<i>On his fagot.</i>] What an awf’ly lovely evening party!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Screech-owl</span><br>
[<i>Oratorically.</i>] Brethren of the Night—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Grand-duke</span><br>
[<i>To the</i> <span class="smcap">Owl</span> <i>next to him.</i>] The meeting-place seems to me particularly
well chosen. The blackest spot, the moldiest tree. To the right, old
postherds. To the left, in the dark between the hollies—the view!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Screech-owl</span><br>
Brethren of the Night!—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">An Owl</span><br>
There comes the Mole!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Several Voices</span><br>
Silence!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Owl</span><br>
She must have taken, to come here, a route below the roots of the
daisies—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span><br>
The subway, what else?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Grand-duke</span><br>
[<i>To his neighbor.</i>] Is that the Blackbird?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span><br>
[<i>Coming forward.</i>] Yes, your Grace. And the two agate balls over there
are the Cat.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Grand-duke</span><br>
I can hear him licking his paws.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Screech-owl</span><br>
[<i>Resuming.</i>] Brethren of the Night! Inasmuch as everybody here—and we
plume ourselves upon it!—is possessed of the evil eye—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">All the Birds</span><br>
[<i>Chuckling and rocking in their peculiarly disgusting and
characteristic fashion.</i>] Ha, ha!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Grand-duke</span><br>
[<i>Spreading his wings to demand silence.</i>] Hush! [<i>All return to their
appalling stillness.</i>]</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span><br>
My eye is merely roguish. I am here to look on, you know, without taking
sides,—in the artist spirit, that’s all.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">An Owl</span><br>
If you are not taking sides, then you are siding with us!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span><br>
Oh, I say, what a primitive notion!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Screech-owl</span><br>
[<i>Completing his sentence.</i>] Let us express ourselves with simple and
direct malevolence: the Cock is a robber!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">All</span><br>
A robber! He robs us!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span><br>
Now, what the—Robs you of what?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Grand-duke</span><br>
Of health! Gladness!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span><br>
How is that?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Screech-owl</span><br>
By his crowing!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Grand-duke</span><br>
His crowing brings on enlargement of the spleen and pericarditis! For it
heralds—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span><br>
[<i>Hopping about.</i>] Oh, I see—The light!</p>

<p>[<i>All make a violent motion in his direction; the</i> <span class="smcap">Blackbird</span>
<i>frightened, hides among the fagots.</i>]</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Grand-duke</span><br>
[<i>Emphatically.</i>] Never speak that word! When that word is spoken, Night
at the horizon feels a crawling discomfort, a titillation underneath
her wing.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span><br>
[<i>Cautiously correcting himself.</i>] The brightness of—[<i>General start
of dismay repeated; the</i> <span class="smcap">Blackbird</span> <i>again dodges behind the fagots.</i>]</p>

<p><span class="smcap">An Owl</span><br>
[<i>Hurriedly.</i>] Never utter that horrible grating word, which so
hatefully suggests the scratching of a match!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Screech-owl</span><br>
You should express yourself: The Cock heralds the folding back of the
pall—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span><br>
But the day—[<i>Start and threatening gesture from all.</i>]</p>

<p><span class="smcap">All</span><br>
[<i>In voices of unspeakable anguish.</i>] Not that word!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Grand-duke</span><br>
You must refer to it as “that which will be!”</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span><br>
What difference does it make whether or not he heralds the—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">All</span><br>
[<i>Stopping him.</i>] Ha!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span><br>
—the folding back of the pall, since that which will be—will be!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Grand-duke</span><br>
[<i>In tones of despair.</i>] Simple torture it is to hear a brazen throat
forever reminding you of what you know to be only too true!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">All</span><br>
[<i>Writhing in pain.</i>] Too true! Too true!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Grand-duke</span><br>
He begins while the night is still pleasant and cool—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Cries on All Sides</span><br>
He is a robber, a thief!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Grand-duke</span><br>
He cheats us!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">All the Owls</span><br>
He cheats us! Cheats us!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Grand-duke</span><br>
Of the good bit of night there still is left.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">An Owlet</span><br>
He compels us to leave our posts beside the warrens—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Screech-owl</span><br>
Our feasts of steaming flesh!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Wood-owl</span><br>
The witches’ routs where we ride perched on the fist of a hag!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Grand-duke</span><br>
After cock-crow an Owl is no longer in his normal state—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Screech-owl</span><br>
He does evil in a hurry!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Grand-duke</span><br>
And bungles it in consequence!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Old Horned-owl</span><br>
As soon as the Cock has crowed all becomes temporary provisional—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Barn-owl</span><br>
Though the Night be still black, we are painfully aware of it growing
less and less black!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Screech-owl</span><br>
When his metallic voice has cleft the night, we squirm like a worm in a
fruit that is cut in two.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span><br>
[<i>On his fagot, mystified.</i>] The other Cocks, however—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Grand-duke</span><br>
Their song creates no uneasiness. It is his song which must be silenced.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">All the Night-birds</span><br>
[<i>Flapping their wings, in a long lament.</i>] Silenced! Silenced!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">An Owl</span><br>
How can it be accomplished?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Screech-owl</span><br>
The Blackbird here has worked in our cause.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span><br>
Who—I ?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Screech-owl</span><br>
Yes, you laughed at him.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">All</span><br>
[<i>Cackling.</i>] Ha, ha!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Grand-duke</span><br>
[<i>Spreading his wings.</i>] Hush! [<i>They resume their sinister stillness.</i>]</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Screech-owl</span><br>
But his song has not acted any the less directly on our gall-bladders
for the fun that has been made of him. He has grown stronger than ever
since he was found ridiculous.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">All</span><br>
What shall we do?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Screech-owl</span><br>
The Peacock, that great booby—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">All</span><br>
[<i>Cackling and rocking.</i>] Ha, ha!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Grand-duke</span><br>
[<i>Opening his wings.</i>] Hush! [<i>All instantly motionless.</i>]</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Screech-owl</span><br>
Through the Peacock, likewise working in our cause, the Cock came out of
fashion. But his song is just as inconvenient, in fashion or out of it.
He is all the more proudly uncompromising for no longer being in style.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">All</span><br>
What shall we do?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">An Owl</span><br>
Cut his throat!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Cries</span><br>
Death to the Cock!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">An Owl</span><br>
Death to that aristocrat posing as a democrat and socialist!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Another</span><br>
With spurs on his heels, but a liberty cap on his head!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Grand-duke</span><br>
Night-birds all, arise!</p>

<p>[<span class="smcap">All</span>, <i>arising with outspread wings and glaring eyes, increase
enormously in size. The night appears doubly dark.</i>]</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span><br>
[<i>With unabated lightness.</i>] Midnight to the fore!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Screech-owl</span><br>
Kill him! But how can we, when our eyes cease to see the moment he comes
out?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">All</span><br>
[<i>Wailing like an ancient chorus.</i>] Woe!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Old Horned-owl</span><br>
[<i>Craftily.</i>] How kill—from afar?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Grand-duke</span><br>
By means of what secret spring?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">A Voice</span><br>
[<i>From the tree.</i>] Duke, may I lay a plan before the assembly?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Grand-duke</span><br>
Scops! Let us hear!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">All</span><br>
[<i>At sight of a small</i> <span class="smcap">Owl</span> <i>dropping from a bough, and coming forward
with tiny hops.</i>] Scops, dear little Scops!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Scops</span><br>
[<i>Bowing before the</i> <span class="smcap">Grand-duke</span>.] You are aware, mighty
Blind-by-day-and-seer-by-night, that in pleasant gardens up yonder hill
a breeder of birds—termed aviculturist, raises for exhibitions—termed
agricultural, the most magnificent Cocks of the most extraordinary
varieties. Now, that great discoverer of rare birds, the Peacock, who,
possessing a voice which pierces the ear-drum cannot abide a voice which
pierces the darkness—the Peacock, whose specialty it is to confer
celebrity upon every strange beast—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Grand-duke</span><br>
[<i>To his neighbour.</i>] From every strange region!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Scops</span><br>
Cherishes the dream of presenting these same Cocks to-morrow, in the
kitchen garden, at the—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">All Together</span><br>
[<i>Laughing.</i>] Guinea-hen’s!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Scops</span><br>
And launching among her set these Birds whose glory will be the
finishing blow to the glory of Chantecler.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span><br>
Flatten him out like a pan cake!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Screech Owl</span><br>
But those Cocks are always locked in!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Scops</span><br>
I am coming to that. This evening, when a maid, having entered their
wire-netted close, was scattering corn in a golden shower, I started up
suddenly from the hollow of a pollard willow, and the girl—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">An Owl</span><br>
[<i>To his neighbour.</i>] What a bright mind, our little Scops!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Scops</span><br>
At sight of the ill-omened bird—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">All</span><br>
[<i>Cackling and rocking.</i>] Ha, ha!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Grand-duke</span><br>
[<i>Spreading his wings.</i>] Hush! [<i>All suddenly still.</i>]</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Scops</span><br>
Fled, with one arm across her eyes! The cage was left open, and the
whole fantastic host will meet Chantecler to-morrow at the—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">All</span><br>
[<i>With peals of laughter.</i>] Guinea-hen’s!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span><br>
He is not going. He has refused.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Scops</span><br>
The devil!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Cat</span><br>
[<i>Quietly.</i>] Go on, Scops. He will be there.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span><br>
[<i>Looking at him from a distance.</i>] What do you know about it, pocket
panther?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Cat</span><br>
I saw a Pheasant-hen exciting his admiration, and I saw that he would
go.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span><br>
It’s when you’re sound asleep that you see everything!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Grand-duke</span><br>
[<i>To</i> <span class="smcap">Scops</span>.] Very well, then, let us suppose him going.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Scops</span><br>
Chantecler, for all his fame, has retained his bluff country squire’s
frankness. When he sees this—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span><br>
[<i>Prompting.</i>] Tea-fight—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Scops</span><br>
And the contortions of those—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span><br>
[<i>Same business.</i>] Snobs—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Scops</span><br>
In the presence of those—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span><br>
[<i>Same business.</i>] Big guns—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Scops</span><br>
He is sure to say things which they are equally sure to take up.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Grand-duke</span><br>
[<i>Thrilled.</i>] And do you believe that a cock-fight—?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Scops</span><br>
Such is my fond hope.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Cat</span><br>
But listen, Scops. Suppose Chantecler should win?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Scops</span><br>
Know, Angora, that there will be among those fancy cocks a genuine
game-cock, lean, with tawny wing, the same who—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span><br>
[<i>Seeing the</i> <span class="smcap">Owls</span> <i>puff out their feathers for joy.</i>] Sensation among
the audience!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Scops</span><br>
The same who has defeated the most famous champions—the White Pile.
And as this victor in Flemish and English encounters wears at his heels,
for the defter dispatching of his enemy, two razors fastened there by
the ingenuity of man, by tomorrow night Chantecler will be dead, and his
eyes picked out of their sockets.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Screech-owl</span><br>
[<i>Enthusiastically.</i>] We will go and gloat over his corpse!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Grand-duke</span><br>
[<i>Risen to his full height, formidable.</i>] And his comb, which looked
above his forehead like an incarnate bit of scarlet dawn, we will take
his comb,—our dearest dream at length fulfilled!—and we will eat it!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">All</span><br>
[<i>With a yell, which ends in their ferocious cackling and rocking.</i>] And
we will eat it,—eat it, ha, ha!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Grand-duke</span><br>
[<i>Spreading his wings.</i>] Hush! [<i>Dead silence.</i>]</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Scops</span><br>
And after that—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span><br>
[<i>Hopping.</i>] It’s quite a tidy proposition as it stands—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Scops</span><br>
What?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span><br>
Your scheme! By Jingo, if I were the sort of bird to take things
solemnly, I would go straight to the Cock and tell him. But I will do
nothing of the sort. [<i>He concludes, with four little hops.</i>] For I
know—that all this—will turn out—beautifully!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Scops</span><br>
[<i>Ironically.</i>] Beautifully indeed! [<i>He continues in growing
excitement.</i>] And after that, if those absurd Cocks of far-fetched
breeds have not by to-morrow evening gone back to their cages, we will
eat them all, no longer good for anything!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Grand-duke</span><br>
[<i>In his neighbour’s ear.</i>] And after that we will eat the Blackbird for
dessert.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span><br>
[<i>Who has not caught the last sentence.</i>] What did he say?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Scops</span><br>
[<i>Quickly.</i>] Nothing! [<i>In a still increasing frenzy of glee.</i>] And
after that—</p>

<p>[<i>In the distance: Cock-a-doodle-doo! Instant silence. </i><span class="smcap">Scops</span> <i>stops
short and collapses, as if mown down. All the puffed </i><span class="smcap">Owls</span> <i>appear
suddenly to have grown thin.</i>]</p>

<p><span class="smcap">All</span><br>
[<i>Looking at one another and blinking.</i>] What is it? What was that?
[<i>They hastily spread their wings and call to one another for flight.</i>]
Grand-Duke! Minor! Minimus!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span><br>
[<i>Hopping from one to the other.</i>] Going? So soon? Why, what’s your
hurry?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Voice</span><br>
[<i>Of one of the</i> <span class="smcap">Night-birds</span> <i>calling to another.</i>] Nyctalis!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span><br>
It’s hours before daybreak. Oceans of time, you have!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">An Owl</span><br>
Asio, are you coming?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Another Owl</span><br>
[<i>Calling.</i>] Nictea!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Another</span><br>
[<i>Fluttering up to him.</i>] Yes, my dear! [<i>They all stagger and trip over
their wings.</i>]</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span><br>
What makes them stumble?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Night-birds</span><br>
[<i>Winking and blinking with marked evidences of pain.</i>] Oh, how it
hurts! Ow! Ow!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span><br>
Lightning opthalmia, I declare! [<i>One by one the</i> <span class="smcap">Owls</span> <i>fly off.</i>]</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Grand-duke</span><br>
[<i>The last to go, spins on himself with a cry of pain and rage.</i>] How
does he contrive, that pernicious Cock, to have a voice that fairly puts
out your eyes! [<i>He heavily flaps off.</i>]</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Voices of the Night-birds</span><br>
[<i>In the distance.</i>] Strix!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span><br>
[<i>Looking after them among the branches, and later in the blue space
over the valley.</i>] They are calling one another!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Voice in the Distance</span><br>
Scops!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span><br>
[<i>Bending over the valley, where the dark wings are dwindling and
fading.</i>] They wheel—waver—dip—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Voices</span><br>
[<i>Dying in the distance.</i>] Owl of the Wall! Of the Belfry! Of the Yew!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span><br>
Gone! [<i>He looks about, gives a hop, and with an immediate return to
levity.</i>] But it’s supper-time.—Now for a bite of cold grasshopper!
[<i>The</i> <span class="smcap">Pheasant-hen</span> <i>suddenly flies over the brushwood tangle, dropping
beside him.</i>] You!</p>



<hr class="x-ebookmaker-drop chap">
<div class="chapter">

<h3><span class="smcap">Scene Second</span></h3>
</div>
<p><span class="smcap">The Blackbird, the Pheasant-hen</span>, <i>later</i> <span class="smcap">Chantecler</span></p>


<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
[<i>Panting, tragically earnest.</i>] I ran all the way.—You were
there.—Oh, I am half dead with terror!—Well you must have overheard
their dreadful secret! You, his friend!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span><br>
[<i>Cheerfully rummaging among the moss.</i>] Or the thigh of a katydid will
do.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
I was watching from a distance. I crouched in a ditch—[<i>In an anguished
voice.</i>] Well?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span><br>
[<i>In genuine surprise.</i>] Well, what?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
Their conspiracy—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span><br>
[<i>Calmly.</i>] It all went off very nicely.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
What do you mean?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span><br>
The shadow was a correct and appropriate blue, and the Owls said
perfectly characteristic things.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
[<i>In wild alarm.</i>] Heavens, they plotted his death?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span><br>
His decease, which is not nearly so bad.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
But—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span><br>
Don’t smite your brow! In spite of the Screech-Owl’s grave and
self-important tone, I shouldn’t wonder if it all amounted to
very little.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
Those Owls—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span><br>
Are good enough in their various parts, but it’s the old excessive style
of acting.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
I beg your pardon?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span><br>
Back numbers!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
Oh?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span><br>
They have eyelashes, fancy, all the way round their eyes! It’s too much
of a good thing, really.—And that black plot, those desperately dark
designs, all that belongs to the year one; you can see moss growing
on its back!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
[<i>Fluttering hither and thither feverishly.</i>] I am never quite sure of
understanding when a person is talking in fun.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span><br>
[<i>Winking at her.</i>] No flies on your acting!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
Surely you wouldn’t be laughing if he were in danger? Those ruffians—?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span><br>
Prattlers! Wooden Swords! Knights of Hot Air!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
But Scops—?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span><br>
A stuffed Owl!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
And the Great Bubo—?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span><br>
Just two ten-candle-power lamps, to be turned on and off with a
switch,—crick-crack! And Flammeolus, two lamps likewise—but acetylene!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
[<i>Bewildered by his imagery.</i>] And so—?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span><br>
No, trembling Gypsy, there’s not enough in this great plot to choke a
flea withal!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
Truly? I have been so horribly afraid—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span><br>
Fear, I warn you, lovely Zingara, leads to dyspepsia! It’s because he
keeps his eye closed and buried in the sand that the ostrich has
preserved his famous digestion!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
So it might seem.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span><br>
We have in these latter days bowed Tragedy respectfully out of the
house!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
But had we not best warn Chantecler, so that—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span><br>
He would go instantly and challenge them. And then such a whetting of
steel!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
You are right. So he would.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span><br>
On your principle, mad Gitana, an oak-gall could be made into a world.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
You have much good sense.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span><br>
Daughter of the forest, I have.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler’s Voice</span><br>
[<i>Outside.</i>] Coa—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
Chantecler!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>Approaching on the left, between the hollies, calls from afar.</i>] Who
is there?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
It is I !</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>Still from a distance.</i>] Alone?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
[<i>With a significant look at the</i> <span class="smcap">Blackbird</span>.] Yes, alone.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span><br>
[<i>Understanding.</i>] I vanish—I am off to supper.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
[<i>Low to the</i> <span class="smcap">Blackbird</span>.] And so—?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span><br>
[<i>Motioning her to be silent.</i>] Keep it dark! [<i>As he is leaving, by the
right, in the manner of one giving an order to a waiter.</i>] Earwigs
for one!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
[<i>Low.</i>] It is wiser, you think, not to tell him?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span><br>
[<i>Before disappearing among the flower-pots.</i>] Well, rather!</p>



