Chapter I: Part 1
CHANTECLER
Play in Four Acts
By
EDMOND ROSTAND
Translated
By
GERTRUDE HALL
1910
_DRAMATIS PERSONAE_
CHANTECLER
PATOU
THE BLACKBIRD
THE PEACOCK
THE NIGHTINGALE
THE GRAND-DUKE
THE SCREECH-OWL
LITTLE SCOPS
THE GAME-COCK
THE HUNTING DOG
A CARRIER-PIGEON
THE WOOD-PECKER
THE TURKEY
THE DUCK
THE YOUNG GUINEA-COCK
THE PHEASANT-HEN
THE GUINEA-HEN
THE OLD HEN
THE WHITE HEN
THE GREY HEN
THE BLACK HEN
THE SPECKLED HEN
THE TUFTED HEN
A Gander. A Capon. Chickens. Chicks. A Cockerel.
A Swan. A Cuckoo. Night-birds. Fancy Cocks.
Toads. A Turkey-hen. A Goose. A Garden Warbler.
A Woodland Warbler. A Spider. A Heron. A Pigeon.
A Guinea-pig. Barnyard animals. Woodland Creatures.
Rabbits. Birds. Bees. Cicadas. Voices.
PROLOGUE
_The customary three knocks are heard. The drop-curtain wavers and is rising, when a voice rings out, “Not yet!” and the_ MANAGER, _a gentleman of important mien in evening dress, springing from his proscenium box, hurries toward the stage, repeating, “Not yet!”_
_The curtain is again lowered. The_ MANAGER _turns toward the audience, and resting one hand on the prompter’s box, addresses them:_
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?
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.
You are desired to-night to listen to those sounds and entering the scene before you see it, to wonder and surmise--
_Bending his ear, the_ MANAGER _listens to the sounds now beginning to come from behind the curtain._
A footstep