<hr class="x-ebookmaker-drop chap">
<div class="chapter">

<h3><span class="smcap">Scene Third</span></h3>
</div>
<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen, Chantecler</span>.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>Who has reached the</i> <span class="smcap">Pheasant-hen’s</span> <i>side.</i>] Out so early?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
To see the daybreak.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>With repressed emotion.</i>] Ah—?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
[<i>Teasingly.</i>] What troubles you?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
I have had a wretched night.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
So sorry! [<i>A pause.</i>]</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
Are you going to the Guinea-hen’s?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
I stayed over solely for that purpose.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
Ah, yes, I know. [<i>A pause.</i>] I dislike her extremely.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
Come to her party.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
No.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
As you please. Then we may as well say good-bye.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
No.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
Come to the Guinea-hen’s. We shall have a chance to see something of
each other there.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
No.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
You are determined not to come?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
I am coming—but I hate it.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
Why?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
It is weak.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
No, no! That is no great sign of weakness!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
Ah—?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
[<i>Softly, coming closer to him.</i>] What would be showing a sweet,
delightful, and fully masculine weakness—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>In alarm at her approach.</i>] What?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
Would be to tell me your secret. Oh, just a wee bit!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>With a start.</i>] The secret of my song?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
Yes.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
Golden Hen, my secret—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
[<i>Coaxingly.</i>] Often from the edge of the woods I hear you in the first
golden glimmer of day—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>Flattered.</i>] My song has reached your shapely little ear?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
It has!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>Abruptly, moving away from her.</i>] My secret—Never!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
You are not very gallant!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
No—I am full of conflict and misery.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
[<i>Languidly reciting.</i>] The Cock and the Pheasant-hen a Fable—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>Half aloud.</i>] A Cock loved a Pheasant-hen—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
And would not tell her anything—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
Moral—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
It was horrid of him!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>Pressing close to her.</i>] Moral: Your dress has the fascinating rustle
of silk!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
Moral: I dislike familiarity! [<i>Withdrawing from him.</i>] Go home to your
Hen of the plebeian petticoat!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>Stamping.</i>] I shall be angry!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
No, no, don’t be angry—Say “Coa—” [<i>They stand bill to bill.</i>]</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>Angrily.</i>] Coa—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
No, no! Say it nicely—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>In a long, tender coo.</i>] Coa—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
Look at me without laughing. Your secret—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
Well?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
You are dying to tell it to me!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
Yes, I feel that I shall tell, and I know I shall do ill in telling. And
it’s all because of the gold on her dainty little head! [<i>Going
brusquely nearer to her.</i>] Shall you prove worthy, at least, of having
been chosen? Is your breast true red to the core?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
Now tell me!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
Look at me, Pheasant-hen, and try, if indeed it be possible, try to
recognise, by yourself, sign by sign, the vocation of which my body is
the symbol. Guess, to begin with, at my destiny from my shape, and see
how, curved like a sort of living hunting-horn, I am as much formed for
sound to turn and gain volume within me, as the wild duck is formed to
swim!—Wait!—Mark the fact that, impatient and proud, scratching up the
earth with my claws, I appear always to be seeking something in
the soil—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
You are seeking for grains of corn, seeds, I suppose.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
Never! I have never looked for such things. I find them occasionally,
into the bargain, but disdainfully I give them to my Hens.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
Well, then, in your perpetual scratching, what is it you are looking
for?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
The right spot! For always before singing I carefully choose my stand.
Pray, observe—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
True, and then you ruffle your feathers.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
I never start to sing until my eight claws, after clearing a space of
weeds and stones, have found the soft, dark turf underneath. Then,
placed in direct contact with the good earth, I sing!—And that is
already half the mystery, Pheasant-hen, half the mystery of my song,
which is not of those songs one sings after composing them, but is
received straight from the native soil, like sap! And the time above all
when that sap arises in me,—the hour, briefly, in which I have genius,
in which I can never doubt I have!—is the hour when dawn falters on the
boundaries of the dark sky. Then, filled with the same quivering as
leaves and grass, thrilled to the very tips of my wing quills, I feel
myself a chosen instrument. I accentuate my curve of a hunting-horn,
Earth speaks in me as in a conch, and ceasing to be an ordinary bird, I
become the mouthpiece, in some sort official, through which the cry of
the earth escapes toward the sky!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
Chantecler!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
And that cry which rises from the earth, that cry is such a cry of love
for the light, is such a deep and frenzied cry of love for the golden
thing we call the Day, and that all thirst to feel again: the pine on
its bark, the tortuous roots in woodland paths on their mosses, the
feather-grass on each delicate spray, the tiniest pebble in its tiniest
mica flake; it is so wonderfully the cry of all that misses and mourns
its colour, its reflection, its flame, its coronet, its pearl; the
beseeching cry of the dew-washed meadow begging for a wee rainbow at
every grass-tip, of the forest begging a burst of fire at the end of
each gloomy avenue; that cry which mounts to the sky through me is so
greatly the cry of all that feels itself in disgrace, plunged in a
sunless pit, deprived of light without knowing for what offence; is the
cry of cold, the cry of fear, the cry of weariness, of all that night
disables or disarms; the rose shivering alone in the dark, the hay
wanting to be dried and go to the mow, the sickle forgotten out of doors
by the reaper and fearing it will rust in the grass, the white things
dismayed at not looking white; is so greatly the cry of the innocent
among beasts, who have nothing to conceal, of the brook fain to show its
crystal clearness; and even—for thy very works, O Night, disown
thee!—of the puddle longing to glisten, the mud longing to become earth
again, by drying; it is so greatly the magnificent cry of the field
impatient to feel its wheat and barley growing, of the blossoming tree
mad for still more blossoms of the green grapes craving a purple side;
of the bridge waiting for footsteps, for shadows of birds among shadows
of branches; the voice of all that yearns to sing, to drop the garb of
mourning, live again, serve again, be a brink, be a bourn, a sun-warm
seat, a stone glad to comfort with warmth the hand touching, or the
insect overcrawling it; finally, it is so greatly the cry toward the
light of all Beauty, all Health, all which wishes, in sunshine and joy,
to see its work while doing it, and do it to be seen—And when I feel
that vast call to the Day arising within me, I so expand my soul to make
it more sonorous, by making it more spacious, that the great cry may
still be increased in greatness; before giving it, I withold it in my
soul a moment so piously; then, when, to expel it, I contract my soul, I
am so convinced of accomplishing a great act, I have such faith that my
song will make night crumble like the walls of Jericho—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
[<i>Frightened.</i>] Chantecler!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
And sounding its victory beforehand, my song springs forth so clear, so
proud, so peremptory, that the horizon, seized with a rosy
trembling—<i>obeys!</i></p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
Chantecler!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
I sing! Vainly Night offers to compromise, offers a dubious twilight—I
sing again! And suddenly—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
Chantecler!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
I fall back, blinded by the red light bathing me, dazzled at having, I ,
the Cock, made the Sun to rise!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
Then the whole secret of your song—?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
Is that I dare assume that the East without me must rest in idleness! I
sing, not to hear the echo repeat, a shade fainter, my song! I think of
light and not of glory! Singing is my fashion of waging war and bearing
witness. And if my song is the proudest of songs, it is that I sing
clearly to make the day rise clear!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
What he says sounds slightly mad!—You are responsible for the rising
of—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
That which opens flower, eye, soul, and window! Certainly! My voice
dispenses light! And when the sky is grey, the reason is that I have
sung badly.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
But when you sing by day?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
I am practising, or else promising the ploughshare, the hoe, the harrow,
the scythe, not to neglect my duty of waking them.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
But what wakens you?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
The fear of forgetting.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
And you believe that at the sound of your voice the whole world is
suffused—?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
I have no clear idea of the whole world. But I sing for my own valley,
and desire that every Cock may do the same for his.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
Still—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
But here I stand, explaining, perorating, and forgetting altogether to
make my dawn.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
His dawn!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
Ah, what I say sounds mad? I will make the dawn before your very eyes!
And the wish to please you adding its ardour to the ordinary forces of
my soul, I shall rise in singing, as I feel, to unusual heights, and the
dawn will rise more fair to-day than ever it rose before!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
More fair?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
Assuredly,—in just the measure that strength is added to the song by
the knowledge of listeners, boldness to the exploit by the consciousness
of lovely watching eyes—[<i>Taking his stand upon a hillock at the back,
overlooking the valley.</i>] Now, Madam!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
[<i>Gazing at his outline against the sky.</i>] How beautiful he is!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
Look attentively at the sky. Already it has paled. The reason is that a
short while back, with my earliest crow I ordered the sun to stand in
readiness just below the horizon.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
He is so beautiful that what he says almost seems possible!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>Talking toward the horizon.</i>] Ha, Sun, I feel you just behind there,
stirring—and I laugh with pride and joy amidst my scarlet
wattles—[<i>Rising on tiptoe suddenly, in a voice of startling
loudness.</i>] Cock-a-doodle-doo!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
What great breath lifts his breast-feathers?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>Toward the east.</i>] Obey!—I am the Earth, and I am Labour! My comb is
the pattern of a forge fire, and the voice of the furrow rises to my
throat! [<i>Whispering mysteriously.</i>] Yes, yes, month of July—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
To whom is he speaking?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
You shall have it earlier than April! [<i>Bending to right and left,
encouragingly.</i>] Yes, Bramble!—Yes, Brake!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
He is magnificent!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>To the</i> <span class="smcap">Pheasant-hen</span>.] You see, I must at all times
remember—[<i>Stroking the earth with his wing.</i>] Yes, dear
Grass!—remember the humble prayers whose interpreter I become.
[<i>Talking to invisible things.</i>] The golden ladder?—I understand! that
you may all dance on it together!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
To whom are you promising a ladder?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
To the Motes—Cock-a-doodle-doo!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
[<i>Watching the sky and landscape.</i>] A shiver of blue runs across the
thatched roofs.—A star went out just then—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
No, it veiled itself. Even by daylight the stars are there.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
You do not extinguish them?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
I extinguish nothing! But you shall see how great I am at kindling!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
Oh, I see a dawning of—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
What do you see?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
The blue is no longer blue!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
I told you! It is already green!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
The green is turning to orange—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
You will have been the first this morning to see the transformation!</p>

<p>[<i>The distant plain takes on velvety purplish hues.</i>]</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
It all seems to end in leagues of purple heather.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>Whose crow is beginning to tire.</i>] Cock-a-doo—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
Oh—yellow among the pine trees!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
Gold it ought to be,—gold!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
And pearly grey—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
It shall be white!—I haven’t done it yet! Cock-a-doodle-doo—It’s very
bad so far, but I won’t give up!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
Every hollow in every tree is pink as a wild rose—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>With growing enthusiasm.</i>] Since love lends me strength in addition to
faith, I say the Day to-day shall be more beautiful that the Day!—Do
you see? Do you see the eastern sky at my voice dappling itself
with light?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
[<i>Lured along and half persuaded by the madness of the</i> <span class="smcap">Cock</span>.] Such a
thing might be, after all, since love is involved in the mystery!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
Resume, horizon, at my command, your fringe of little poplars!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
[<i>Bending over the valley.</i>] There emerges from the shadow, gradually, a
world of your creation—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
Sacred things you are witnessing—To sacred things I am initiating
you!—Define your outlines, distant hills! Pheasant-hen, do you love me?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
We shall always love to be in the secret of the Makers of Dawn!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
You help me to sing better. Come closer. Collaborate.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
[<i>Springing to his side.</i>] I love you!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
Every word you whisper in my ear shall be translated into sunshine for
all the world to see!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
I love you!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
Say it again, and I will gild that mountain suddenly!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
[<i>Wildly.</i>] I love you!—Let me see you gild it!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>In his greatest, most splendid manner.</i>] Cock-a-doodle-doo! [<i>The
mountain turns golden.</i>]</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
[<i>Pointing to the lower ranges, still purple.</i>] But the hills?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
Each in its turn. To the highest peaks belong the earliest rays!
Cock-a-doodle-doo!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
Ah!—across yonder drowsing slope a stealing gleam—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>Joyously.</i>] I dedicate it to you!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
The distant villages are coming into view.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
Cock-a—[<i>His voice breaks.</i>]</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
You are weary!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>Stiffening himself.</i>] I refuse to be! [<i>Wildly.</i>] Cock-a-doodle-doo!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
Exhausted!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
Do you see those tatters of mist still clinging? Cock-a-doodle-doo!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
You will kill yourself!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
I only live, dear, when I am killing myself giving great splendid cries!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
[<i>Pressing close to his side.</i>] I am proud of you!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>With emotion.</i>] Your head bows—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
I listen to the Day arising in your breast! I delight to hear first in
your lungs what by-and-by will be purple and gold on the mountain sides!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>While the little distant houses begin to smoke in the dawn.</i>] I
dedicate to you moreover those reawakened farmsteads. Man offers
trinkets, I wreaths and plumes of smoke!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
[<i>Looking off.</i>] I can see your work growing,—growing in the distance.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>Looking at her.</i>] I can see it in your eyes!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
Over the meadows—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
On your throat—[<i>In a smothered voice.</i>] Oh, it is exquisite!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
What?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
I am at once doing my duty, and making you more fair. I am gilding my
valley, while brightening your wing. [<i>Tearing himself from love, and
dashing toward the right.</i>] But the shadow still fights all along the
line of retreat. There is much to be done over there! Cock-a-doodle-doo!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
[<i>Looking up at the sky.</i>] Oh, look!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>Looking too, sadly.</i>] How can I prevent it? The morning star is fading
out!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
[<i>In a tone of regret for the little bright spark which the growing
light must necessarily quench.</i>] It is fading out—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
Alas!—But shall we therefore despond? [<i>And tearing himself from
melancholy, he springs toward the left.</i>] There is still much to do over
here. Cock-a—[<i>At this point the crowing of other</i> <span class="smcap">Cocks</span> <i>ascends from
the valley.</i> <span class="smcap">Chantecler</span> <i>listens, then softly.</i>] Hark! Do you hear
them now?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
Who dare—?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
The other Cocks.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
[<i>Bending above the plain.</i>] They are singing in the rosy light—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
Yes, they believe in the light as soon as they see it.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
They sing all in a haze of blue—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
I sang in total blackness. My song rose from the cheerless shade, and
was the first to rise. It is when Night prevails that it’s fine to
believe in the Light!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
How dare they sing when you are singing?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
Let them sing! Their songs acquire significance from mingling with mine,
and their tardy but numerous cries unconsciously hasten the flight of
the dark. [<i>Straightening upon his hillock, he calls to the distant</i>
<span class="smcap">Cocks</span>.] Now, all together!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler and All the Cocks</span><br>
Cock-a-doodle-doo!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>Alone, with familiar cordiality.</i>] Forward, forward, boldly, Day!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
[<i>Beside him, stamping her feet.</i>] Boldly, Day!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>Crying encouragements to the Light.</i>] Yes, there, there before you, is
a roof for you to gild! Come, come, a touch of green on that patch of
waving hemp!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
[<i>Beside herself with excitement.</i>] A glimmer of white on that road!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
A wash of blue on the river!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
[<i>In a great cry.</i>] The Sun! Look, the Sun!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
There he is, I can see him, but we must hale him from that grove! [<i>And
both of them, moving backward together, appear to be drawing something
after them.</i> <span class="smcap">Chantecler</span> <i>prolonging his crow as if to drag up the</i> <span class="smcap">Sun</span>
<i>by it.</i>] Cooooooo—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
[<i>Shouting above</i> <span class="smcap">Chantecler’s</span> <i>crow.</i>] There he comes—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
—oock-a—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
—climbing—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
—doodle—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
—above—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
—doooooo!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
—the poplars!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>In a last, dry-throated, desperate crow.</i>] Cock-a-doodle-doo [<i>Both
stagger, suddenly flooded with light.</i>] It is done! [<i>He adds, in a tone
of satisfaction.</i>] A proper Sun,—a giant! [<i>He totters toward a mossy
rise and drops against it.</i>]</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
[<i>Running to him, while all grows brighter and brighter.</i>] One song now
to greet the beautiful rising Sun!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>Very low.</i>] I have no voice left. I spent it all. [<i>Hearing the other</i>
<span class="smcap">Cocks</span> <i>crowing in the valley, he adds gently.</i>] It matters not. He has
the songs and praises of the others.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
[<i>Surprised.</i>] What? After he appears, he hears no more from you?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
No more.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
[<i>Indignant.</i>] But in that case, perhaps the Sun believes the other
Cocks have made him rise?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
It matters not.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
But—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
Hush! Come to my heart and let me thank you. Never has there been a
lovelier dawn.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
But what will repay you for all your pains?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
Echoes of awakening life down in the valley! [<i>Confused living noises
are beginning to mount from below.</i>] Tell me of them. I have not the
strength to listen for myself.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
[<i>Runs to the top of the rise, and listens.</i>] I hear a finger knocking
against the rim of a brazen sky—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>With closed eyes.</i>] The Angelus.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
Other strokes, which sound like a human Angelus after the divine—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
The forge-hammer.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
Lowing,—then a song—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
The plow.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
[<i>Continuing to listen.</i>] Sounds as of a bird’s nest fallen into the
little street—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>With growing emotion.</i>] The school!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
Imps of whom I catch no glimpse buffet one another in the water—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
Women washing linen.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
And suddenly, on all sides, what are they—iron locusts rubbing their
wings together?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>Half rising, in the fullness of pride.</i>] Ah, if scythes are whetting,
the reapers will soon be harvesting the golden grain! [<i>The sounds
increase and mingle: bells, hammers, washer-women’s wooden spades,
laughter, singing, grinding of steel, cracking of whips.</i>] All at work!
And I have done that!—Oh, impossible!—Pheasant-hen, help me! This is
the dreadful moment! [<i>He looks wildly about him.</i>] I made the sunrise!
I did! Wherefore And how? And where? No sooner does my reason
return—than I go mad! For I who believe I have power to rekindle the
celestial gold—I well—oh, it is dreadful—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
What is?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
I am humble-minded, modest! You will never tell?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
No, no!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
You promise? Ah! let my enemies never know!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
[<i>Moved.</i>] Chantecler!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
I feel myself unworthy of my glory. Why was I chosen, even I to drive
out black night? No sooner have I brought the heavens to a white glow,
than the pride which lifted me aloft drops dead. I fall to earth. What,
I so small, I made the immeasurable dawn? And having done this, I must
do it again? Nay, but I cannot! Nay, it would be vain! Never need I
attempt it! Despair overtakes me—Comfort me, love!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
[<i>Tenderly.</i>] My own!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
Such a burden of responsibility resting upon me! That inspiring breath
which I await when I scratch in the sand, will it come again? I feel the
whole future depending upon an incomprehensible something which might
perchance fail me! Do you understand now the anguish gnawing me? Ah, the
swan is certain, by bending his neck, to find under water the grasses he
delights in; the eagle, when he swoops from the blue, sure of falling
upon his prey; and you are ever sure of finding in the earth the well
supplied nests of the ants,—but I for whom my own work remains a
mystery, I possessed ever by the fear of the morrow, am I sure of
finding my song in my heart?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
[<i>Clasping him with her wings.</i>] Surely, you will find it, surely!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
Yes, talk to me like that. I listen, I heed you. You must believe me
when I believe, and not when I doubt. Tell me again—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
You are beautiful!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
About that I care very little.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
And you sang beautifully!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
Say that I sang badly, but tell me that it is I who make—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
Indeed, indeed, I admire you beyond all bounds and measure!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
No,—tell me that what I told you is true—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
What?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
That it is I who make—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
Yes, my glorious Beloved, yes, it is you who make the dawn appear!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span><br>
[<i>Suddenly appearing.</i>] Well, well, old man!</p>



<hr class="x-ebookmaker-drop chap">
<div class="chapter">

<h3><span class="smcap">Scene Fourth</span></h3></div>

<p><span class="smcap">The Same, the Blackbird</span></p>


<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
The Blackbird!—My secret!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span><br>
[<i>Bowing with every sign of admiration.</i>] Allow me to—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
That inveterate mocker! [<i>To the</i> <span class="smcap">Pheasant-hen</span>.] Leave us not alone! My
soul is still open—his mockery would enter in!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span><br>
Ripping!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
Where have you come from?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span><br>
[<i>Indicating an empty overturned flower-pot.</i>] From that flower-pot.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
But how—?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span><br>
I was having my early snack cozily in the earthenware retreat you see,
when suddenly—oh, allow me to express at once the amazement, the
admiration—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
Eavesdropping inside a pot! How can you stoop to—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span><br>
Hang the pot! I ve had a sensation! I tell you I was wild! My feet were
doing such a horn-pipe I had trouble to keep my eye steady at the
peep-hole.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
You could see us?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span><br>
[<i>Showing the hole at the bottom of the flower-pot.</i>] Could I see you!
Yonder stump of red cone has exactly the black hole to let through my
yellow bill. Apologies,—but it was too tempting! A bird of taste, I am.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
For the sake of this sincere tribute, I forgive you all the rest!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
But—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span><br>
[<i>Coming and going in excitement.</i>] Oh, wonderful, and again wonderful,
and then again wonderful!—Hear me rant!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>Amazed.</i>] What, is it possible that you—?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span><br>
Am I given to gush? This time, old man, it’s the genuine article,
Enthusiasm with a capital <span class="smcap">E</span>!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
Are you in earnest?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span><br>
Must I send you a blankety carrier-pigeon with the news?—That Cock and
that crow,—oh, my soul!—And then the day breaking,—oh, my stars!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
[<i>To</i> <span class="smcap">Chantecler</span>.] There seems to be no reason, dear, why I should not
leave you alone together.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
But where are you going?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
[<i>Slightly ashamed of her own frivolity.</i>] I am going to the—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span><br>
The Guinea-hen’s Day he’s just given the finishing touches to!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>To the</i> <span class="smcap">Pheasant-hen</span>.] Must I go too?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
[<i>Tenderly.</i>] No, after rising to such heights, I think you may be
excused from the Guinea-hen’s at home!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>With a touch of sadness.</i>] You, however, are going?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
[<i>Gaily.</i>] I want to show off your sunshine on my dress! I will be back
directly. Wait for me here.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span><br>
Yes, much better keep out of the way.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>Looking at him.</i>] Wherefore?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span><br>
[<i>Quickly.</i>] Nothing! [<i>Falling into fresh ecstasies.</i>] Oh, this blessed
Cock of ours!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>To the</i> <span class="smcap">Pheasant-hen</span>.] You will not be long?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
The merest moment. [<i>Low to him before leaving.</i>] You see, even the
Blackbird is impressed! [<i>She flies off.</i>]</p>



<hr class="x-ebookmaker-drop chap">
<div class="chapter">

<h3><span class="smcap">Scene Fifth</span></h3>
</div>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler, the Blackbird</span></p>


<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>Coming back to the</i> <span class="smcap">Blackbird</span>.] And so that habitual skeptical
sneer—?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span><br>
Wiped out! My satirical whistling, as the Dog called it, now expresses
pure admiration. Listen, like this: [<i>He whistles admiringly.</i>]
Tew!—How is that?—Tew-tew [<i>Nodding soberly.</i>] That’s all right!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>Innocently.</i>] You are not such a bad fellow, after all. I said so to
the Dog.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span><br>
[<i>With profound conviction.</i>] You’re a wonderful old boy!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>Modestly.</i>] Oh!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span><br>
To come it over the Hens—[<i>He again whistles Admiringly.</i>] make them
believe that he engineers the dawn! [<span class="smcap">Chantecler</span> <i>starts.</i>] A simple
idea, but it took you to get on to it! Brother, I believe you were
hatched in Columbus’ egg!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
But—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span><br>
All other Don Juans are donkeys beside you! Says he to himself: Make the
daybreak to impress little pheasant-hens! And does it, too—succeeds!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>In a smothered voice.</i>] Be still!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span><br>
Neat, the little roof which must be gilded! Complete, the ladder for the
Motes!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>In a spasm of pain.</i>] Be still!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span><br>
And the access of modesty, a sweet little final touch! I kiss my hand to
you! Oh, he knows how—no mistake he knows—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>Constraining himself, in a curt voice.</i>] The Dawn? Certainly, I know
her. I think I may claim that honor!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span><br>
You precious fakir! Don’t you consider you have succeeded?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
In bringing on the day? Yes, certainly, I have succeeded admirably, in
this case.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span><br>
Oh, you do it so well! How awfully well he does it!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
Making the light? Of course, I have done it so often! I am used to it.
The Sun obeys me.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span><br>
So, worthy Joshua! You feel the dawn coming, and then you crow! For
lightness of touch and richness of invention, give us a lyric poet!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>Bursting forth.</i>] Wretch!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span><br>
[<i>Surprised.</i>] Are you keeping it up with me? [<i>Winking.</i>] Oh, we know
how the thing is done!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
You may know,—not <span class="smcap">I! I</span>just open my heart and sing!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span><br>
[<i>Hopping about.</i>] That’s the idea!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
Blackbird, laugh at everything besides, but not at that, if you love me!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span><br>
I love you!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>Bitterly.</i>] With half a heart!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span><br>
Can’t say a word about his <i>Fiat Lux?</i></p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
Not that! Not that!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span><br>
Old man, it’s not my fault that I m no gull.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>Looking after him as he hops about.</i>] He cannot keep still long
enough, I suppose, to let the sacred truth sink in. [<i>Trying to stop him
in his hopping.</i>] You behold the agony of emotion shaking me. No more
baffle and keep me off with words!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span><br>
[<i>Hopping past him.</i>] Catch, if you can, and convince me!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>Imploring.</i>] It’s a matter of life—my profoundest life! Oh, convince
you I must, if only for a second! I feel the holy impulse to struggle
with your soul!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span><br>
[<i>Hopping past him.</i>] Do you!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
In solemn earnest, at the bottom of your heart, you did—did you
not?—believe me?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span><br>
I believe you!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>With pressing anguish.</i>] You must in some manner be aware of the
dreadful cost to me of that song? Come, use your reason. To sing as you
heard me sing, you must realise that I needed—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span><br>
A whopping muscle and a tolerable nerve!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
No, let us not make light of serious things, responsible winged
creatures that we are!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span><br>
Let us go in for heavy-weight truths, by all means!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
But can’t you see that to look straight at the sun, rising before his
eyes by the exertions of his larynx, one must have at the same time—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span><br>
Stentorian lungs and the eyes of a lynx! [<i>He hops out of the way.</i>]</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>Controlling himself.</i>] No, I cannot give up the hope of winning this
soul to the truth! [<i>With desperate patience.</i>] Come, now, have you any
conception, unhappy bird, of what dawn actually is?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span><br>
I should say so! It’s the time of day when fluffy Aurora gets busy, as
it were, and plays ball!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
But what do you say when you see the dawn shining upon the mountains?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span><br>
Mountains, I say, what on earth are you blushing about?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
And what do you say when you hear me singing in the furrow long before
the cricket is awake?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span><br>
Cricket, I say, you scandalous slug-a-bed! [<i>He hops out of the way.</i>]</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>Beside himself.</i>] Are you conscious of no impulse to exclaim, cry out,
when I have made a dawn so fine and fiery-red that the heron, flying in
the early glow, looks from afar like a flamingo?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span><br>
Sure, brother, sure! I feel like shouting, “Bully, do it again!” [<i>He
hops out of the way.</i>]</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>Exhausted.</i>] That soul! I am more spent with chasing it than with a
whole day’s grasshopper hunting! [<i>Violently.</i>] Did you not see the sky?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span><br>
[<i>Simply.</i>] How could I The ground is all you can see through that
little black hole. [<i>Pointing at the flower-pot.</i>]</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
Did you see the mountain-tops tremble and turn crimson?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span><br>
While you were crowing, I had my eye on your feet.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>Sorrowfully.</i>] Ah!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span><br>
They were performing on the soft sod something choice in the line of
fancy dances!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>Giving up.</i>] I pity you! Back to your darkness, obscure Blackbird!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span><br>
Your obedient servant, illustrious Cock!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
My course is toward the sun!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span><br>
Take along smoked glasses!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
Blackbird, do you know the one thing upon earth worthy that one should
live wholly for its sake?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span><br>
There I draw the line. I won’t enter the debate!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
That thing is effort, Blackbird—effort, which uplifts and ennobles the
lowest! For which reason, you, contemner of every sublime aspiration, I
contemn! And that fragile roseate snail, struggling unaided to silver
over a whole fagot, I honour!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span><br>
[<i>Snapping up the snail.</i>] I ll make him look silly!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>With a cry of horror.</i>] Abominable! To point a joke—put out a little
flame! An end. Here we part. You have no more heart than soul.
[<i>Going.</i>]</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span><br>
[<i>Hopping up on the fagot.</i>] I have mind, however!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>Turning, disdainfully.</i>] That is open to discussion.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span><br>
[<i>Acidly.</i>] Oh, very well! I was administering, in my merry little
characteristic way, a grain of antidote against lunacy. But I wash my
claws of you. Go ahead, justify the report of your enemies.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>Returning.</i>] Who? What?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span><br>
Strut about with your bill-board: “I m the whole show!”</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
You associate with those who hate me?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span><br>
Do you object?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
No, you pitiful jester! The habit has grown so strong, you can no more
be in earnest about friendship now than anything else. [<i>Going nearer to
him.</i>] Who are my enemies?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span><br>
The Owls.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
You sorry fool! Can’t you see that to believe in my destiny becomes all
too easy if the Owls are against me?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span><br>
Rest happy, then. They have a deal on—your lighting of the world being
a trifle flashy for their taste—a deal on for cutting your throat.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
Through whom?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span><br>
A brother bird.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
A Cock?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span><br>
A Saint George of a Cock, who is to meet you—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
Where?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span><br>
At the Guinea-hen’s.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
What a farce!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span><br>
Wait! It’s one of those Cocks bred and trained for fighting, who would
make just two bites of either you or me. [<i>As</i> <span class="smcap">Chantecler</span> <i>abruptly
starts toward the back.</i>] Where are you going?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
To the Guinea-hen’s.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span><br>
Ha! I forgot our knightly spurs and helmet! [<i>He makes a feint of
preventing him.</i>] Take my advice, don’t go!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
But I will go!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span><br>
Hold on!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>Stopping beside the flower-pot, as if amazed.</i>] How singular!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span><br>
What?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
Did I understand you to say you came out of that flower-pot?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span><br>
You did.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>Incredulous.</i>] But how could you possibly have got into it?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span><br>
[<i>Getting into the pot.</i>] I told you, and tell you again! Through that
little black hole I was looking at the—[<i>He thrusts his bill through
the hole at the bottom.</i>]</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
The earth! And now through a little blue hole you shall look at the sky!
[<i>With a vigorous blow of his wing he turns the pot over the</i> <span class="smcap">Blackbird</span>,
<i>who is heard fluttering beneath it, with smothered cries.</i>] For you
hate and shun the blue sky, you Dwellers in Pots! But one can force you
to see at least as much as would cover a corn-flower, by overturning
your pot, now and then—with the sweep of a wing! [<i>Off.</i>]</p>

<p class="center p2"><span class="smcap">Curtain</span></p>


<hr class="x-ebookmaker-drop chap">
<div class="chapter">

<h2><span class="smcap">Act Third</span><br>


<span class="small"><span class="smcap">The Guinea-hen’s Day</span></span></h2>
</div>
<p class="center"><i>Corner of a kitchen-garden, enclosed on the sides by hedges. At the
back, espaliers. Vegetables and flowers of all kinds. Cold frames. Among
the fruit trees, an upright pole, rigged in an old frock-coat, pair of
trousers, and opera hat, fills the function of scarecrow.</i></p>



<hr class="x-ebookmaker-drop chap">
<div class="chapter">

<h3><span class="smcap">Scene First</span></h3>
</div>

<p><i>The</i> <span class="smcap">Guinea-hen, Hens, Ducks</span>, <i>etc.; the</i> <span class="smcap">Pheasant-hen</span>, <i>the</i>
<span class="smcap">Blackbird</span>, <i>later</i> <span class="smcap">Patou</span>.</p>

<p><i>At the rise of the curtain, multitudinous clatter and confused swarming
of</i> <span class="smcap">Hens</span> <i>and</i> <span class="smcap">Chickens</span>.</p>


<p><span class="smcap">The Guinea-hen</span><br>
[<i>Going impetuously from one to the other.</i>] How do you do? How do you
do?—There is scarcely room to move! My guests reach all the way to the
cucumber patch!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chorus</span><br>
[<i>Up in the air.</i>]
<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>Busily buzzing</i>—</span><br>

<p><span class="smcap">The Guinea-hen</span><br>
A regular crush!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">A Hen</span><br>
[<i>Gazing at a row of huge pumpkins.</i>] What attractive objects!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Guinea-hen</span><br>
Art pottery! Rather good of its kind, if I do say so!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">A Chick</span><br>
[<i>Listening with his bill in the air.</i>] Singers?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Guinea-hen</span><br>
Yes,—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chorus</span><br>
<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>Busily buzzing</i>—</span><br>

<p><span class="smcap">The Guinea-hen</span><br>
[<i>In her sprightliest manner.</i>] The Wasps! [<i>To a</i> <span class="smcap">Chicken</span>.] How do you
do? [<i>She flits from one guest to the other.</i>]</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Wasps</span><br>
<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>Busily buzzing</i></span><br>
<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>Estival glees.</i></span><br>
<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>Fill we with murmurs</i></span><br>
<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>The mulberry trees</i>!</span><br></p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
[<i>Passing with the</i> <span class="smcap">Blackbird</span> <i>and laughing.</i>] So you were caught?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span><br>
[<i>Finishing his story.</i>] Exactly as if a hat had been plumped down over
me. But I managed by beating my wings to throw off the beastly pot.
[<i>Looking around him.</i>] Chantecler has not come yet?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
[<i>Surprised.</i>] Is he coming?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Patou</span><br>
[<i>Suddenly appearing on the wheelbarrow, from whence he can watch the
scene as from a pulpit.</i>] I still hope he may change his mind.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span><br>
Patou there, in the wheelbarrow?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Patou</span><br>
[<i>Shaking his surly head, and a bit of broken chain hanging from his
collar.</i>] Chantecler told me everything Blackbird, as he went by. In a
towering rage I broke my chain, and am here to keep an eye on the wicked
lot of you.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Guinea-hen</span><br>
[<i>To the</i> <span class="smcap">Blackbird</span>.] Has he invited himself to my party, that
moth-eaten old thing?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chorus</span><br>
[<i>Among the trees.</i>]
<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>Our praises, Sun, our praises!</i></span><br>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
[<i>Looking upward.</i>] Music?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Guinea-hen</span><br>
The Cicadas!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chorus of Cicadas</span><br>
<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>We simmer in thy gaze,</i></span><br>
<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>We bask beneath thy blaze,</i></span><br>
<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>Receive our grateful praise!</i></span><br>

<p><span class="smcap">The Young Guinea-cock</span><br>
[<i>Low and quickly to his mother.</i>] Tsicadas, mother. You must pronounce
it Tsi!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">A Magpie</span><br>
[<i>In black coat and white tie, announcing the guests as they arrive
through a hole such as Chickens dig at the foot of hedges.</i>] The Gander!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Gander</span><br>
[<i>Entering, jocularly.</i>] What’s all this fuss and feathers my lady? Our
names called as we enter?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Guinea-hen</span><br>
[<i>Demurely.</i>] Yes, you see, expecting some rather great people, I
thought it well to stand an usher at the blackthorn door.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Magpie</span><br>
[<i>Announcing.</i>] The Duck!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Duck</span><br>
[<i>Entering, impressed by the elegance of the occasion.</i>] Here is style
and grandeur indeed! Our names called!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Guinea-hen</span><br>
Yes, you see, expecting some rather great people—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Magpie</span><br>
The Turkey-hen!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Turkey-hen</span><br>
[<i>Entering, after a supercilious glance.</i>] This is quite more of an
affair, my dear, than I was anticipating.—Names called!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Guinea-hen</span><br>
Yes, I had in the Magpie to supplement my usual staff.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chorus</span><br>
[<i>Among blossoming branches.</i>]
<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>Boom! Boom!</i></span><br>
<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>From bloom to bloom</i>!</span><br>

<p><span class="smcap">The Turkey-hen</span><br>
[<i>Lifting her bill.</i>] A Chorus?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Guinea-hen</span><br>
[<i>Breezily.</i>] The Bees!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chorus</span><br>
<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>Make distant flowers</i></span><br>
<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>Bride and groom!</i></span><br>

<p><span class="smcap">The Turkey-hen</span><br>
Wonders on every side!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Guinea-hen</span><br>
The Bees here, the Tsicadas yonder—[<i>To a passing</i> <span class="smcap">Hen</span>.] How do you do?
How do you do?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Bees</span><br>
[<i>At the right.</i>]
<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>Boom!</i></span><br>

<p><span class="smcap">Cicadas</span><br>
[<i>At the left.</i>]
<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>Our praises!</i></span><br>

<p><span class="smcap">Bees</span><br>
<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>Boom!</i></span><br>

<p><span class="smcap">Cicadas</span><br>
<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>Our praises!</i></span><br>

<p><span class="smcap">The Guinea-hen</span><br>
[<i>To the</i> <span class="smcap">Pheasant-hen</span>.] My garden produces the most remarkable of
everything!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Young Guinea-cock</span><br>
The brightest flowers!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Guinea-hen</span><br>
The big potatoes!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span><br>
And peaches! Perfect peaches!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
[<i>Inconvenienced by the movement and the crowd, to the</i> <span class="smcap">Blackbird</span>.] Let
us stand out of the crowd a moment, behind this watering-pot.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span><br>
The watering-pot, alias the Intermittent Baldpate, so called because
there flows from his copper scalp when he is tilted a marvelous growth
of silver hair.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Guinea-hen</span><br>
[<i>Spying the</i> <span class="smcap">Cat</span>, <i>who, outstretched along an apple-bough is watching
with half-closed eyes.</i>] I have among my guests the Cat.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span><br>
Tomkyns de Tomkyns! [<i>A </i> <span class="smcap">Bird</span> <i>is heard warbling in a tree.</i>]</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Guinea-hen</span><br>
I have the Chaffinch!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span><br>
Let him chaff inchworms, what care we?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Guinea-hen</span><br>
The Darning-needle!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span><br>
She shall mend up Ragged Robin, now’s his chance!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Patou</span><br>
[<i>More and more disgusted.</i>] All that is supposed to be funny!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Guinea-hen</span><br>
[<i>Pecking a cabbage leaf from which roll drops of dew.</i>] I have the Dew!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Patou</span><br>
[<i>Grimly.</i>] Your witticism for her?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span><br>
[<i>Brightly.</i>] Fresh-water pearls!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Guinea-hen</span><br>
[<i>Pointing out several</i> <span class="smcap">Chicks</span> <i>walking among the crowd.</i>] Have you seen
them? I have several of the <span class="smcap">A.i</span>.’s Chicks!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
<span class="smcap">A.i</span>.?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Guinea-hen</span><br>
The Acme Incubator.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
Oh, have you?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Guinea-hen</span><br>
[<i>Presenting the</i> <span class="smcap">Chicks</span>.] All from the topmost compartment!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
Indeed?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">One of the Chicks</span><br>
[<i>Nudging his neighbour.</i>] She is dumbfounded!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Guinea-hen</span><br>
[<i>Contemptuously.</i>] Eggs hatched by the old vulgar method, fie!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span>,
Good Lord, exempt us!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Magpie</span><br>
[<i>Announcing.</i>] The Guinea-pig!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Guinea-hen</span><br>
It’s the famous one, you know! The Guinea-pig who was inoculated—surely
you remember the case—very well, that’s the one! There you see him. I
made a point of getting him to come. Everybody is here! I have
everybody! I have—[<i>To the</i> <span class="smcap">Guinea-pig</span>.] How do you do? [<i>To the</i>
<span class="smcap">Pheasant-hen</span>.] I have our great philosopher Tur-Key—Yes, it should be
written with a hyphen—who will give us a little talk among the currant
bushes under the tea-roses—[<i>To a passing</i> <span class="smcap">Hen</span>.] How do you do? [<i>To
the</i> <span class="smcap">Pheasant-hen</span>.] Educational Tea or Currant Topics! [<i>Whirling from
one to the other.</i>] Everyone is here, everyone of the slightest mark or
consequence! The Pheasant-hen is here, in a frock from fairyland. The
Duck is here, who is so good as to say he will recite for us by and by.
The Tortoise is here—[<i>Noticing that the</i> <span class="smcap">Tortoise</span> <i>is not there</i>] I
was mistaken, the Tortoise is not here. She is late.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span><br>
[<i>Affecting deep concern.</i>] What is the little talk she seems so
regrettably likely to miss?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Guinea-hen</span><br>
[<i>Suddenly serious.</i>] The Moral Problem.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span><br>
What a pity!</p>

<p>[<i>The</i> <span class="smcap">Guinea-hen</span> <i>goes to the back, scattering greetings, in ecstasies
of sociability.</i>]</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
[<i>To the</i> <span class="smcap">Blackbird</span>.] Who is the Tortoise?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span><br>
A hard old character, impervious, I fear, to moral problems, who goes in
for walking matches in a loud check suit!</p>

<p>[<i>Murmur among the hollyhocks.</i>]</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
Listen, a Drone!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Guinea-hen</span><br>
[<i>Briskly returning.</i>] The Drone is here! In the bright light overhead,
what a stylish figure of a fly!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span><br>
No “at home” complete without it! Ladies cry for it! Won’t be happy
until—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Guinea-hen</span><br>
[<i>Jumping up in the air toward the</i> <span class="smcap">Drone</span>.] How do you do? How do you
do? [<i>She follows his flight with excited leaps and hops.</i>]</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span><br>
[<i>Touching his brow with his wing.</i>] She is dotty!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Guinea-hen</span><br>
[<i>At the back, with shrill</i> <span class="smcap">Guinea-hen</span> <i>cries.</i>] It’s my last day! How
do you do? My last day until August! Mondays in August, don’t forget!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">A Hen</span><br>
[<i>Seeing cherries dropping around her.</i>] Oh, cherries, look!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
[<i>Looking upward.</i>] It is the Breeze!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Guinea-hen</span><br>
[<i>Fluttering forward again, excited as ever.</i>] I have the Breeze, who
now and then shakes down a cherry! I never ask her. She comes unasked.
What’s-his-name is here! And What’s-her-name is here, and—[<i>To the back
tumultuously.</i>]</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span><br>
And Thingumbob, and Stick-in-the-mud! [<i>He has arrived without
appearance of design beneath the tree where the</i> <span class="smcap">Cat</span> <i>is lying, and asks
rapidly, under breath.</i>] Cat, what about the conspiracy?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Cat</span><br>
[<i>Who from his tree can see beyond the hedge.</i>] It is afoot. I see the
interminable file of phenomenal Cocks approaching, headed by the Peacock
who comes to present them.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">A Cry</span><br>
[<i>Outside.</i>] Ee—yong! [<i>The</i> <span class="smcap">Crowd</span> <i>throngs toward the entrance.</i>]</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Patou</span><br>
[<i>Grumbling.</i>] That abominable concertina cry—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Magpie</span><br>
The Peacock!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
[<i>To the</i> <span class="smcap">Blackbird</span>.] Have you a fancy name for him?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span><br>
[<i>Imitating the</i> <span class="smcap">Peacock’s</span> <i>cry.</i>] Our great Accordee-yong!</p>



<hr class="x-ebookmaker-drop chap">
<div class="chapter">

<h3><span class="smcap">Scene Second</span></h3>
</div>

<p><span class="smcap">The Same, the Peacock</span>.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Guinea-hen</span><br>
[<i>To the</i> <span class="smcap">Peacock</span>, <i>who enters slowly, with his head borne very stiff
and high.</i>] Master, dear Master, would you be so extremely condescending
as to come and stand with your back to these sunflowers? Peacock!
Sunflowers! A study for Burne-Jones!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">All</span><br>
[<i>Crowding around the</i> <span class="smcap">Peacock</span>.] Master! Master!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">A Chicken</span><br>
[<i>Low to the</i> <span class="smcap">Duck</span>.] A word from him can make one’s fortune in society!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Another Chicken</span><br>
[<i>Who has succeeded in forcing his way to the</i> <span class="smcap">Peacock</span>, <i>stammering with
emotion.</i>] Master, what do you think of my latest “cheep”? [<i>Suspense.
Religious silence.</i>]</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Peacock</span><br>
[<i>Solemnly, letting the word drop slowly from his beak.</i>] Definitive.
[<i>Sensation.</i>]</p>

<p><span class="smcap">A Duck</span><br>
[<i>Trembling.</i>] And my “quack”? [<i>Suspense.</i>]</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Peacock</span><br>
Ultimate! [<i>Sensation.</i>]</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Guinea-hen</span><br>
[<i>Delighted, to the</i> <span class="smcap">Hens</span>.] I may say that it is at my days most
especially he throws off these specimens of a verbal art which might
fairly be called—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Peacock</span><br>
Lapidary.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">All the Hens</span><br>
[<i>Rolling up their eyes.</i>] Wonderful!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">A Hen</span><br>
[<i>Coming forward, faint with emotion.</i>] Master, high priest of taste,
what do you think of my dress? [<i>Suspense.</i>]</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Peacock</span><br>
[<i>After a glance.</i>] Affirmative. [<i>Sensation.</i>]</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Tufted Hen</span><br>
[<i>Same business.</i>] And my bonnet? [<i>Suspense.</i>]</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Peacock</span><br>
Absolute. [<i>Sensation.</i>]</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Guinea-hen</span><br>
[<i>In a burst of emotion.</i>] Our bonnets are absolute!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
[<i>Affecting exclusive interest in the</i> <span class="smcap">Bees</span>.] Ah, there is the Choir
Invisible striking up again!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Guinea-hen</span><br>
[<i>Presenting the young</i> <span class="smcap">Guinea-cock</span> <i>to the</i> <span class="smcap">Peacock</span>.] My son!—What do
you think of him?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Peacock</span><br>
Plausible.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chorus of Wasps</span><br>
<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>Busily buzzing</i>—</span><br>

<p><span class="smcap">The Guinea-hen</span><br>
[<i>Overjoyed, running to the</i> <span class="smcap">Pheasant-hen</span>.] Oh, he said he was
plausible!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
Who was?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Guinea-hen</span><br>
My son!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chorus of Bees</span></p>
<p>
<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>When July</i></span><br>
<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><i>Too holly glows</i></span><br>
<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>Seek the shade</i></span><br>
<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><i>Inside the rose</i>!</span><br></p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Guinea-hen</span><br>
[<i>Returning to the</i> <span class="smcap">Peacock</span>.] Does not the rhythm of that chorus impress
you as—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Peacock</span><br>
Asunartetos!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">A Hen</span><br>
[<i>To the</i> <span class="smcap">Guinea-hen</span>.] Your guest, my dear, can fit an epithet!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Guinea-hen</span><br>
Pontiff of the Unexpected Adjective I call him!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Peacock</span><br>
[<i>Distilling his words, in a discordant haughty voice.</i>] True it is
that—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Guinea-hen</span><br>
Ah, this is most pleasant, most pleasant! He is going to talk to us.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Peacock</span><br>
—a Ruskin rather more refined, I hope, than the earlier one, with a
tact—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Guinea-hen</span><br>
Very true!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Peacock</span><br>
—a tact for which I stand largely in my own debt, I have constituted
myself Petronius-Priest and Maecenas-Messiah volatile volatiliser of
words, and that, jeweled judge, I love by my cameos and filigrees of
speech to represent the Taste of which I am the—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Patou</span><br>
Oh, my poor head!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Peacock</span><br>
[<i>Nonchalantly.</i>]—shall I say guardian?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Guinea-hen</span><br>
[<i>Effervescently.</i>] Do say guardian!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Peacock</span><br>
No. Thesmothetes. [<i>Respectful murmur of delight.</i>]</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Guinea-hen</span><br>
[<i>To the</i> <span class="smcap">Pheasant-hen</span>.] Now you have seen our Peacock! Aren’t you
excited?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
[<i>Slightly bored.</i>] Yes,—because I know the Cock is coming.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Guinea-hen</span><br>
[<i>Delighted.</i>] To-day? He is coming to-day? [<i>She announces to the
general company, enthusiastically.</i>] Chantecler!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Peacock</span><br>
[<i>Slightly miffed.</i>] A far greater triumph lies in store for you, fair
friend.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Guinea-hen</span><br>
Triumph? [<i>The</i> <span class="smcap">Peacock</span> <i>nods mysteriously.</i>] What triumph?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Peacock</span><br>
[<i>Walking away from her.</i>] You shall see.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Guinea-hen</span><br>
[<i>Following him.</i>] Of what triumph are you speaking?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Peacock</span><br>
I said, “You shall see!”</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Magpie</span><br>
[<i>Announcing.</i>] Cock Braekel of Campine!</p>



<hr class="x-ebookmaker-drop chap">
<div class="chapter">

<h3><span class="smcap">Scene Third</span></h3>
</div>

<p><span class="smcap">The Same</span>, <i>then gradually the</i> <span class="smcap">Cocks</span>.</p>


<p><span class="smcap">The Guinea-hen</span><br>
[<i>Stopping short, amazed.</i>] Braekel? At my party? There’s some mistake.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Braekel Cock</span><br>
[<i>Bowing before her.</i>] Madam—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Guinea-hen</span><br>
[<i>Breathless with emotion in the presence of this white</i> <span class="smcap">Cock</span> <i>braided
with black.</i>] This unexpected pleasure—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Magpie</span><br>
[<i>Announcing.</i>] Cock Ramelslohe—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Guinea-hen</span><br>
Heavens!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Magpie</span><br>
[<i>Finishing.</i>]—of the Slate-blue Claw!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Peacock</span><br>
[<i>In the</i> <span class="smcap">Guinea-hen’s</span> <i>ear, while the startling</i> <span class="smcap">Ramelslohe</span> <i>bows.</i>] He
is one of the most recent leucotites!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Guinea-hen</span><br>
[<i>Blankly.</i>] A leucotite—How interesting!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Magpie</span><br>
[<i>Announcing in a louder and louder, more and more impressive voice.</i>]
Cock Wyandotte of the Sable Spur! [<i>Shiver of emotion among the</i> <span class="smcap">Hens</span>.]</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Guinea-hen</span><br>
[<i>Off her head with excitement.</i>] Heavens and gracious powers—my son!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Young Guinea-cock</span><br>
[<i>Running to her.</i>] Mamma!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Guinea-hen</span><br>
Wyandotte! Cock Wyandotte!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Peacock</span><br>
[<i>With a fine carelessness.</i>] Cock with strawberry coronet, product of
Art Nouveau!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Guinea-hen</span><br>
[<i>To the newcomers who are surrounded by astonished murmurs.</i>]
Strawberry coronet!—Gentlemen—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Young Guinea-cock</span><br>
[<i>Who has gone to take a look outside.</i>] Mamma!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Guinea-hen</span><br>
—so kindly condescending to honour my poor house—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Young Guinea-cock</span><br>
Mamma, there are still others coming!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Magpie</span><br>
His lordship, the Cock—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Guinea-hen</span><br>
Heavens, what Cock?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Magpie</span><br>
Cock of Mesopotamia with the Double Comb!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Guinea-hen</span><br>
Double! Oh! [<i>Dashing to welcome the newcomer.</i>] Charmed, charmed
indeed!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Peacock</span><br>
Out upon the obsolete! I wished to show you a few young gentlemen
slightly superlative and veritably precious.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Guinea-hen</span><br>
[<i>Returning to the</i> <span class="smcap">Peacock</span>.] How shall I thank you, Peacock, dear
friend? [<i>To the</i> <span class="smcap">Pheasant-hen</span>, <i>patronizingly.</i>] You will excuse me, I
know, you charming little thing. You must understand, my dear, that his
lordship the Cock of Mesopotamia has just arrived! [<i>Running to the</i>
<span class="smcap">Cock</span>, <i>who bows his two combs.</i>] A proud day for us! Charmed, delighted,
enchanted!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Magpie</span><br>
Cock d’Orpington of the Feather-ringed Eye!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Guinea-hen</span><br>
Feather-ringed—Oh!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span><br>
The plot thickens!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Magpie</span><br>
[<i>While the</i> <span class="smcap">Guinea-hen</span> <i>is flying toward the</i> <span class="smcap">Orpington Cock</span>.] Bearded
Cock of Varna!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Peacock</span><br>
[<i>To the</i> <span class="smcap">Guinea-hen</span>.] A typical Slav!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Guinea-hen</span><br>
[<i>Leaving the</i> <span class="smcap">Orpington</span> <i>for the</i> <span class="smcap">Bearded Cock</span>.] Oh, the Slav soul we
have heard so much about! Charmed, beyond words, charmed!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Magpie</span><br>
Rose-footed Scotch Grey Cock!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Guinea-hen</span><br>
[<i>Leaving the</i> <span class="smcap">Bearded Cock</span> <i>for the</i> <span class="smcap">Scotch Grey</span>.] Oh, that rose foot!
I do admire that rose foot! Think of introducing that rose foot at my
tea! [<i>With conviction.</i>] What a social event!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Magpie</span><br>
Cock—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Guinea-hen</span><br>
[<i>Out of her senses.</i>] No, I say, no! There can’t be any more!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Magpie</span><br>
Cock with Goblet-shaped comb!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Guinea-hen</span><br>
[<i>Who at every name rushes excitedly toward the newcomer.</i>] Charmed, I
am sure! Oh, what a novel notion! Goblet-shaped!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Magpie</span><br>
Blue Cock of Andalusia!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Guinea-hen</span><br>
Your egg, I presume, was laid in the vibrating hollow of a guitar!
Delighted and honored,—both!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Magpie</span><br>
Cock Langsham!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Peacock</span><br>
A Tartar!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">All the Hens</span><br>
[<i>Smitten with amazement at sight of the black giant.</i>] A Tartar!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Magpie</span><br>
Gold-penciled Hamburg Cock!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">All the Hens</span><br>
[<i>At sight of the gold-laced</i> <span class="smcap">Cock</span> <i>in the cocked hat.</i>] Gold-penciled
Hamburg!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Guinea-hen</span><br>
My kitchen-garden party will be famous! [<i>To the</i> <span class="smcap">Hamburg Cock</span>, <i>whose
breast is striped with black and yellow.</i>] Oh, what a wonderful
waistcoat! May I ask what it is made of?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span><br>
Of zebra!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Guinea-hen</span><br>
Zebra, you don’t say so! It will be the pride of my life, of my whole—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Magpie</span><br>
Cock—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Guinea-hen</span><br>
[<i>Jumping.</i>] No, I can’t believe it!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Magpie</span><br>
—of Burma!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Guinea-hen</span><br>
Burma! [<i>Increasing general agitation.</i>]</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Peacock</span><br>
An East Indian.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Guinea-hen</span><br>
Oh, I can see his Hindu soul right in his eyes, the Hindu soul we hear
so much about! [<i>Running to the newcomer, in an adoring voice.</i>]
Charmed, charmed! The Hindu soul—oh!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Magpie</span><br>
Padua Cocks—The Dutch Padua of Poland!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Guinea-hen</span><br>
Dutch of Poland! This is really more than I ever aspired to!</p>

<p>[<i>The</i> <span class="smcap">Padua Cocks</span> <i>enter, shaking their plumes.</i>]</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Magpie</span><br>
The Gold Cock! The Silver Cock!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Guinea-hen</span><br>
[<i>In ecstasies of admiration before the flowing plume of the latter.</i>]
With a waterfall on his head!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span><br>
And a suspension bridge!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Guinea-hen</span><br>
[<i>No longer conscious of what she is saying.</i>] And a suspension bridge!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
[<i>To</i> <span class="smcap">Patou</span>.] Poor Guinea-hen, she will say anything after anybody!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Magpie</span><br>
[<i>Announcing in a louder and louder tone ever more extraordinary</i>
<span class="smcap">Cocks</span>.] Bagdad Cock!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Peacock</span><br>
[<i>Dominating the tumult.</i>] Consummately Arabian Nights.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Guinea-hen</span><br>
Did you hear? Consummately Arabian Nights!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">All the Hens</span><br>
To be sure! Awfully Arabian Nights!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Peacock</span><br>
Kamaralzaman himself is hardly more so.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Magpie</span><br>
Bantam Cock with ruffles!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Guinea-hen</span><br>
[<i>Transported.</i>] How eighteenth century this is! Look, oh, look! A
dwarf! A dwarf! Dwarfs! Little cunning bits of dwarfs!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Young Guinea-cock</span><br>
[<i>Low.</i>] Mamma, do control yourself!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Guinea-hen</span><br>
[<i>Screaming in the midst of the</i> <span class="smcap">Cocks</span>.] No, no, I can’t and won’t! That
is Kamaralzaman! I don’t really know which I prefer, which I —</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Magpie</span><br>
Guelder Cock!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Guinea-hen</span><br>
[<i>Rushing to the newcomer.</i>] This is truly a treat! Another Belgian!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Magpie</span><br>
Serpent-necked Cock!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Guinea-hen</span><br>
[<i>Rattled.</i>] To you, dear Seacock, I owe this Perpentneck!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Magpie</span><br>
Duck-sided Cock! Crow-billed Cock! Hawk-footed Cock!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Guinea-hen</span><br>
[<i>Who has fallen upon the new arrivals, bursts into shrill volubility
before the last of them.</i>] This surpasses all! An albino! Charmed, my
dear sir, honoured, enchanted! Oh, on his head he wears a cheese!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">A Hen</span><br>
So he does, a cheese!—A cream cheese, to be sure! A cream cheese!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">All the Hens</span><br>
A cream cheese!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Magpie</span><br>
CrËve Coeur Cock!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Guinea-hen</span><br>
[<i>Rushing to meet him.</i>] Oh, he has horns on his head!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Peacock</span><br>
Satanic.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Magpie</span><br>
Ptarmigan Cock!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Peacock</span><br>
Aesthetic.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Guinea-hen</span><br>
[<i>Rushing up to him.</i>] Oh, he wears on his head an Assyrian helmet!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Magpie</span><br>
White Pile—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Guinea-hen</span><br>
[<i>Rushing up to him.</i>] He wears on his head—[<i>Stopping short at sight
of his docked comb.</i>] Nothing whatever. He wears nothing whatever on his
head. How odd it looks!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Cat</span><br>
[<i>From his apple tree, to the</i> <span class="smcap">Blackbird</span>, <i>indicating the</i> <span class="smcap">White Pile</span>
<span class="smcap">Game-cock</span>.] There is the champion. The dust conceals a razor on his lean
foot. [<i>The</i> <span class="smcap">Game-cock</span> <i>disappears among the throng of fancy</i> <span class="smcap">Cocks</span>,
<i>who are surrounded by a swarm of cackling</i> <span class="smcap">Hens</span>.]</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Magpie</span><br>
Negro Cock!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Guinea-hen</span><br>
[<i>Gone quite mad among the multitude of</i> <span class="smcap">Cocks</span> <i>now filling the
kitchen-garden with their extraordinary head-gear aigrettes, and plumes
and helmets, double and triple combs.</i>] Charmed, honoured,
enchanted—enchanted, honoured, charmed!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Patou</span><br>
She has taken leave of her wits!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Guinea-hen</span><br>
[<i>To the empty air.</i>] Charmed, charmed, enchanted, en—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Magpie</span><br>
Cock with Supernumerary Toe!—Naked-necked Cock!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Guinea-hen</span><br>
Naked?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Magpie</span><br>
Necked!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Guinea-hen</span><br>
[<i>To a</i> <span class="smcap">Hen</span>.] My dear, now we shall see something worth while!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Magpie</span><br>
Japanese Cocks—Cock Splendens!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Guinea-hen</span><br>
[<i>At sight of this</i> <span class="smcap">Cock</span> <i>whose tail is eight yards long.</i>] Oh!—In a
swallow tail!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Magpie</span><br>
Clump-backed—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span><br>
[<i>Perceiving that this</i> <span class="smcap">Cock</span> <i>is absolutely flat at the back.</i>] In a
monkey-jacket!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Magpie</span><br>
[<i>Finishing.</i>]—or Tailless Cock!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Guinea-hen</span><br>
[<i>Beside herself.</i>] He has nothing whatever behind! This is the crowning
moment of my career! [<i>To the newcomer, effusively.</i>] Charmed! No
tail! This is—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span><br>
I like his cheek!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Magpie</span><br>
[<i>While more and more heterogeneous</i> <span class="smcap">Cocks</span> <i>appear.</i>] Cock Walikikili,
called Choki-kukullo! Pseudo-Chinese Cuculicolor!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Guinea-hen</span><br>
What a choice gathering!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Peacock</span><br>
Kaleidoscopically cosmopolitan.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Magpie</span><br>
Blue Java! White Java!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span><br>
[<i>Losing all shame.</i>] Won’t Java cup o’ coffee?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Guinea-hen</span><br>
[<i>Falling upon the</i> <span class="smcap">Java Cocks</span>.] Charmed, charmed!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Magpie</span><br>
Brahma Cock! Cochin Cock!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Peacock</span><br>
[<i>Proudly.</i>] The great vicious Cocks, representatives of the corrupt
East, the putrescent Orient!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Guinea-hen</span><br>
[<i>Intoxicated.</i>] Putrescent!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Peacock</span><br>
Unwholesome, morbid grace!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Guinea-hen</span><br>
[<i>To the</i> <span class="smcap">Cochin Cock</span>.] Charmed! Charmed!—Do notice his obscene eye!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Magpie</span><br>
[<i>Announcing wildly, infected with the general delirium.</i>] Chili Cock,
curled hindside fore! Antwerp Cock, curled inside out!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">All the Hens</span><br>
[<i>Fighting for the newcomers.</i>] Oh, putrescent!—Oh, hindside fore!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Guinea-hen</span><br>
Inside out!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Magpie</span><br>
Shankless Jumping-cock!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">A Hen</span><br>
[<i>Fainting with emotion.</i>] I suppose he jumps with his stomach!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Guinea-hen</span><br>
An India-rubber Cock!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
[<i>To</i> <span class="smcap">Patou</span>, <i>who from his wheelbarrow is looking off into the
distance.</i>] And Chantecler?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Patou</span><br>
Will be here soon.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
Can you see him?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Patou</span><br>
Yes, off there, scratching up the earth. Now he is on his way.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Magpie</span><br>
Ghoondook Cock with Umbrella Topknot!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Cry of Enthusiasm</span><br>
Oh!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Magpie</span><br>
Iberian Cock with Lint Side Whiskers!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Cry of Enthusiasm</span><br>
Oh!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Magpie</span><br>
Cock Bans Backin or Fat Cheek of Thuringia!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Cry of Enthusiasm</span><br>
Oh!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Magpie</span><br>
Yankee Cochin of Plymouth Rock!</p>

<p>[<i>Sudden silence.</i> <span class="smcap">Chantecler</span> <i>has appeared at the entrance, just behind
the</i> <span class="smcap">Cock</span> <i>last announced.</i>]</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>To the</i> <span class="smcap">Magpie</span>.] Pray simply say, “The Cock!”</p>



<hr class="x-ebookmaker-drop chap">
<div class="chapter">

<h3><span class="smcap">Scene Fourth</span></h3>
</div>

<p><span class="smcap">The Same, Chantecler</span>, <i>later</i> <span class="smcap">The Pigeons</span>, <i>and</i>
<span class="smcap">The Swan</span>.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Magpie</span><br>
[<i>After looking</i> <span class="smcap">Chantecler</span> <i>up and down, disdainfully.</i>] The Cock!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>From the threshold, to the</i> <span class="smcap">Guinea-hen</span>.] Your pardon Madam,—my humble
duty!—for venturing to present myself in this plumage—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Guinea-hen</span><br>
Come in, I pray!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
I hardly know whether I should. I have a limited number of toes—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Guinea-hen</span><br>
[<i>Indulgently.</i>] Oh, never mind!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
I cannot claim to be a Carpathian, and—I hardly know how to conceal it
from you—I have feet!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Guinea-hen</span><br>
Oh, let not that distress you!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
A plain red-pepper comb, an ordinary garlic clove ear—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Guinea-hen</span><br>
Of course, of course, we will excuse you. You came in your business
suit!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
Nay, my best! Pardon if my best combines merely the green of all April
with the gold of all October! I stand abashed. I am the Cock, just the
Cock, without further addition. The Cock such as he is still found in
some old-fashioned barnyard. A Cock shaped like a Cock, whose outline
persists in the vane on the steeple-top in the artist’s eye, and the
humble toy which a child’s hand finds among shavings in a little
wooden box.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">An Ironical Voice</span><br>
[<i>From among the group of gorgeous prodigies.</i>] The Gallic Cock, in
short?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>Gently, without even turning.</i>] Sure as I am of my aboriginal claim to
this soil, I make no point of assuming the name. But, now you mention
it, I recognise that when one simply says the Cock, that is the Cock
he means!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span><br>
[<i>Low to</i> <span class="smcap">Chantecler</span>.] I have seen your adversary!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>Catching sight of the</i> <span class="smcap">Pheasant-hen</span> <i>approaching.</i>] Be still! She must
know nothing of this!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
[<i>Coquettishly.</i>] Did you come for the sake of seeing me?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>Bowing.</i>] I am weak, you remember!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Guinea-hen</span><br>
[<i>Listening to the</i> <span class="smcap">Cochin-china Cock</span>, <i>who is talking in an undertone,
thickly surrounded by</i> <span class="smcap">Hens</span>.] That Cock from Cochin China is
simply awful!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>Turning.</i>] Enough!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Hens</span><br>
[<i>Around the</i> <span class="smcap">Cochin Cock</span>, <i>giving little scandalised cries.</i>] Oh!—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Guinea-hen</span><br>
[<i>Tickled.</i>] Oh, you naughty bird!—He is quite the most improper of our
gallinacea!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>Louder.</i>] Enough!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Cochin-china Cock</span><br>
[<i>Stops, and with mocking surprise.</i>] Is it the Gallic Cock objecting?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
I am not Gallic if you give the word a base or ridiculous meaning. By
Jove! Every Hen here knows whether my trumpet blast belongs to a
soprano! But your perverse attempts to wring blushes from little
baggages in convenient corners outrage my love of Love! It is true that
I care more to retain love’s dream than these Cochin-Chinese, who,
courting a giggle, use refinement in coarseness, research in vulgarity;
true that my blood has swifter flow in a less ponderous body, and that I
am not a feathered pig,—but a Cock!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
Come, come away to the woods,—I love you!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>Looking around him.</i>] Oh, to see a real being appear! Someone simple,
someone—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Magpie</span><br>
[<i>Announcing.</i>] Two Pigeons!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>Drawing a breath of relief.</i>] At last,—pigeons! [<i>He runs eagerly to
the entrance.</i>]</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pigeons</span><br>
[<i>Entering with a series of somersaults.</i>] Hop!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>Falling back in amazement.</i>] What is this?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pigeons</span><br>
[<i>Introducing themselves between two springs.</i>] The Tumblers! English
Clowns!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
Where am I ?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Guinea-hen</span><br>
[<i>Running after the</i> <span class="smcap">Tumblers</span> <i>who disappear among the throng of
guests.</i>] Hop! Hop!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
Pigeons turning acrobats!—Oh, the joy of seeing something true,
something unblemished—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Magpie</span><br>
[<i>Announcing.</i>] The Swan!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>Coming forward delighted.</i>] Good! A Swan! [<i>Shrinking away.</i>] He is
black!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Black Swan</span><br>
[<i>With swaggering satisfaction.</i>] I have discarded the whiteness while
preserving the outline!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
The real Swan’s shadow does no less! [<i>Thrusting the</i> <span class="smcap">Swan</span> <i>aside to hop
up on a bench whence, through a gap in the hedge, he can see the distant
meadows.</i>] Let me climb up on this bench. I need to make sure that
Nature still exists—though so far away! Ah, yes! The grass is green, a
cow is grazing, a calf sucking—And Heaven be praised, the calf has a
single head! [<i>Coming down again beside the</i> <span class="smcap">Pheasant-hen</span>.]</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
Oh, come away to the innocent woods, sincere and dewy, where we will
love each other!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span><br>
[<i>Pointing at</i> <span class="smcap">Chantecler</span> <i>and the</i> <span class="smcap">Pheasant-hen</span>, <i>who are standing
close and talking low.</i>] We are getting on!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Guinea-hen</span><br>
[<i>Intensely interested.</i>] Do you think so? [<i>She spreads her wings to
screen them.</i>] Oh, I am so fond of helping along a clandestine
love affair!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span><br>
[<i>Sticking his bill under the</i> <span class="smcap">Guinea-hen’s</span> <i>wing so as to keep the pair
in sight.</i>] I believe she has thoughts of annexing his comb.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
[<i>To</i> <span class="smcap">Chantecler</span>.] Come, dearest, come away!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>Resisting.</i>] No, I must sing where Destiny placed me. I am useful
here, I am beloved—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
[<i>Remembering what she overheard the night before in the farmyard.</i>] Are
you so sure?—Come away to the woods, where we shall hear real pigeons
cooing tenderly to each other!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Turkey</span><br>
[<i>At the back.</i>] Ladies, the great Peacock—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Peacock</span><br>
[<i>Modestly.</i>] The Super-peacock—who supervenes, and supersedes—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Guinea-hen</span><br>
Will spread his tail for us! He has expressed his amiable willingness so
far to favour us.</p>

<p>[<i>The company falls into groups of spectators, the outlandish</i> <span class="smcap">Cocks</span>
<i>forming a wreath around their patron.</i>]</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Peacock</span><br>
[<i>Preparing to spread his tail.</i>] I am, by precious natural gift, in
addition to my multifarious accomplishments something of a—shall I say
artist in firework?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Guinea-hen</span><br>
[<i>Effervescently.</i>] Yes!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Peacock</span><br>
No. Pyrotechnist. For the choicest piece in urban gardens, where
Catharine-wheels on festival nights spurt sidereal spray, and rockets
shot into gold-riddled skies fall back in prismatic showers, is less
sapphirine, smaragdine, cuprine—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
Zounds!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Peacock</span><br>
—than, I venture to say, ladies, am I —</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
Oh, I understood that last word!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Peacock</span><br>
—when I unfurl the union of fan, jewel-case, and screen, upon which I
offer to the self-same sunbeams that redden the reed all the joyous gems
you now may contemplate!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
What a silly bill!</p>

<p>[<i>The</i> <span class="smcap">Peacock</span> <i>has spread his tail.</i>]</p>

<p><span class="smcap">A Cock</span><br>
[<i>To the</i> <span class="smcap">Peacock</span>.] Master, which of us will you make the fashion?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Padua Cock</span><br>
[<i>Quickly coming forward.</i>] Me! I look like a palm-tree!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">A China Cock</span><br>
[<i>Pushing the</i> <span class="smcap">Padua Cock</span> <i>aside.</i>] I look like a pagoda!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">A Big Feather-footed Cock</span><br>
[<i>Pushing the</i> <span class="smcap">China Cock</span> <i>aside.</i>] Me! I have cauliflowers sprouting at
my heels!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
Each is in one the show and Mr. Barnum!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">All</span><br>
[<i>Parading and filing past the</i> <span class="smcap">Peacock</span>.] See my beak! See my feet! See
my feathers!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>Suddenly shouting at them.</i>] Lo! While you hold your costume contest,
a Scarecrow gives you his blessing!</p>

<p>[<i>Behind them, in fact, the wind has lifted the arms of the</i> <span class="smcap">Scarecrow</span>,
<i>which loosely wave above the pageant.</i>]</p>

<p><span class="smcap">All</span><br>
[<i>Starting back.</i>] What?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
Behold this dummy talking to that lay-figure! [<i>While the wind blows
through the flapping rags.</i>] What say the trousers, dancing their limp
fandango? They say, “We were once the fashion!” And, terror of the
titlark, what says the old hat which a beggar would none of? “I was the
fashion!” And the coat? “I was the fashion!” And the tattered sleeves,
that no one has care to mend, try to clasp the Wind, whom they take for
the Fashion, and drop back empty—The Wind has passed, the Wind is far!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Peacock</span><br>
[<i>To the animals slightly dismayed by this address.</i>] You poor-spirited
creatures, that thing cannot talk!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
Man says the same of us.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Peacock</span><br>
[<i>To the birds nearest to him.</i>] He is vexed because of those Cocks whom
I introduced. [<i>To</i> <span class="smcap">Chantecler</span>, <i>ironically.</i>] What, my dear sir, do you
say to these resplendent gentlemen?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
I say, my dear sir, that these resplendent gentlemen are manufactured
wares, the work of merchants with highly complex brains, who to fashion
a ridiculous Chicken have taken a wing from that one, a topknot from
this. I say that in such Cocks nothing remains of the true Cock. They
are Cocks of shreds and patches, idle bric-a-brac, fit to figure in a
catalogue, not in a barnyard with its decent dunghill and its dog. I say
that those befrizzled, beruffled, bedeviled Cocks were never stroked and
cherished by Nature’s maternal hand. I say that it’s all Aviculture, and
Aviculture is flapdoodle! And I say that those preposterous parrots,
without style, without beauty, without form, whose bodies have not even
kept the pleasing oval of the egg they were hatched from, look like so
many desperate fowls escaped from some hen-coop of the Apocalypse!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">A Cock</span><br>
My dear sir—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>With rising spirit.</i>] And I add that the whole duty of a Cock is to be
an embodied crimson cry! And when a Cock is not that, it matters little
that his comb be shaped like a toadstool, or his quills twisted like a
screw, he will soon vanish and be heard of no more, having been nothing
but a variety of a variety!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">A Cock</span><br>
I protest—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>Going from one to the other.</i>] Yes, Cocks affecting incongruous forms,
Cocks crowned with cocoa-palm coiffures—Hear me talk like the Peacock!
I lapse into alliteration! [<i>Finding his fun in bewildering them with
cackling guttural volubility.</i>] Yes, Cockerels cockaded with cockles,
Cockatrice-headed Cockasters, cock-eyed Cockatoos! Not content to be
common Cocks, your crotchet it was to be what but crack Cocks? Yes,
Fashion, to be accounted of thy flock, these chuckle-headed Cocks craved
to be Super-cocks. But know ye not, ye crazy Cocks, one cannot be so
queer a Cock, but there may occur a queerer Cock? Let some Cock come
whose coccyx boasts a more flamboyant shock, and you pass like childish
measles, croup or chicken-pox! Consider that to-morrow, high
Cockalorums, fancy Cocks, consider that day after to-morrow,
cheese-capped goblet-crested Cocks, in spite of curly hackle and
cauliflowered hocks, a more fantastic Cock than ever may creep out of
a—box! For the Cock-fancier, to diversify his stock, may more
fantastically still combine his Cutcutdaycuts and his Cocks, and you
will be no more—sad Cuckoos made a mock!—but old rococo Cocks beside
this more coquettish Cock!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">A Cock</span><br>
And how, may one learn from you, can a Cock secure himself against
becoming rococo?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
One royal way there is: to think only of crowing like a right and proper
Cock!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">A Cock</span><br>
[<i>Haughtily.</i>] We are well known, I beg to state, for our exceptionally
fine crowing!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
Known to whom?</p>



<hr class="x-ebookmaker-drop chap">
<div class="chapter">

<h3><span class="smcap">Scene Fifth</span></h3>
</div>

<p><span class="smcap">The Same</span>, <i>three</i> <span class="smcap">Chickens</span>, <i>noticeable among the rest for a certain
jaunty pertness of gait and demeanour, who for a minute or so have been
moving among the artificial</i> <span class="smcap">Cocks</span>.</p>


<p><span class="smcap">First Chicken</span><br>
To us, of course!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Second Chicken</span><br>
To us!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Third Chicken</span><br>
To us!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">All Three</span><br>
[<i>Bowing at once.</i>] Good morning!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">First Chicken</span><br>
Your voice?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Second Chicken</span><br>
Tenor?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Third Chicken</span><br>
Bass?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Second Chicken</span><br>
Robusto?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Third Chicken</span><br>
Di cortesia?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>Bewildered, looking toward the</i> <span class="smcap">Pheasant-hen</span>.] What is this? An
interlude?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
An interview.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Second Chicken</span><br>
Do you take it in your chest?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Third Chicken</span><br>
Or in your head?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
Do I take what?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">First Chicken</span><br>
Pray talk without reserve. We represent the Board of Investigation into
the Gallodoodle Movement.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
That’s all very well, but I —[<i>Attempting to pass.</i>]</p>

<p><span class="smcap">First Chicken</span><br>
You will find it difficult, I think, to leave, until you have answered
such questions as we are pleased to ask. Is your early meal a light one?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
But—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Second Chicken</span><br>
You have tendencies, no doubt—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
Hosts.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Second Chicken</span><br>
What do you feel most particularly drawn to?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
Hens.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">First Chicken</span><br>
[<i>Without smiling.</i>] Have you nothing to communicate with regard to your
song?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
I just sing.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Second Chicken</span><br>
And when you sing—?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
The heavens hear me.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Third Chicken</span><br>
Have you a special method?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
I —</p>

<p><span class="smcap">First Chicken</span><br>
You live—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
To sing!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Second Chicken</span><br>
And your song—?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
Is my life!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Third Chicken</span><br>
But how do you sing?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
I take pains.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">First Chicken</span><br>
But do you scan [<i>Beating furiously with his wing.</i>] one-one-two
One-three? Three-one? Or four? What is your dynamic theory?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span><br>
[<i>Shouting.</i>] Who has not his little pet dynamic theory?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
Dyna—?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Second Chicken</span><br>
Where do you place the accent? On the Cock—?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Third Chicken</span><br>
On the Doo?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
On the—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">First Chicken</span><br>
[<i>Impatiently.</i>] What is your school?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
Schools of Cocks?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Second Chicken</span><br>
[<i>Rapidly.</i>] Certainly. Some sing Cock-a-doodle-doo, and some
Keek-a-deedle-dee!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
Cock—? Keek—?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Third Chicken</span><br>
Not to speak of those who—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">A Cock</span><br>
[<i>Coming forward.</i>] The correct and proper way to crow is
Cowkerdowdledow!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
What Cock is that?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">First Chicken</span><br>
An Anglo-Indian.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Second Chicken</span><br>
And the Turk over there, whose comb suggests a cyst, crows
Coocooroocoocoo!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Third Chicken</span><br>
[<i>Shouting in his ear.</i>] Do you not upon occasions vary your
Cockadoodledoo with Cackadaddledaa?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Another Cock</span><br>
[<i>Springing up at the right.</i>] I for one, entirely suppress the vowels:
<span class="smcap">C</span>ck-d-dl-d!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>Trying to get away.</i>] Is it a Welsh Rabbit dream?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Another Cock</span><br>
[<i>Springing up at the left.</i>] O a-oo-e-oo! Have you ever tried
suppressing the consonants?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Another Cock</span><br>
[<i>Pushing aside all the others.</i>] I mix the whole thing
up—Cuck-o-deedle-daa!—in a free and supple song!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
My brain reels!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">All the Cocks</span><br>
[<i>Gathered about him, fighting.</i>] No! Cuckodee—No, Cackadaa—No,
Coocooroo—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Cock</span><br>
[<i>Who mixes all up.</i>] The free Cockadoodle! The free crow is obligatory!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
Pray, who is that, speaking with such authority?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">First Chicken</span><br>
It is a wonderful Cock who has never sung at all.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>In humble despair.</i>] And I am only a Cock who sings!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Everybody</span><br>
[<i>Drawing away from him in disgust.</i>] I wouldn’t mention it if I were
you!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
I give my song as the rose-tree gives its Rose!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Peacock</span><br>
[<i>Sarcastically.</i>] Ah, I was waiting for the Rose! [<i>Pitying laughter.</i>]</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>Low, nervously, to the</i> <span class="smcap">Blackbird</span>.] Is my prospective slayer going to
keep me waiting much longer?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Everyone</span><br>
[<i>Disgusted.</i>] The Rose? Oh!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Guinea-hen</span><br>
If you must mention flowers, let them be rather less—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Peacock</span><br>
Elementary. [<i>With the most disdainful impertinence.</i>] So you are still
at the declension of <i>Rosa?</i></p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
I am, you—Peacock! You, I suppose, may be forgiven for speaking
slightingly of the Rose, being a rival candidate for the beauty prize.
[<i>Looking around him.</i>] But I summon these Cocks, from Dorking to
Bantam, to defend with me—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">A Cock</span><br>
[<i>Nonchalantly.</i>] Pray whom?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
The Rose, <i>Rosam;</i> to declare on the spot and forthwith—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span><br>
[<i>Ironically.</i>] You set yourself up as the champion—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
<i>Rosarum,</i> of roses, I do!—To declare that worship
is due—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">A Cock</span><br>
To whom, pray?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
To roses, <i>rosis!</i>—in whose hearts sleep rain-drops like essences in
fragrant vials, to declare that they are, and ever will be—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">A Voice</span><br>
[<i>Cold and cutting.</i>] Painted jades, things of naught! [<i>All the fancy</i>
<span class="smcap">Cocks</span> <i>draw aside, revealing the</i> <span class="smcap">White Pile Game Cock</span>, <i>who appears,
tall and lean and sinister at the further end of their double row.</i>]</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
At last!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span><br>
It’s time to climb up on the chairs!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>To the</i> <span class="smcap">White Pile</span>.] Sir—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
You are never going to challenge that giant?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
I am! To appear tall it is sufficient to talk on stilts! [<i>To the</i> <span class="smcap">Game</span>
<span class="smcap">Cock</span>, <i>slowly crossing the stage toward him.</i>] Know that such a remark
is not to be endured, and permit me to tell you—[<i>Finding a</i> <span class="smcap">Chick</span>
<i>between himself and the</i> <span class="smcap">Game Cock</span>, <i>he gently puts him aside, saying</i>]
Run to your mother, tot! [<i>To the</i> <span class="smcap">White Pile</span>, <i>looking insolently at
his docked comb</i>]—that you look like a Fool who has mislaid
his coxcomb!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The White Pile</span><br>
[<i>Astonished.</i>] Fool? Coxcomb? What? What? What?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>Beak to beak with the</i> <span class="smcap">Game Cock</span>.] What? What? What? [<i>A pause. They
arch themselves, with bristling neck-hackle.</i>]</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The White Pile</span><br>
[<i>Emphatically.</i>] In America, during my grand tour, I killed three
Claybornes in a day. I have killed two Sherwoods, three Smoks, and one
Sumatra. I have killed—let me advise anyone fighting me to take
something beforehand to keep down his pulse!—three Red-game at
Cambridge and ten Braekels at Bruges!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>Very simply.</i>] I my dear sir, have never killed anything. But as I
have at different times succored, defended, protected, this one and
that, I might perhaps be called, in my own fashion, brave. You need not
take these mighty airs with me. I came here knowing that you would come.
That rose was dangled to afford you the opportunity for brutal
stupidity. You did not fail to nibble at its petals. Your name?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Game Cock</span><br>
White Pile. And yours?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
Chantecler.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
[<i>Running desperately to the</i> <span class="smcap">Dog</span>.] Patou!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>To</i> <span class="smcap">Patou</span>, <i>who is growling between his teeth.</i>] You, keep out of
this!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Patou</span><br>
So I will, but it’s rrrrrrrough!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
[<i>To</i> <span class="smcap">Chantecler</span>.] A Cock does not risk his life for a Rose!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
A slur upon a flower is a slur upon the Sun!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
[<i>Running to the</i> <span class="smcap">Blackbird</span>.] Do something! This must be patched up—You
know you had promised me!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span><br>
Everything can be patched up, my dear, except the quarrels of a fellow’s
friends!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Guinea-hen</span><br>
[<i>Giving loud cries of despair.</i>] Horrible! Oh, horrible A five-o’clock
tea at which guests kill each other! How dreadful—[<i>To her son.</i>] that
the Tortoise should not have got here yet!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">A Voice</span><br>
[<i>Crying.</i>] Chantecler, ten against one!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Guinea-hen</span><br>
[<i>Seating her company, assisting the</i> <span class="smcap">Hens</span> <i>to climb upon flower-pots,
cold-frames, pumpkins.</i>] Quick! quick!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span><br>
Our charming hostess is in great feather, doing the honours of an affair
of honour.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Patou</span><br>
[<i>To</i> <span class="smcap">Chantecler</span>.] Go in and thrash him. This crowd is longing for the
sight of your blood.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>Sadly.</i>] I was never anything but kind!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Patou</span><br>
[<i>Showing the ring which has formed, the faces lighted with hateful
eagerness.</i>] Look at them! [<i>All necks are craned, all eyes shine; it is
hideous.</i> <span class="smcap">Chantecler</span> <i>looks, understands, and bows his head.</i>]</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
[<i>With a cry of rage.</i>] It’s a disgrace! A disgrace to the name of fowl!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>Raising his head again.</i>] So be it. But they shall at least learn
to-day who I was, and my secret—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Patou</span><br>
No, don’t tell them, if it’s what my old dreamer’s heart has
apprehended!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>Addressing the multitude, in a loud voice, solemnly, like one
confessing his faith.</i>] Know, all of you, that it is I —[<i>Deep silence
falls. To the</i> <span class="smcap">White Pile</span>, <i>who has given a sign of impatience.</i>] Your
pardon, excellent duellist, but I have a mind, before getting myself
killed, to do something brave—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The White Pile</span><br>
[<i>Surprised.</i>] Ah?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
Yes,—get myself laughed at!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
No, dearest, no! Don’t do it!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
I wish to perish amid salvos of laughter! [<i>To the crowd.</i>] Riot, spirit
of Mockery! Disciples of the Blackbird, prepare! [<i>In a still louder
voice, hammering home every word.</i>] It is I who, by my song, bring back
the light of day! [<i>Amazement, then vast laughter shakes the
multitude.</i>] Is the merriment well under way? On guard!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Golden Padua Cock</span><br>
[<i>Nodding his plume.</i>] Gentlemen, engage!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Voices</span><br>
[<i>Amid storms of laughter.</i>] Funny! Side-splitting! Was anything ever so
droll? I shall die laughing!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span><br>
The old Gallic love of a joke is not dead!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">A Chicken</span><br>
He sings light into the sky!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">A Duck</span><br>
The Sun gets up to hear him!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>Avoiding the blows which the</i> <span class="smcap">White Pile</span> <i>is beginning to aim at
him.</i>] Yes, it is I who give you back the Day!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">A Chick</span><br>
And a jolly fine day it is!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>While parrying and attacking.</i>] The crowing of other Cocks, able
neither to make nor mar, is no better nor worse than sonorous sneezing!
Mine—[<i>He is wounded.</i>]</p>

<p><span class="smcap">A Voice</span><br>
Biff! In the neck!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
—mine makes—[<i>He is again wounded.</i>]</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Turkey</span><br>
Insufferable self-sufficiency!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
—the light—[<i>Again he is struck.</i>]</p>

<p><span class="smcap">A Voice</span><br>
Biff! On the neb!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
—the light appear!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">A Voice</span><br>
Biff! In the eye!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>Blinded with blood.</i>] Yes, the light!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">A Voice</span><br>
[<i>Sneering.</i>] Better have let sleeping darkness lie!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>Automatically repeating beneath his adversary’s blows.</i>] It is I who
make the dawn appear!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Patou</span><br>
[<i>Barking.</i>] Aye! Aye! Aye!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
[<i>Sobbing.</i>] Stand up to him, darling! Oh, hit back! Hit back!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">A Chick</span><br>
Fellows, a nickname for the dawn!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">All</span><br>
Yes! Yes!</p>

<p>[<i>The</i> <span class="smcap">White Pile</span> <i>hurls himself upon</i> <span class="smcap">Chantecler</span>.]</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
Oh, cruel!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span><br>
Chantecler’s Light o’ Love!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">A Voice</span><br>
A nickname for the Cock!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">All</span><br>
Yes! Yes!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span><br>
Grand Master of Illuminations!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Another Voice</span><br>
Purveyor of Sunny Beams!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>Defending himself foot to foot.</i>] Thanks! Another quip, for I can
still fight with my feet!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">A Voice</span><br>
The Alarm-Cock!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>Who seems upheld by their insults.</i>] Another pun! And I who know no
more of fighting than can be learned on a peaceful farm—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">A Voice</span><br>
Thresh out his hayseed!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
Thanks! I —[<i>His torn feathers fly around him.</i>]</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Cry of Joy</span><br>
See his fur fly!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
I feel—Another pleasantry!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">A Voice</span><br>
Lay on, Macfluff!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
Thanks! I feel that the more I am mocked, insulted, flouted, and
denied—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">An Ass</span><br>
[<i>Stretching his neck over the hedge.</i>] Hee-haw!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
Thanks!—the better I shall fight!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The White Pile</span><br>
[<i>Chuckling.</i>] He is game, but he’s giving out.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
Enough. Enough. Oh, stop!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">A Voice</span><br>
On White Pile, twenty to one!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
[<i>Seeing</i> <span class="smcap">Chantecler’s</span> <i>bleeding neck.</i>] He bleeds, oh!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">A Hen</span><br>
[<i>Rising on tiptoe behind the</i> <span class="smcap">Golden Padua Cock</span>.] I should like to see
the blood!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The White Pile</span><br>
[<i>Increasing the fury of his onset.</i>] I ll have your gizzard!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Hen</span><br>
[<i>Trying to see.</i>] The Padua Cock’s hat shuts off my view!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span><br>
Hats off!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">A Voice</span><br>
That was a stinger! On his comb!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Shrill Cries</span><br>
[<i>From the crowd.</i>] Land him one! Do him up! Lay him out! Have his gore!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Patou</span><br>
[<i>Standing up in his wheelbarrow.</i>] Will you stop behaving like human
beings?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Cries</span><br>
[<i>Furiously keeping time with the blows showering upon</i> <span class="smcap">Chantecler</span>.] In
the neck! On the nut! On the wing! On the—[<i>Sudden silence.</i>]</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>Amazed.</i>] What is this? The ring breaks up, the shouting dies—[<i>He
looks around. The</i> <span class="smcap">White Pile</span> <i>has drawn away and backed against the
hedge. A strange commotion agitates the crowd.</i> <span class="smcap">Chantecler</span>, <i>exhausted,
bleeding, tottering, does not understand, and murmurs.</i>] What joke are
they preparing against my end? [<i>And suddenly.</i>] Joy, Patou, joy!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Patou</span><br>
What?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
I have done them an injustice. All of them, ceasing to insult and mock
me, look, gather round me, closer and closer—look!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Patou</span><br>
[<i>Seeing them all, in fact, crowding around</i> <span class="smcap">Chantecler</span>, <i>and gazing
anxiously at the sky, looks up too, and says simply.</i>] It is the hawk!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
Ah! [<i>A dark shadow slowly sweeps over the motley crowd, who crouch and
cower.</i>]</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Patou</span><br>
When that great shadow falls, it is not the fine, strange Cocks we trust
to keep off the bird of prey!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>Suddenly grown great of size, his wounds forgotten, stands in the
midst of them, and in an authoritative tone.</i>] Yes, close around me, all
of you, all! [<i>All, huddled in their feathers, their heads drawn in
between their wings, press against him.</i>]</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
Dear, brave, and gentle heart!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>The shadow sweeps over the crowd a second time. The</i> <span class="smcap">Game Cock</span> <i>makes
himself small.</i> <span class="smcap">Chantecler</span> <i>alone remains standing, in the midst of a
heap of ruffled, trembling feathers.</i>]</p>

<p><span class="smcap">A Hen</span><br>
[<i>Looking up at the</i> <span class="smcap">Hawk</span>.] Twice the black shadow has swept over us!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>Calling to the</i> <span class="smcap">Chicks</span>, <i>who come madly running.</i>] Chicks, come here
to me!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
You take them under your wing?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
I must. Their mother is a box!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
[<i>Looking upward.</i>] He hovers over us—[<i>The shadow of the</i> <span class="smcap">Hawk</span>,
<i>circling lower and lower, passes for the third time, darker
than ever.</i>]</p>

<p><span class="smcap">All</span><br>
[<i>In a moan of fear.</i>] Ah!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>Shouting toward the sky.</i>] I am here!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Patou</span><br>
He has heard your trumpet cry!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
He flies further.</p>

<p>[<i>All rise with a joyous cry of deliverance, “Ah!” and go back to their
places to watch the end of the combat.</i>]</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Patou</span><br>
Without loss of a moment they form the ring again.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>With a start.</i>] What did you say? [<i>He looks. It is true, the ring has
immediately formed.</i>]</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
Now they want you killed to be revenged for their fine scare.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
But now I shall not be killed! I felt my strength come back when the
common enemy flew across the sky. [<i>Striding boldly up to the</i> <span class="smcap">White</span>
<span class="smcap">Pile</span>.] I got back my courage, fearing for the others.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The White Pile</span><br>
[<i>Amazed at being smartly attacked.</i>] Whence has he drawn new strength?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
I am thrice stronger now than you. Black excites me, you see, as red
excites the bull, and thrice I have stared at night in the form of a
bird’s shadow!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The White Pile</span><br>
[<i>Driven to bay, against the hedge, prepares to use his razors.</i>]</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
[<i>Screaming.</i>] Look out! He has two sharp razors at his heels, the
beast!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
I knew it!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Cat</span><br>
[<i>From his tree, to the</i> <span class="smcap">Game Cock</span>.] Use your knives!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Patou</span><br>
[<i>Ready to spring from his wheelbarrow.</i>] If he uses those, I ll
strangle him, that’s all!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Crowd</span><br>
Oh!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Patou</span><br>
I will! Howl you never so loud!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The White Pile</span><br>
[<i>Feeling himself lost.</i>] No help for it!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
[<i>Closely watching him.</i>] He is getting one of his razors ready!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The White Pile</span><br>
[<i>Striking with his sharp spur.</i>] Take that! Die! [<i>He utters a terrible
cry, while</i> <span class="smcap">Chantecler</span>, <i>avoiding the blow, springs aside.</i>] Ah! [<i>He
drops to the ground. Cry of amazement.</i>]</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Several Voices</span><br>
What is it?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span><br>
[<i>Who has hopped up to the fallen</i> <span class="smcap">Cock</span> <i>and examined him.</i>] Nothing!
Merely he has dexterously slashed his left claw with his right!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Crowd</span><br>
[<i>Following and hooting the</i> <span class="smcap">White Pile</span>, <i>who, having picked himself up,
limps off.</i>] Hoo! Hoo!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Patou</span> <i>and the</i> <span class="smcap">Pheasant-hen</span>
[<i>Laughing and weeping and talking, all in one, beside</i> <span class="smcap">Chantecler</span>,
<i>who stands motionless, utterly spent, with closed eyes.</i>] Chantecler!
It is we! The Pheasant-hen! The Dog! Speak to us, speak!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>Opening his eyes, looks at them and says gently.</i>] The day will rise
to-morrow!</p>



<hr class="x-ebookmaker-drop chap">
<div class="chapter">

<h3><span class="smcap">Scene Sixth</span></h3></div>

<p><span class="smcap">The Same</span>, <i>except the</i> <span class="smcap">White Pile</span></p>


<p><span class="smcap">The Crowd</span><br>
[<i>After seeing the</i> <span class="smcap">White Pile</span> <i>off, return tumultuously to</i> <span class="smcap">Chantecler</span>,
<i>hailing him with acclamations.</i>] Hurrah!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>Drawing away from them, in a terrible voice.</i>] Stand back! I know your
worth! [<i>The crowd hastily draws back.</i>]</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
[<i>Close by his side.</i>] Come away to the woods, where true-hearted
animals live!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
No, I will stay here.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
After finding them out?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
After finding them out.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
You will stay here?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
Not for their sakes, but the sake of my song. It might spring forth less
clear from any other soil! But now, to inform the Day that it is sure to
be called tomorrow I will sing! [<i>Obsequious movement of the crowd,
attempting to approach.</i>] Back! All of you! I have nothing left but my
song! [<span class="smcap">All</span> <i>draw away, and alone in his pride, he begins.</i>] Co—[<i>To
himself, stiffening himself against pain.</i>] Nothing left but my song,
therefore let us sing well! [<i>He tries again.</i>] Co—Now, I wonder,
shall I take it as a chest-note, or—Co—a head-note? Shall I count
one-three, or—Co—And the accent? Since they filled my head with all
that sort of thing, I Coocooroo—Keekee-ree—And the theory? The
dynamic theory? Cock-a—I am all tangled up in schools and rules and
rubbish! If he reduced his flight to a theory, what eagle would ever
soar? Co—[<i>Trying again, and ending in a raucous, abortive crow.</i>]
Co—I cannot sing any more, I whose method was not to know how, but be
quite certain why! [<i>In a cry, of despair.</i>] I have nothing left! They
have taken everything from me, my song and everything else. How shall I
get it back?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
[<i>Opening her wings.</i>] Come away to the woods!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>Falling upon her breast.</i>] I love you!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
To the woods, where the simple birds sing their sweet unconscious songs!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
Let us go! [<i>Both go toward the back.</i> <span class="smcap">Chantecler</span> <i>turning.</i>] But there
is one thing I wish to say—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
[<i>Trying to lead him away.</i>] Come to the woods!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
—to all the Guineahennery gathered beneath these arbors. Let the
garden—the Bees agree with me, I fancy!—let the garden work untroubled
at changing its blossoms into fruit—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Buzzing of Bees</span><br>
<i>We agree—ee—ee</i>!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
Nothing good is ever accomplished in the midst of noise. Noise prevents
the bough—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Buzzing</span><br>
[<i>Further off.</i>]
<i>So say we—e—e! we—e—e</i>!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
—from bringing its apple to perfection, prevents the grape—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Buzzing</span><br>
[<i>Dying away among the foliage.</i>] <i>So say we—e—e</i>!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
—from ripening on the vine. [<i>Going toward the back with the</i>
<span class="smcap">Pheasant-hen</span>.] Let us go! [<i>Turning and coming again angrily toward
the front.</i>] But I wish furthermore to say to these <span class="smcap">H</span>—[<i>The</i>
<span class="smcap">Pheasant-hen</span> <i>lays her wing across his beak.</i>]—ens that those
unnatural Cocks will lightly take themselves away, back to the gilded
mangers of their sole affection, the moment they hear the cry of
Chick-chick-chick-chick-chick! [<i>Imitating a servant girl calling</i>
<span class="smcap">Chickens</span> <i>to feed.</i>] For all those charlatans are stalking appetites,
and nothing more!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
[<i>Trying to lead him off.</i>] Come! Come!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">A Hen</span><br>
She is eloping with him.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
I am coming! But—[<i>Coming forward again.</i>] I must first say to this
Peacock, in the presence of that Addlepate—[<i>Indicating the</i>
<span class="smcap">Guinea-hen</span>.]</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Guinea-hen</span><br>
He insults me in my own house. Sensational!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
False hero whom Fashion has taken for leader, you walk in such terror of
appearing behindhand to the eyes of your own tail that your throat is
blue with it! But, urged forward, on and on, by every staring eye upon
it, you will fall at last, breathless for good and all, and end in the
false immortality bestowed, false artist, by the—[<i>Imitating the manner
of the</i> <span class="smcap">Peacock</span>.] shall I say bird-stuffer?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Guinea-hen</span><br>
[<i>Mechanically.</i>] Yes!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
No. Taxidermist,—to use the word you would prefer. That, my dear
Peacock, is what I wished to say.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span><br>
Bang!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>Turning toward him.</i>] As for you—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span><br>
Fire away!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
I will! You became acquainted one grey morning with a city sparrow, did
you not tell us so? That was your ruin. You have been possessed ever
since with the desire to appear like one yourself.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span><br>
But—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
From that hour, unresting, acting the sparrow night and day, the sparrow
even in sleep, self-condemned to play the sparrow without respite, you
have appeared—famous jay!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span><br>
But—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
Pathetic effort of a country birdkin, twisting his thick bill to talk
with a city accent! Ah, you wish to bite off bits of slang? My friend,
they are green! Every grape you pick breaks in your jaws, for city
grapes are glass bubbles! Having taken from the sparrow only his make-up
and grimace, you are just a clumsy understudy, a sort of vice-buffoon!
And you serve up stale old cynicisms picked up with crumbs in
fashionable club-rooms, poor little bird, and think to astonish us with
your budget of scandalous news—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span><br>
But—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
I have not exhausted my ammunition! You wish to imitate the sparrow? But
the sparrow does not, slyly and meanly mischievous, make a cult of
sprightliness is not funny with authority, is not the pedant of
flippancy! You percher among low bushes, who never care to fly, you wish
to imitate—[<i>Turning to one of the exotic</i> <span class="smcap">Cocks</span> <i>cackling behind
him.</i>] Silence, Cock of Japan! or I shall spoil a picture!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Japanese Cock</span><br>
[<i>Hurriedly.</i>] I beg your pardon!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>Continuing to the</i> <span class="smcap">Blackbird</span>.] You wish to imitate the sparrow, who,
rising on light wing, underlines his words with a telegraph wire! Very
well, I hate to grieve you, but—you know I can hear the sparrows when
they come to steal my corn!—you are not in it, you do not pull it off.
Your lingo is a fake!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span><br>
A —?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
And your performance is a shine!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span><br>
He can talk slang?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
I can talk anything!—It’s the Paris article made in Germany!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span><br>
But—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
Fire away, I think you said. I hope you don’t mind my air-gun?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span><br>
I —</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
The Grand Master of Illuminations is entirely at your service. What do
you say?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span><br>
[<i>Hastily.</i>] Nothing! [<i>He tries to get away.</i>]</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
You wish to ape the sparrow of city streets! But his impudence is not a
manner of prudence, an art of remaining vague, an elegant method of
having no opinion. His eyes always express either wrath or delight. Do
you care to know the secret by which the little beggar, with his
“Chappie” and his “See” can steal away our hearts? It is that he is
frank and fearless that he believes, that he loves, that the railings of
a balcony where some child strews crumbs for him are the only cage he
ever knew! It is that one can be sure of his gaiety of soul, since he is
gay when he is hungry! But you who, void of gaiety because void of love,
have imagined that evil wit can take the place of good humour, and that
one can play the sparrow when he is a sleek and vulgar trimmer,
sniggering behind his wing, what I say to you is, “Guess again,
Mock-sparrow, guess again!”</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Guinea-hen</span><br>
[<i>Always applauding everything that is said at her receptions.</i>] Good!
That was extremely good!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">A Chicken</span><br>
[<i>To the crestfallen</i> <span class="smcap">Blackbird</span>.] You will make him smart for this?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span><br>
[<i>Prudently.</i>] No. I will take it out on the Turkey. [<i>At this point a</i>
<span class="smcap">Voice</span> <i>calls, “Chick-chick-chick-chick-chick!” and all the</i> <span class="smcap">Fancy Cocks</span>,
<i>rushing toward the irresistible call to food, hurry out, tumbling over
one another in their haste.</i>]</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Guinea-hen</span><br>
[<i>Running after them.</i>] Are you going?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">A Padua Cock</span><br>
[<i>The last to leave.</i>] I beg to be excused! [<i>Disappears.</i>]</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Guinea-hen</span><br>
[<i>In the midst of the hubbub.</i>] Are you going? Must you go? Oh, don’t go
yet!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>To the</i> <span class="smcap">Pheasant-hen</span>.] Come, my golden Pheasant!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Guinea-hen</span><br>
[<i>Running to</i> <span class="smcap">Chantecler</span>.] Are you running away?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
To save my song!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Guinea-hen</span><br>
[<i>Running to the</i> <span class="smcap">Young Guinea-cock</span>.] My son, I am in such a state—I am
in such—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">A Hen</span><br>
[<i>Calling after</i> <span class="smcap">Chantecler</span>.] And when shall we see you again?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>Before going.</i>] When you have grown teeth! [<i>Off with the</i>
<span class="smcap">Pheasant-hen</span>.]</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Guinea-hen</span><br>
[<i>To the</i> <span class="smcap">Young Guinea-cock</span>.] This has been quite the finest affair of
the season! [<i>Darting madly about among the departing guests.</i>] Au
revoir! Mondays in August! Don’t forget!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Magpie</span><br>
[<i>Announcing.</i>] The Tortoise!</p>


<hr class="x-ebookmaker-drop chap">
<div class="chapter">
<h2><span class="smcap">Act Fourth</span><br>

<span class="small"><span class="smcap">The Night of the Nightingale</span></span></h2>
</div>
<p class="center"><i>In the Forest. Evening. Huge trees with thick gnarled roots. At the
base of one of the trees, Time or a lightning stroke has hollowed a sort
of chamber. Rising slopes carpeted with heather. Rabbit holes. Mosses.
Toadstools. Stretched between two ferns, a great cobweb, spangled with
water-drops. At the rise of the curtain</i>, <span class="smcap">Rabbits</span> <i>are discovered on
every side among the underbrush, peacefully inhaling the evening air. A
time of serene silence and coolness.</i></p>


<hr class="x-ebookmaker-drop chap">
<div class="chapter">


<h3><span class="smcap">Scene First</span></h3>
</div>
<p><i>A </i> <span class="smcap">Rabbit</span> <i>in front of his burrow</i>, <span class="smcap">Choir of Unseen Birds</span>.</p>


<p><span class="smcap">A Rabbit</span><br>
It is the hour when with sweet and solemn voices the two warblers,
Black-cap of the Gardens, and Red-wing of the Woods, intone the
evening prayer.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">A Voice</span><br>
[<i>Among the branches.</i>] O God of Birds!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Another Voice</span><br>
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">O God of Birds! or, rather, for the Hawk</span><br>
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Has surely not the same God as the Wren,</span><br>
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">O God of Little Birds!</span><br>

<p><span class="smcap">A Thousand Voices</span><br>
[<i>Among the leaves.</i>] O God of Little Birds!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">First Voice</span><br>
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Who breathed into our wings to make us light,</span><br>
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And painted them with colours of His sky,</span><br>
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">All thanks for this fair day, for meat and drink—</span><br>
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Sweet sky-born water caught in cups of stone,</span><br>
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Sweet hedgerow berries washed of dust with dew,</span><br>
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And thanks for these good little eyes of ours</span><br>
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That spy the unseen enemies of man,</span><br>
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And thanks for the good tools by Thee bestowed</span><br>
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To aid our work of little gardeners,</span><br>
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Trowels and pruning-hooks of living horn.</span><br>

<p><span class="smcap">The Second Voice</span><br>
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To-morrow we will fight borer and blight,</span><br>
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Forgive Thy birds to-night their trespasses,</span><br>
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The stripping of a currant-bush or two!</span><br>

<p><span class="smcap">The First Voice</span><br>
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Breathe on our bright round eyes and over them</span><br>
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The triple curtain of the lids will close.</span><br>
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">If Man, the unjust, pay us by casting stones,</span><br>
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For filling field and wood and eaves with song,</span><br>
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For battling with the weevil for his bread,</span><br>
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">If he lime twigs for us, if he spread snares,</span><br>
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Call to our memory Thy gentle Saint,</span><br>
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Thy good Saint Francis, that we may forgive</span><br>
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The cruelty of men because a man</span><br>
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Once called us brothers, “My brothers, the birds!”</span><br>

<p><span class="smcap">The Second Voice</span><br>
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Saint Francis of Assisi—</span><br>

<p><span class="smcap">A Thousand Voices</span><br>
[<i>Among the leaves.</i>] Pray for us!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Voice</span><br>
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Confessor of the mavis—</span><br>

<p><span class="smcap">All the Voices</span><br>
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Pray for us!</span><br>

<p><span class="smcap">The Voice</span><br>
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Preacher to the swallows—</span><br>

<p><span class="smcap">All the Voices</span><br>
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Pray for us!</span><br>

<p><span class="smcap">The Voice</span><br>
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">O tender dreamer of a generous dream,</span><br>
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Who didst believe so surely in our soul</span><br>
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That, ever since, our soul, and ever more,</span><br>
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Affirms, defines itself—</span><br>

<p><span class="smcap">All the Voices</span><br>
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Remember us!</span><br>

<p><span class="smcap">The First Voice</span><br>
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And by the favour of thy prayers obtain</span><br>
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The needful daily sup and crumb! Amen.</span><br>

<p><span class="smcap">The Second Voice</span><br>
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Amen!</span><br>

<p><span class="smcap">All the Voices</span><br>
[<i>In a murmur spreading to the uttermost ends of the forest.</i>] Amen!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>Who, having a moment before stepped from the hollow tree, has stood
listening.</i>] Amen!</p>

<p>[<i>The shade has deepened and taken a bluer tinge. The spiderweb, touched
by a moonbeam, looks as if sifting silver dust. The</i> <span class="smcap">Pheasant-hen</span> <i>comes
from the tree and follows</i> <span class="smcap">Chantecler</span> <i>with little short
feminine steps.</i>]</p>



<hr class="x-ebookmaker-drop chap">
<div class="chapter">

<h3><span class="smcap">Scene Second</span></h3>
</div>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span>, <i>the</i> <span class="smcap">Pheasant-hen</span>, <i>from time to time the</i> <span class="smcap">Rabbits</span>, <i>now
and then the</i> <span class="smcap">Woodpecker</span>.</p>


<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
How softly sleeps the moonlight on the ferns! Now is the time—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">A Little Quavering Voice</span><br>
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Spider at night,</span><br>
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Bodeth delight!</span><br>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
Thanks, kind Spider!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
Now is the time—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
[<i>Close behind him.</i>] Now is the time to kiss me.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
All those Rabbits looking on make it a trifle—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
[<i>Suddenly flaps her wings; the frightened</i> <span class="smcap">Rabbits</span> <i>start, on all sides
white tails disappear into rabbit-holes. The</i> <span class="smcap">Pheasant-hen</span> <i>coming back
to</i> <span class="smcap">Chantecler</span>.] There! [<i>They bill.</i>] Do you love my forest?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
I love it, for no sooner had I crossed its verdant border than I got
back my song. Let us go to roost. I must sing very early to-morrow.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
[<i>Imperiously.</i>] But one song only!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
Yes.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
For a month I have only allowed you one song.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>Resignedly.</i>] Yes.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
And has the Sun not risen just the same?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>In a tone of unwilling admission.</i>] The Sun has risen.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
You see that one can have the Dawn at a smaller cost. Is the sky any
less red for your only crowing once?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
No.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
Well then? [<i>Offering her bill.</i>] A kiss! [<i>Finding his kiss
absent-minded.</i>] You are thinking of something else. Please attend!
[<i>Reverting to her idea.</i>] Why should you wear yourself out? You were
simply squandering the precious copper of your voice. Daylight is all
very well, but one must live! Oh! the male creature! If we were not
there, with what sad frequency he would be fooled!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>With conviction.</i>] Yes, but you are there, you see.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
It is barbarous anyhow to keep up a perpetual cockaduddling when I am
trying to sleep.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>Gently correcting her.</i>] Doodling, dearest.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
Duddling is correct.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
Doodling.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
[<i>Raising her head toward the top of the tree and calling.</i>] Mr.
Woodpecker! [<i>To</i> <span class="smcap">Chantecler</span>.] We will ask the learned gentleman in the
green coat. [<i>To the</i> <span class="smcap">Woodpecker</span> <i>the upper half of whose figure appears
at a round hole high up in the tree trunk; his coat is green, his
waistcoat buff, and he wears a red skull-cap.</i>] Do you say cockaduddling
or cockadoodling?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Woodpecker</span><br>
[<i>Bending a long professorial bill.</i>] Both.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span> <i>and the</i> <span class="smcap">Pheasant-hen</span>
[<i>Turning to each other, triumphantly.</i>] Ah!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Woodpecker</span><br>
Duddling is more tender, doodling more poetic. [<i>He disappears.</i>]</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
It is for you I cockaduddle!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
Yes, but you cockadoodle for the Dawn!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>Going toward her.</i>] I do believe you are jealous!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
[<i>Retreating coquettishly.</i>] Do you love me more than her?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>With a cry of warning.</i>] Be careful, a snare!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
[<i>Jumping aside.</i>] Ready to spring! [<i>Dimly visible against a tree, is,
in fact, a spread bird-net.</i>]</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>Examining it.</i>] A dangerous contrivance.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
Forbidden by the game-laws of 44.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>Laughing.</i>] Do you know that?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
You seem to forget that the object of your affections comes under the
head of game.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>With a touch of sadness.</i>] It is true that we are of different kinds.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
[<i>Returning to his side with a hop.</i>] I want you to love me more than
her. Say it’s me you love most. Say it’s me!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Woodpecker</span><br>
[<i>Reappearing.</i>] I !</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>Looking up.</i>] Not in a love-scene.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
[<i>To the</i> <span class="smcap">Woodpecker</span>.] See here,—you! Be so kind another time as to
knock!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Woodpecker</span><br>
[<i>Disappearing.</i>] Certainly. Certainly.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
[<i>To</i> <span class="smcap">Chantecler</span>.] He has a bad habit of thrusting his bill between the
bark and the tree, but he is a rare scholar, exceptionally well
informed—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>Absent-mindedly.</i>] On what subjects?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
The language of birds.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
Indeed?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
For, you know, the birds when they say their prayers speak the common
language, but when they chat together in private they use a twittering
dialect, wholly onomatopoetic.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
They talk Japanese. [<i>The</i> <span class="smcap">Woodpecker</span> <i>knocks three times with his bill
on the tree: Rat-tat-tat!</i>] Come in!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Woodpecker</span><br>
[<i>Appearing, indignant.</i>] Japanese, did you say?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
Yes. Some of them say, Tio! Tio! and others say Tzoui! Tzoui!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Woodpecker</span><br>
Birds have talked Greek ever since Aristophanes!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>Rushing to the</i> <span class="smcap">Pheasant-hen</span>.] Oh, for the love of Greek! [<i>They
bill.</i>]</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Woodpecker</span><br>
Know, profane youth, that the Black-chat’s cry Ouis-ouis-tra-tra, is a
corruption of the word Lysistrata! [<i>Disappears.</i>]</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
[<i>To</i> <span class="smcap">Chantecler</span>.] Will you never love anyone but me?</p>

<p>[<span class="smcap">The Woodpecker’s</span> <i>knock is heard: Rat-tat-tat.</i>]</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
Come in!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
[<i>To</i> <span class="smcap">Chantecler</span>.] Do you promise?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Woodpecker</span><br>
[<i>Appears, soberly nodding his red cap.</i>] Tiri-para! sings the small
sedge-warbler to the reeds. Incontrovertibly from the Greek. <i>Para,</i>
along, and the word water is understood. [<i>Disappears.</i>]</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
He has Greek on the brain!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
[<i>Reverting to her idea.</i>] Am I the whole, whole world to you?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
Of course you are, only—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
In my green-sleeved Oriental robe, I look to you—how do I look?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
Like a living commandment ever to worship that which comes from the
East.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
[<i>Exasperated.</i>] Will you stop thinking of the light of day, and think
only of the light in my eyes?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
I shall never forget, however, that there was a morning when we believed
equally in my Destiny, and that in the radiant hour of dawning love you
forgot, and allowed me to forget, your gold for the gold of the Dawn!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
The Dawn! Always the Dawn! Be careful, Chantecler I shall do something
rash! [<i>Going toward the Back.</i>]</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
You will infallibly do as you like.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
In the glade not long ago I met the—[<i>She catches herself and stops
short, intentionally.</i>]</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>Looks at her, and in an angry cry.</i>] The Pheasant? [<i>With sudden
violence.</i>] Promise me that you will never again go to the glade!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
[<i>Assured of her power over him, with a bound returns to his side.</i>] And
you, promise that you will love me more than the Light!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>Sorrowfully.</i>] Oh!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
That you will not sing—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
More than one song, we have settled that point. [<i>Rat-tat-tat, from the</i>
<span class="smcap">Woodpecker</span>.] Come in!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Woodpecker</span><br>
[<i>Appearing and pointing with his bill at the net.</i>] The snare! The
farmer placed it there. He declared he would capture the Pheasant-hen.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
He flatters himself!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Woodpecker</span><br>
And that he would keep you on his farm.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
[<i>Indignant.</i>] Alive? [<i>To</i> <span class="smcap">Chantecler</span>, <i>in a tone of reproach.</i>] Your
farm!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>Seeing a</i> <span class="smcap">Rabbit</span> <i>who has returned to the edge of his hole.</i>] Ah,
there comes a Rabbit!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Rabbit</span><br>
[<i>Showing the snare to the</i> <span class="smcap">Pheasant-hen</span>.] You know if you put your foot
on that spring—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
[<i>In a tone of superiority.</i>] I know all about snares, my little man. If
you put your foot on that spring, the thing shuts. I am afraid of
nothing but dogs. [<i>To</i> <span class="smcap">Chantecler</span>.] On your farm, which you secretly
yearn for.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>In a voice of injured innocence.</i>] I ?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
[<i>To the</i> <span class="smcap">Rabbit</span>, <i>giving him a light tap with her wing to send him
home.</i>] Afraid of nothing but dogs. And since you put me in mind of it,
I think I must go and perplex their noses, by tangling my tracks all
among the grass and underwoods.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
That’s it, you go and fool the dogs!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
[<i>Starts of, then returns.</i>] You are homesick for that wretched old farm
of yours?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
<span class="smcap">I? I</span>? [<i>She goes off. He repeats indignantly.</i>] I ? [<i>Watching her out of
sight, then, dropping his voice, to the</i> <span class="smcap">Woodpecker</span>.] She is not coming
back, is she?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Woodpecker</span><br>
[<i>Who from his high window in the tree can look off.</i>] No.</p>



<hr class="x-ebookmaker-drop chap">
<div class="chapter">

<h3><span class="smcap">Scene Third</span></h3>
</div>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler, the Woodpecker</span>.</p>


<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>Eagerly.</i>] Keep watch! They are going to talk with me from home.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Woodpecker</span><br>
[<i>Interested.</i>] Who?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
The Blackbird.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Woodpecker</span><br>
I thought he hated you.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
He came near it, but the Blackbird cast of mind admits of compromise,
and it amuses him to keep me informed.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Woodpecker</span><br>
Is he coming?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>Who is a different bird since the</i> <span class="smcap">Pheasant-hen’s</span> <i>exit,
light-hearted, boyishly cheerful.</i>] No, but the blue morning-glory
opening in his cage amid the wistaria, communicates by subterranean
filaments with this white convolvulus trembling above the pool. [<i>Going
to the convolvulus.</i>] So that by talking into its chalice—[<i>He plunges
his bill into one of the trembling milky trumpets.</i>] Hello!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Woodpecker</span><br>
[<i>Nodding to himself.</i>] From the Greek, <i>allos</i>, another.
He talks with another.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
Hello! The Blackbird, please!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Woodpecker</span><br>
[<i>Keeping watch.</i>] Most imprudent, this is! To choose among the
convolvuli exactly the one which—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>Lighter and lighter of mood, returning to the</i> <span class="smcap">Woodpecker</span>.] But it’s
the only one open all night! When the Blackbird answers, the Bee who
sleeps in the flower wakes up and we—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Bee</span><br>
[<i>Inside the convolvulus.</i>] Vrrrrrrrrr!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>Briskly running to the flower and listening at the horn-shaped
receiver.</i>] Ah? This morning, did you say?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Woodpecker</span><br>
[<i>Filled with curiosity.</i>] What is it?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>In a voice of sudden emotion.</i>] Thirty chicks have been
born! [<i>Listening again.</i>] Briffaut, the hunting-dog, is ill?
[<i>As if something interfered with his hearing.</i>] I believe it
is the Dragon-flies, deafening us with the crackling of their
wings—[<i>Shouting.</i>] Will you be so kind, young ladies, as not to cut
us off? [<i>Listening.</i>] And big Julius obliges Patou to go with him on
his hunting expeditions? [<i>To the</i> <span class="smcap">Woodpecker</span>.] Ah, you ought to know
my friend Patou! [<i>Burying his bill again in the flower.</i>] So? Without
me everything goes wrong? Yes! [<i>With satisfaction.</i>] Yes! Waste and
carelessness naturally!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Woodpecker</span><br>
[<i>Who has been keeping watch, warns him suddenly under breath.</i>] Here
she comes!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>With his bill in the flower.</i>] Indeed?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Woodpecker</span><br>
[<i>Fluttering desperately.</i>] Hush!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
The Ducks spent the night under the cart, did they?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Woodpecker</span><br>
Pst!</p>



<hr class="x-ebookmaker-drop chap">
<div class="chapter">

<h3><span class="smcap">Scene Fourth</span></h3></div>


<p><span class="smcap">The Same, the Pheasant-hen</span></p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
[<i>Who has come upon the scene, with a threatening gesture at the</i>
<span class="smcap">Woodpecker</span>.] Go inside! [<i>The</i> <span class="smcap">Wood Pecker</span> <i>precipitately disappears.
She stands listening to</i> <span class="smcap">Chantecler</span>.]</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>In the convolvulus, more and more deeply interested.</i>] You don’t mean
it! What, all of them?—Yes?—No—Oh!—Well, well!—Is that so?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Woodpecker</span><br>
[<i>Who has timidly come back, aside.</i>] Oh, that an ant of the heaviest
might weigh down his tongue!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>Talking into the flower.</i>] So soon? The Peacock out of fashion?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Woodpecker</span><br>
[<i>Trying to get</i> <span class="smcap">Chantecler’s</span> <i>attention behind the</i> <span class="smcap">Pheasant-hen’s</span>
<i>back.</i>] Pst!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
[<i>Turning around, furious.</i>] You!—You had better! [<i>The</i> <span class="smcap">Woodpecker</span>
<i>alertly retires, bumping his head.</i>]</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>In the flower.</i>] An elderly Cock?—I hope that the Hens—? [<i>With
intonations more and more expressive of relief.</i>] Ah, that’s right!
that’s right! that’s right! [<i>He ends, with evident lightening of the
heart.</i>] A father! [<i>As if answering a question.</i>] Do I sing? Yes, but
far away from here, at the water-side.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
Oh!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>With a tinge of bitterness.</i>] Golden Pheasants will not long allow one
to purchase glory by too strenuous an effort, and so I go off by myself,
and work at the Dawn in secret.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
[<i>Approaching from behind with threatening countenance.</i>] Oh!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
As soon as the beauteous eye which enthralls me—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
[<i>Pausing.</i>] Oh!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
—closes, and in her surpassing loveliness she sleeps—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
[<i>Delighted.</i>] Ah!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
I make my escape.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
[<i>Furious.</i>] Oh!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
I speed through the dew to a distant place, to sing there the necessary
number of times, and when I feel the darkness wavering, when only one
song more is needed, I return and noiselessly getting back to roost,
wake the Pheasant-hen by singing it at her side.—Betrayed by the dew?
Oh, no! [<i>Laughing.</i>] For with a whisk of my wing I brush my feet clear
of the tell-tale silveriness!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
[<i>Close behind him.</i>] You brush your—?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>Turning.</i>] Ouch! [<i>Into the convolvulus.</i>] No nothing!
I Later!—Ouch!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
[<i>Violently.</i>] So! So! Not only you keep up an interest in the fidelity
of your old flames—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>Evasively.</i>] Oh!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
You furthermore—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
I —</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Bee</span><br>
[<i>Inside the morning-glory.</i>] Vrrrrrrr!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>Placing his wing over the flower.</i>] I —</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
You deceive me to the point of remembering to brush off your feet!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
But—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
This clodhopper, see now, whom I picked up off his haystack—and to rule
alone in his soul is apparently quite beyond my power!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>Collecting himself and straightening up.</i>] When one dwells in a soul,
it is better, believe me, to meet with the Dawn there, than
with nothing.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
[<i>Angrily.</i>] No! the Dawn defrauds me of a great and undivided love!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
There is no great love outside the shadow of a great dream! How should
there not flow more love from a soul whose very business it is to open
wide every day?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
[<i>Coming and going stormily.</i>] I will sweep everything aside with my
golden russet wing!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
And who are you, bent upon such tremendous sweeping [<i>They stand rigid
and erect in front of each other, looking defiance into each
other’s eyes.</i>]</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
The Pheasant-hen I am, who have assumed the golden plumage of the
arrogant male!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
Remaining in spite of all a female, whose eternal rival is the Idea!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
[<i>In a great cry.</i>] Hold me to your heart and be still!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>Crushing her brutally to him.</i>] Yes, I strain you to my Cock’s
heart—[<i>With infinite regret.</i>] Better it were I had folded you to my
Awakener’s soul!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
To deceive me for the Dawn’s sake! Very well, however much you may abhor
it, you shall for my sake deceive the Dawn.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
I How?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
[<i>Stamping her foot; in a capricious tone.</i>] It is my formal and
explicit wish—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
But listen, dear—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
My formal and explicit wish that you should for one whole day refrain
altogether from singing.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
That I —</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
I desire you to remain one whole day without singing.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
But, heavens and earth, am I to leave the valley in total darkness?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
[<i>Pouting.</i>] What harm will it do to the valley?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
Whatever lies too long in darkness and sleep becomes used to falsehood
and consents to death.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
Leave singing for one day—[<i>In a tone of evil insinuation.</i>] It will
free my mind of certain suspicions troubling it.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>With a start.</i>] I can see what you are trying to do!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
And I can see what you are afraid of!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>Earnestly.</i>] I will never give up singing.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
And what if you were mistaken? What if the truth were that Dawn comes
without help from you?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>With fierce resolution.</i>] I shall not know it.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
[<i>In a sudden burst of tears.</i>] Could you not forget the time, for once,
if you saw me weeping?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
No, I could not.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
Nothing, ever, can make you forget the time?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
Nothing. I am conscious of darkness as too heavy a weight.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
You are conscious of darkness as—Shall I tell you the truth? You think
you sing for the Dawn, but you sing in reality to be admired,
you—songster, you! [<i>With contemptuous pity.</i>] Is it possible you are
not aware that your poor notes raise a smile right through the forest,
accustomed to the fluting of the thrush?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
I know, you are trying now to reach me through my pride, but—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
I doubt if you can get so many as three toadstools and a couple of
sassafras stalks to listen to you, when the ardent oriole flings across
the leafy gloom his melodious pir-piriol!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Woodpecker</span><br>
[<i>Reappearing.</i>] From the Greek: Pure, <i>puros.</i></p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
No more from you, please! [<i>The</i> <span class="smcap">Woodpecker</span> <i>hurriedly withdraws.</i>]</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
[<i>Insisting.</i>] The echo must make some rather interesting mental
reservations, one fancies, when he hears you sing after hearing the
great Nightingale!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>Turning to leave.</i>] My nerves, my dear girl, are not of the very
steadiest to-night.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
[<i>Following.</i>] Did you ever hear him?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
Never.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
His song is so wonderful that the first time—[<i>She stops short, struck
by an idea.</i>] Oh!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
What is it?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
[<i>Aside.</i>] Ah, you feel the weight of the darkness—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>Coming forward again.</i>] What?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
[<i>With an ironical curtsey.</i>] Nothing! [<i>Carelessly.</i>] Let us go to
roost! [<span class="smcap">Chantecler</span> <i>goes to the back and is preparing to rise to a
branch. The</i> <span class="smcap">Pheasant-hen</span> <i>aside.</i>] He does not know that when the
Nightingale sings one listens, supposing it to be a minute, and lo! the
whole night has been spent listening, even as happens in the enchanted
forest of a German legend.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>As she does not join him, returns to her.</i>] What are you saying?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
[<i>Laughing in his face.</i>] Nothing!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">A Voice</span><br>
[<i>Outside.</i>] The illustrious Cock?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>Looking around him.</i>] I am wanted?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
[<i>Who has gone in the direction from whence came the voice.</i>] There, in
the grass! [<i>Jumping back.</i>] Mercy upon us! They are the—[<i>With a
movement of insuperable disgust.</i>] They are the—[<i>With a spring she
conceals herself in the hollow tree, calling back to</i> <span class="smcap">Chantecler</span>.] Be
civil to them!</p>



<hr class="x-ebookmaker-drop chap">
<div class="chapter">

<h3><span class="smcap">Scene Fifth</span></h3></div>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span>, <i>the</i> <span class="smcap">Pheasant-hen</span>, <i>hidden in the tree, and the</i> <span class="smcap">Toads</span>.</p>


<p><span class="smcap">A Big Toad</span><br>
[<i>Rearing himself in the grass.</i>] We have come—[<i>Other</i> <span class="smcap">Toads</span> <i>become
visible behind him.</i>]</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
Ye gods, how ugly they are!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Big Toad</span><br>
[<i>Obsequiously.</i>]—in behalf of all the thinking contingency of the
Forest, to the author of so many songs—[<i>He places his hand on
his heart.</i>]</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>With disgust.</i>] Oh, that hand spread over his paunch!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Big Toad</span><br>
[<i>With a hop toward</i> <span class="smcap">Chantecler</span>.]—at once novel,—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Another Toad</span><br>
[<i>Same business.</i>] Pellucid!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Another</span><br>
[<i>Same business.</i>] Succinct!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Another</span><br>
[<i>Same business.</i>] Vital!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Another</span><br>
[<i>Same business.</i>] Pure!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Another</span><br>
[<i>Same business.</i>] Great!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
Gentlemen, pray be seated. [<i>They seat themselves around a large
toadstool.</i>]</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Big Toad</span><br>
True, we are ugly—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>Politely.</i>] You have fine eyes.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Big Toad</span><br>
[<i>Raising himself by bearing with both hands upon the rim of the
toadstool.</i>] But, Knights of this fungoid Round Table, we desire to do
homage to the Parsifal who has given to the world a sublime song—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Second Toad</span><br>
A true song!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Big Toad</span><br>
And a celestial!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Third Toad</span><br>
And a no less terrestrial!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Big Toad</span><br>
[<i>With authority.</i>] A song by comparison with which the song of the
Nightingale sinks into insignificance!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>Astonished.</i>] The Nightingale’s song?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Second Toad</span><br>
[<i>In a tone of finality.</i>] Is not a circumstance to yours!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Big Toad</span><br>
[<i>With a hop.</i>] It was high time that a new singer—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Another</span><br>
[<i>Same business.</i>] And a new song—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Fifth Toad</span><br>
[<i>Quickly, to his neighbour.</i>] And a song by a stranger—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Big Toad</span><br>
Came to change conditions here.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
Ah, I shall change conditions?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">All</span><br>
Glory to the Cock!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
I do not see that the forest thinks so poorly of me after all!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Big Toad</span><br>
Played out, the Nightingale!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>More and more surprised.</i>] Really?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Second Toad</span><br>
More and more his song confesses itself effete—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Big Toad</span><br>
Mawkish!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Third Toad</span><br>
Null!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Fourth</span><br>
[<i>Contemptuously.</i>] And his old-fashioned pretense of inspiration!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Fifth Toad</span><br>
And the name he has adopted: Bul-bul!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">All the Toads</span><br>
[<i>Puffing with laughter.</i>] Bul-bul!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Big Toad</span><br>
This is the way he goes on: [<i>Parodying the song of the</i> <span class="smcap">Nightingale</span>.]
Tio! Tio!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Second Toad</span><br>
His solitary idea is an old silver trill copied from the bubbling
spring. [<i>He imitates in grotesque fashion the singing of the</i>
<span class="smcap">Nightingale</span>.] Tio! Tio!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
But—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Big Toad</span><br>
[<i>Quickly.</i>] Do not attempt, you, the Renovator of Art, to defend that
ancient high authority on sentimental gargling!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Second Toad</span><br>
That superannuated tenor quavering out his cavatinas to the glory of
minor poetry and the edification of fogydom!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Third Toad</span><br>
The Harp that twanged through Tara’s hall, and insists on twanging
still!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>Indulgently.</i>] But why should he not, after all, if he enjoys it?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Big Toad</span><br>
Endeavouring to impose on a suffering and surfeited public the musty old
fashion of ingenious fioritura!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
Audiences nowadays, of course, look for a different sort of thing.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Third Toad</span><br>
Your song has exposed the artificiality of his.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">All</span><br>
[<i>In an explosion.</i>] Down with Bul-bul!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>Whom the</i> <span class="smcap">Toads</span> <i>have gradually surrounded.</i>] Gentlemen and honored
Batrachians, my voice, it is true, gives forth natural notes—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Big Toad</span><br>
Yes, notes which lend us wings—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>Modestly.</i>] Oh!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">All</span><br>
[<i>Waggling their bodies as if about to fly.</i>] Wings!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Big Toad</span><br>
Their secret being that they sing Life!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
That is true.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Second Toad</span><br>
Yes, my dear fellow, Life!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>With careless complacency.</i>] My crest for that reason is flesh and
blood!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">All the Toads</span><br>
[<i>Clapping their little hands.</i>] Good, very good!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Big Toad</span><br>
That formula is a programme.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Second Toad</span><br>
Since we are assembled around a table, why should we not offer to the
Chief—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>Modestly, hanging back from the suggested honour.</i>]Gentlemen—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Second Toad</span><br>
—to the Chief of whom we stood in notable need, a banquet?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">All</span><br>
[<i>Beating enthusiastically upon the toadstool.</i>] A banquet!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
[<i>Looking out from the tree.</i>] What is the matter?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>In spite of all, rather flattered.</i>] A banquet!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
[<i>Slightly ironical.</i>] Shall you accept?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
You see, my dear—the new tendencies—Art,—the thinking contingency of
the Forest—[<i>Indicating the</i> <span class="smcap">Toads</span>.] Yes, I have lent wings to—[<i>In a
light and careless tone.</i>] It’s all up with the Nightingale, you see.
Musty old method! Antiquated trill! This is the way he goes on—[<i>To
the</i> <span class="smcap">Toads</span>.] How was it you said he went on?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">All the Toads</span><br>
[<i>Comically.</i>] Tio! Tio!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>To the</i> <span class="smcap">Pheasant-hen</span>, <i>with pitying indulgence.</i>] He goes on like
this: Tio! Tio! And I believe I need not scruple to accept—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">A Voice</span><br>
[<i>In the tree above him breaks forth in a long note, limpid, and
heart-moving.</i>] Tio! [<i>Silence.</i>]</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>Startled, raising his head.</i>] What was that?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Big Toad</span><br>
[<i>Quickly, visibly embarrassed.</i>] Nothing! It is he!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Voice</span><br>
[<i>Slowly and wonderfully, with the sigh of a soul in every note.</i>] Tio!
Tio! Tio! Tio!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>Turning upon the</i> <span class="smcap">Toads</span>.] Scum of the earth!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Toads</span><br>
[<i>Backing away from him.</i>] What—?</p>



<hr class="x-ebookmaker-drop chap">
<div class="chapter">

<h3><span class="smcap">Scene Sixth</span></h3></div>

<p><span class="smcap">The Same</span>, <i>the</i> <span class="smcap">Nightingale</span> <i>unseen, and little by little all the</i>
<span class="smcap">Forest Creatures</span>.</p>


<p><span class="smcap">The Nightingale</span><br>
[<i>From the tree, in his emotionally throbbing voice.</i>] Tiny bird, lost
in the darkness of the tree, I feel myself turning into the heart-beat
of the infinite night!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>To the</i> <span class="smcap">Toads</span>.] And you have dared—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Nightingale</span><br>
Hushed lies the ravine beneath the magic of the moon—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
—to compare my rude singing with that divine voice? Scum of the earth!
Toads! And I never divined that they were doing to him here what was
done to me over yonder!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Big Toad</span><br>
[<i>Suddenly swelling to a great size.</i>] Toads! Yes, as it happens, we are
Toads!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Nightingale</span><br>
Vapour of pearl wreathes the summits in an ethereal veil—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Big Toad</span><br>
[<i>Self-appreciatively.</i>] We are Toads, certainly, magnificently embossed
with warts! [<i>All rear themselves up, swollen, standing between</i>
<span class="smcap">Chantecler</span> <i>and the tree.</i>]</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
And I perceived not, I who have never known envy, to what venomous feast
I was bidden!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Nightingale</span><br>
What matter? Sooner or later, you, the strong, and I the tender, we
were fated, despite all the Toads in the world, to understand
each other!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>With religious fervour.</i>] Sing!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">A Toad</span><br>
[<i>Who has hastily dragged himself to the tree in which the</i> <span class="smcap">Nightingale</span>
<i>is singing.</i>] Let us clasp the bark with our slimy little arms, and
slaver upon the foot of the tree! [<i>All crawl toward the tree.</i>]</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>Trying to stop one of them who is clumsily hopping.</i>] But are you not
yourself gifted with a singing voice of exceptional purity?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Toad</span><br>
[<i>In a tone of sincerest suffering.</i>] I am, but when I hear somebody
else singing, I can’t help it,—I see green! [<i>He joins his
companions.</i>]</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Big Toad</span><br>
[<i>Working his jaws as if chewing something which foamed.</i>] There foam up
beneath our tongues I know not what strange soapsuds, and—[<i>To his
neighbour.</i>] Are you frothing?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Other</span><br>
I am frothing.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Another</span><br>
He is frothing.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">All</span><br>
We are frothing.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">A Toad</span><br>
[<i>Tenderly laying his arm about the neck of a dilatory</i> <span class="smcap">Toad</span>.] Come and
froth!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>To the</i> <span class="smcap">Nightingale</span>.] But will they not trouble and prevent your
mellifluent song?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Nightingale</span><br>
In no wise. I will take their refrain into my song—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Big Toad</span><br>
[<i>Patting a little</i> <span class="smcap">Toad</span> <i>on the head to encourage him.</i>] Don’t be
afraid, go ahead,—froth!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Toads</span><br>
[<i>All together, at the base of the tree to which they form a crawling,
writhing girdle.</i>] The Toads, croak! croak! the Toads are we!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Nightingale</span><br>
—And make of both a Villanelle!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Toads</span><br>
We welter in malignity!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Nightingale</span><br>
The while they fume beneath my tree I fill with song the enchanted
dell—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Toads</span><br>
The Toads, croak! croak! the Toads are we! [<i>And the Villanelle
proceeds, sung by the alternate voices, one of which, ever higher and
more enraptured, carries the song proper, and the others, ever angrier
and lower, the burden of the song.</i>]</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Nightingale</span> <i>and</i> <span class="smcap">The Toads</span>, <i>alternately</i>
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I sing! for Wind, that harper free,</span><br>
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And music bubbling from the well—</span><br>
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">—We welter in malignity!—</span><br>

<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And fragrance floating from the lea,</span><br>
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of meadow-sweet and pimpernel—</span><br>
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">—The Toads, croak! croak! the Toads are we!—</span><br>

<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And Luna showering ecstasy,</span><br>
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">All weave so wonderful a spell—</span><br>
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">—We welter in malignity!—</span><br>

<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Its melting magic moveth me</span><br>
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The secret of my heart to tell!</span><br>
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">—The Toads, croak! croak! the Toads are we!—</span><br>

<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Within my heart all sympathy,</span><br>
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Within mine eye all visions dwell—</span><br>
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">—We welter in malignity!—</span><br>

<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Life, Death, I turn to rhapsody,</span><br>
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Who am the deathless Philomel!</span><br>
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">—The Toads, croak! croak! the Toads are we,</span><br>
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Who welter in malignity!</span><br>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
Beside those heavenly pipes, ah, me! my voice is Punchinello’s squeak!
Sing on! Sing on! The Croakers are in retreat.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Toads</span><br>
[<i>Retreating, overcome by the conquering song.</i>] Croak! croak!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
Their fate to seethe in the cauldron of a witch! But you, the creatures
of the forest come to slake the thirst of their hearts at your song. See
them creeping to the lure—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Toads</span><br>
[<i>From the underbrush.</i>] Croak! croak!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
A doe, look! tiptoeing on delicate hoofs, followed by a wolf who has
forgotten to be a wolf—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Toads</span><br>
[<i>Lost among the grass.</i>] Croak!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
The squirrel steals down from the lofty tree-tops. The whole vast forest
is stirred by a thrill of brotherliness.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Toads</span><br>
[<i>Out of sight.</i>]—roak!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
The echo alone now repeats—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Faint Distant Voice</span><br>
—oak!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
Gone! Gone are the Toads!</p>

<p>[<i>Music holds the night: a song without words, delicate volleys of
rapturous notes.</i>]</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
The Glow-worms have lighted their small, green lamps. All that is good
comes forth, while hate shrinks back to its lair. Now they that shall be
eaten lay themselves down in the grass by the side of them that shall
eat them. The Star of a sudden looks nearer to earth, and forsaking her
web the Spider draws herself up toward your song, climbing by her own
silken thread.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">All the Forest</span><br>
[<i>In a moan of ecstasy.</i>] Ah!</p>

<p>[<i>And the forest lies as if under a spell; the moonlight is softer, the
tender green fire of the glow-worm shines blinking among the moss; on
all sides, between the tree-boles creep, shadow-like, the charmed
beasts; eyes shine, moist muzzles point toward the source of the music.
The</i> <span class="smcap">Woodpecker</span> <i>stands at his bark window, dreamily nodding; all the</i>
<span class="smcap">Rabbits</span>, <i>with uppricked ears, sit at their earthen doors.</i>]</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
When he sings thus without words, what is he singing, Squirrel?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Squirrel</span><br>
[<i>From a tree-top.</i>] The joy of swift motion.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
And what say you, Hare?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Hare</span><br>
[<i>In the coppice.</i>] The thrill of fear!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
You, Rabbit?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">One of the Rabbits</span><br>
The Dew!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
You, Doe?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Doe</span><br>
[<i>From the depths of the woods.</i>] Tears!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
Wolf?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Wolf</span><br>
[<i>In a gentle distant howl.</i>] The Moon!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
And you, Tree with the golden wound, singing Pine?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pine-tree</span><br>
[<i>Softly beating time with one of its boughs.</i>] He tells me that my
drops of resin in the form of rosin will sing upon the bows of violins!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
And you, Woodpecker, what does he say to you?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Woodpecker</span><br>
[<i>In ecstasy.</i>] He says that Aristophanes—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>Promptly interrupting him.</i>] Never mind! I know! You, Spider?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Spider</span><br>
[<i>Swinging at the end of one of her threads.</i>] He sings of the raindrop
sparkling in my web like a royal gift.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
And you, Drop of Water, sparkling in her web?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">A Little Voice</span><br>
[<i>From the cobweb.</i>] Of the Glow-worm!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
And you, Glow-worm?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">A Little Voice</span><br>
[<i>In the grass.</i>]Of the Star!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
And you, if one may so far presume as to question you, of what does he
sing to you, Star?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">A Voice</span><br>
[<i>In the sky.</i>] Of the Shepherd!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
Ah, what fountain is it—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
[<i>Who is watching the horizon between the trees.</i>] The darkness is
lightening.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
What fountain, in which each finds water for his thirst? [<i>Listening
with greater attention.</i>] To me he speaks of the Day, which arises and
shines at my song!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
[<i>Aside.</i>] And speaks of it so eloquently that for once you will forget
it!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>Noticing a</i> <span class="smcap">Bird</span> <i>who having come a little way out of the thicket is
beatifically listening.</i>] And how do you, Snipe, translate his poem?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Snipe</span><br>
I don’t know. I only know I like it—It is sweet!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
[<i>Who is not lured—she!—into forgetting to watch the
sky between the branches, aside.</i>] The night is wearing
away!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>To the</i> <span class="smcap">Nightingale</span>, <i>in a discouraged voice.</i>] To sing! To sing! But
how, after hearing the faultless crystal of your note, can I ever be
satisfied again with the crude, brazen blare of mine?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Nightingale</span><br>
But you must!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
Shall I find it possible ever again to sing? My song, alas, must seem to
me always after this too brutal and too red!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Nightingale</span><br>
I have sometimes thought that mine was too facile, perhaps, and too
blue!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
Oh, how can you humble yourself to make such a confession to me?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Nightingale</span><br>
You fought for a friend of mine, the Rose! Learn, comrade, this
sorrowful and reassuring fact, that no one, Cock of the morning or
evening Nightingale, has quite the song of his dreams!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>With passionate desire.</i>] Oh, to be a sound that soothes and lulls!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Nightingale</span><br>
To be a splendid call to duty!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
I make nobody weep!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Nightingale</span><br>
I awaken nobody! [<i>But after the expression of this regret, he continues
in an ever higher and more lyrical voice.</i>] What matter? One must sing
on! Sing on, even while knowing that there are songs which he prefers to
his own song. One must sing,—sing,—sing,—until—[<i>A shot. A flash
from the thicket. Brief silence, then a small, tawny body drops at</i>
<span class="smcap">Chantecler’s</span> <i>feet.</i>]</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>Bending and looking.</i>] The Nightingale!—The brutes! [<i>And without
noticing the vague, earliest tremour of daylight spreading through the
air, he cries in a sob.</i>] Killed! And he had sung such a little, little
while! [<i>One or two feathers slowly flutter down.</i>]</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
His feathers!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>Bending over the body which is shaken by a last throe.</i>] Peace, little
poet!</p>

<p>[<i>Rustling of leaves and snapping of twigs; from a thicket projects</i>
<span class="smcap">Patou’s</span> <i>shaggy head.</i>]</p>



<hr class="x-ebookmaker-drop chap">
<div class="chapter">

<h3><span class="smcap">Scene Seventh</span></h3></div>

<p><i>The same</i>, <span class="smcap">Patou</span>, <i>emerging for a moment from the brush.</i></p>


<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>To</i> <span class="smcap">Patou</span>.] You! [<i>Reproachfully.</i>] You have come to get him?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Patou</span><br>
[<i>Ashamed.</i>] Forgive me! The poacher compels me—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>Who had sprung before the body, to protect it, uncovers it.</i>] A
Nightingale!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Patou</span><br>
[<i>Hanging his head.</i>] Yes. The evil race of man loves to shower lead
into a singing tree.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
See, the burying beetle has already come.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Patou</span><br>
[<i>Gently withdrawing.</i>] I will make believe I found nothing.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
[<i>Watching the day break.</i>] He has not noticed that night is nearly
over.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>Bending over the grasses which begin to stir about the dead bird.</i>]
Insect, where the body has fallen, be swift to come and open the earth.
The funereal necrophaga are the only grave-diggers who never carry the
dead elsewhere, believing that the least sad, and the most fitting tomb,
is the very clay whereon one fell into the final sleep. [<i>To the funeral
insects, while the</i> <span class="smcap">Nightingale</span> <i>begins gently to sink into the
ground.</i>] Piously dig his grave! Light lie the earth upon him!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
[<i>Aside, looking at the horizon.</i>] Over there—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
Verily, verily, I say unto you, Bul-bul to-night shall see the Bird of
Paradise!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
[<i>Aside.</i>] The sky is turning white! [<i>A whistle is heard in the
distance.</i>]</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Patou</span><br>
[<i>To</i> <span class="smcap">Chantecler</span>.] I will come back. He is whistling me. [<i>Disappears.</i>]</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
[<i>Restlessly dividing her attention between the horizon and the</i> <span class="smcap">Cock</span>.]
How can I conceal from him—[<i>She moves tenderly toward</i> <span class="smcap">Chantecler</span>,
<i>opening her wings so as to hide the brightening East, and taking
advantage of his grief.</i>] Come and weep beneath my wing! [<i>With a sob he
lays his head beneath the comforting wing which is quickly clapped over
him. And the</i> <span class="smcap">Pheasant-hen</span> <i>gently lulls him, murmuring.</i>] You see that
my wing is soft and comforting! You see—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>In a smothered voice.</i>] Yes!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
[<i>Gently rocks him, darting a glance now and then over her shoulder to
see how the dawn is progressing.</i>] You see that a wing is an outspread
heart—[<i>Aside.</i>] Day is breaking! [<i>To</i> <span class="smcap">Chantecler</span>.] You see
that—[<i>Aside.</i>] The sky has paled! [<i>To</i> <span class="smcap">Chantecler</span>.]—that a wing
is—[<i>Aside.</i>] The tree is steeped in rosy light! [<i>To</i>
<span class="smcap">Chantecler</span>.]—partly a shield, and partly a cradle, partly a cloak and a
place of rest,—that a wing is a kiss which enfolds and covers you over.
You see that—[<i>With a backward leap, suddenly withdrawing her wings.</i>]
the Day can break perfectly well without you!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>With the greatest cry of anguish possible to created being.</i>] Ah!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
[<i>Continuing inexorably.</i>] That the mosses in a moment will be scarlet!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>Running toward the moss.</i>] Ah, no! No! Not without me! [<i>The moss
flushes red.</i>] Ungrateful!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
The horizon—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>Imploringly, to the horizon.</i>] No!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
—is glowing gold!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>Staggering.</i>] Treachery!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
One may be all in all to another heart, you see, one can be nothing to
the sky!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>Swooning.</i>] It is true!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Patou</span><br>
[<i>Returning, cheery and cordial.</i>] Here I am! I have come to tell you
that they are all mad over there, at the topsy-turvy farm, to have back
the Cock who orders the return of Day!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
They believe that now I have ceased to believe it!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Patou</span><br>
[<i>Stopping short, amazed.</i>] What do you mean?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
[<i>Bitterly pressing close to</i> <span class="smcap">Chantecler</span>.] You see that a heart pressing
against your own is better than a sky which does not in the very
least need you.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
Yes!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
That darkness after all may be as sweet as light if there are two
close-clasped in the shade.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>Wildly.</i>] Yes! Yes! [<i>But suddenly leaving her side he raises his head
and in a ringing voice.</i>] Cock-a-doodle-doo!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
[<i>Taken aback.</i>] Why are you crowing?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
As a warning to myself,—for thrice have I denied the thing I love!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
And what is that?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
My life’s work! [<i>To</i> <span class="smcap">Patou</span>.] Up and about! Come, let us go!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
What are you going to do?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
Follow my calling.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
But what night is there for you to rout?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
The night of the eyelid!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
[<i>Pointing toward the growing glory of the dawn.</i>] Very well, you will
rouse sleepers—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
And Saint Peter!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
But can you not see that Day has risen without the benefit of your
crowing?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
I am more sure of my destiny than of the daylight before my eyes.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
[<i>Pointing at the</i> <span class="smcap">Nightingale</span> <i>who has already half disappeared into
the earth.</i>] Your faith can no more return to life than can that
dead bird.</p>

<p>[<i>From the tree above their heads suddenly rings forth the
heart-stirring, limpid, characteristic note: Tio! Tio!</i>]</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
[<i>Struck with amazement.</i>] Is it another singing?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Patou</span><br>
[<i>With quivering ear.</i>] And singing still better, if possible.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
[<i>Looking up in a sort of terror at the foliage, and then down at the
little grave.</i>] Another takes up the song when this one disappears?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Voice</span><br>
In the forest must always be a Nightingale!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>With exaltation.</i>] And in the soul a faith so faithful that it comes
back even after it has been slain.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
But if the Sun is climbing up the sky?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
There must have been left in the air some power from my yesterday’s
song.</p>

<p>[<i>Flights of noiseless grey wings pass among the trees.</i>]</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Owls</span><br>
[<i>Hooting joyfully.</i>] He kept still!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Patou</span><br>
[<i>Raising his head and looking after them.</i>] The Owls, fleeing from the
newly risen light, are coming home to the woods.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Owls</span><br>
[<i>Returning to their holes in the old trees.</i>] He kept still!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>With all his strength come back to him.</i>] The proof that I was serving
the cause of light when I sang is that the Owls are glad of my silence.
[<i>Going to the</i> <span class="smcap">Pheasant-hen</span>, <i>with defiance in his mien.</i>] I make the
Dawn appear, and I do more than that!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
[<i>Choking.</i>] You do—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
On grey mornings, when poor creatures waking in the twilight dare not
believe in the day, the bright copper of my song takes the place of the
sun! [<i>Turning to go.</i>] Back to our work!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
But how find courage to work after doubting the work’s value?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
Buckle down to work!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
[<i>With angry stubbornness.</i>] But if you have nothing whatever to do with
making the morning?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
Then I am just the Cock of a remoter Sun! My cries so affect the night
that it lets certain beams of the day pierce through its black tent, and
those are what we call the stars. I shall not live to see shining upon
the steeples that final total light composed of stars clustered in
unbroken mass; but if I sing faithfully and sonorously and if, long
after me, and long after that, in every farmyard its Cock sings
faithfully, sonorously, I truly believe there will be no more night!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
When will that be?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
One Day!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
Go, go, and forget our forest!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
No, I shall never forget the noble green forest where I learned that he
who has witnessed the death of his dream must either die at once or else
arise stronger than before.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
[<i>In a voice which she does her best to make insulting.</i>] Go and get
into your hen-house by the way of a ladder.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
The birds have taught me that I can use my wings to go in.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
Go and see your old Hen in her old broken basket.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
Ah, forest of the Toads, forest of the Poacher, forest of the
Nightingale, and of the Pheasant-hen, when my old peasant mother sees me
home again, back from your green recesses where pain is so interwoven
with love, what will she say?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Patou</span><br>
[<i>Imitating the</i> <span class="smcap">Old Hen’s</span> <i>affectionate quaver.</i>] How that Chick has
grown!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>Emphatically.</i>] Of course she will! [<i>Turning to leave.</i>]</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
He is going! When faithless they turn to leave, oh, that we had arms,
arms to hold them fast,—but we have only wings!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>Stops short and looks at her, troubled.</i>] She weeps?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Patou</span><br>
[<i>Hastily, pushing him along with his paw.</i>] Hurry up!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>To</i> <span class="smcap">Patou</span>.] Wait a moment.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Patou</span><br>
I am willing. Nothing can sit so patiently and watch the dropping of
tears as an old dog.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
[<i>Crying to</i> <span class="smcap">Chantecler</span>, <i>with a leap toward him.</i>] Take me with you!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>Turns and in an inflexible voice.</i>] Will you consent to stand second
to the Dawn?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
[<i>Fiercely drawing back.</i>] Never!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
Then farewell!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
I hate you!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler</span><br>
[<i>Already at some distance among the brush.</i>] I love you, but I should
poorly serve the work to which I devote myself anew at the side of one
to whom it were less than the greatest thing in the world! [<i>He
disappears.</i>]</p>



<hr class="x-ebookmaker-drop chap">
<div class="chapter">

<h3><span class="smcap">Scene Eighth</span></h3></div>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen, Patou</span>, <i>later the</i> <span class="smcap">Woodpecker, Rabbits</span>, <i>and, all the</i>
<span class="smcap">Voices</span> <i>of the awakening forest.</i></p>


<p><span class="smcap">Patou</span><br>
[<i>To the</i> <span class="smcap">Pheasant-hen</span>.] Mourn!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Spider</span><br>
[<i>In the centre of her-web which now sifts the gold dust of a sunbeam.</i>]
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Spider at morn,</span><br>
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Cometh to warn!</span><br>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
[<i>Furiously, tearing down the cobweb with a brush of her wing.</i>] Be
still, hateful Spider!—Oh, may he perish for having disdained me!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Woodpecker</span><br>
[<i>Who from his window has been watching</i> <span class="smcap">Chantecler’s</span> <i>departure,
suddenly, frightened.</i>] The poacher has seen him!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Owls</span><br>
[<i>In the trees.</i>] The Cock is in danger!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Woodpecker</span><br>
[<i>Leaning out to see better.</i>] He breaks his gun in two!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Patou</span><br>
[<i>Alarmed.</i>] To load it! Is that murderous fool in sheepskin gaiters
going to fire upon a rooster?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
[<i>Spreading her wings to rise.</i>] Not if he sees a pheasant!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Patou</span><br>
[<i>Springing before her.</i>] What are you doing?</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
Following my calling! [<i>She flies toward the danger.</i>]</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Woodpecker</span><br>
[<i>Seeing that in her upward swing she must touch the spring of the
forgotten snare.</i>] Look out for the snare! [<i>Too late. The net falls.</i>]</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
[<i>Utters a cry of despair.</i>] Ah!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Patou</span><br>
She is caught!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
[<i>Struggling in the net.</i>] He is lost!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Patou</span><br>
[<i>Wildly.</i>] She is—He is—</p>

<p>[<i>All the</i> <span class="smcap">Rabbits</span> <i>have thrust out their heads to see.</i>]</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
[<i>Crying in an ardent prayer.</i>] Daybreak protect him!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Owls</span><br>
[<i>Rocking themselves gleefully among the branches.</i>] The gun-barrel
shines, shines—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
Dawn, touch the cartridge with your dewy wing! Trip the foot of the
hunter in a tangle of grass! He is your Cock! He drove off the darkness
and the shadow of the Hawk! And he is going to die. Nightingale, you,
say something! Speak!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Nightingale</span><br>
[<i>In a supplicating sob.</i>] He fought for a friend of mine, the Rose!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
Let him live! And I will dwell in the farmyard beside the ploughshare
and the hoe! And renouncing for his sake all that in my pride I made a
burden and torment to him, I will own, O Sun, that when you made his
shadow you marked out my place in the world!</p>

<p>[<i>Daylight grows. On all sides, rustles and murmurs.</i>]</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Woodpecker</span><br>
[<i>Singing.</i>] The air is blue!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">A Crow</span><br>
[<i>Cawing as he flies past.</i>] Daylight grows!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
The forest is astir—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">All the Birds</span><br>
[<i>Waking among the trees.</i>] Good-morning! Good-morning! Good-morning!
Good-morning! Good-morning!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
Everyone sings!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">A Jay</span><br>
[<i>Darting past like a streak of blue lightning.</i>] Ha, ha!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Woodpecker</span><br>
The Jay shakes with homeric laughter.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
[<i>Crying in the midst of the music of the morning.</i>] Let him live!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Jay</span><br>
[<i>Again darting past.</i>] Ha, ha!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">A Cuckoo</span><br>
[<i>In the distance.</i>] Cuckoo!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
I abdicate!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Patou</span><br>
[<i>Lifting his eyes heavenward.</i>] She abdicates!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
Forgive, O Light, to whom I dared dispute him! Dazzle the eye taking
aim, and be victory awarded, O Sunbeams—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Jay</span> <i>and the</i> <span class="smcap">Cuckoo</span>
[<i>Far away.</i>] Ha! Cuckoo!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
—to your powder of gold—[<i>A shot. She gives a sharp cry, ending in a
dying voice.</i>]—over man’s black powder! [<i>Silence.</i>]</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Chantecler’s Voice</span><br>
[<i>Very far away.</i>] Cock-a-doodle-doo!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">All</span><br>
[<i>In a glad cry.</i>] Saved!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Rabbits</span><br>
[<i>Capering gaily out of their burrows.</i>] Let us turn somersets among the
thyme!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">A Voice</span><br>
[<i>Fresh and solemn, among the trees.</i>] O God of birds!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Rabbits</span><br>
[<i>Stopping short in their antics stand abruptly still; soberly.</i>] The
morning prayer!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Woodpecker</span><br>
[<i>Crying to the</i> <span class="smcap">Pheasant-hen</span>.] They are coming to examine the trap!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Pheasant-hen</span><br>
[<i>Closes her eyes in resignation.</i>] So be it!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Voice in the Trees</span><br>
God by whose grace we wake to this new day—</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Patou</span><br>
[<i>Before leaving.</i>] Hush! Drop the curtain! Men folk are coming!
[<i>Off.</i>]</p>

<p>[<i>All the woodland creatures hide. The</i> <span class="smcap">Pheasant-hen</span> <i>is left alone,
and, held down by the snare, with spread wings and panting breast,
awaits the approach of the giant.</i>]</p>

<p class="center p2"><span class="smcap">Curtain</span></p>



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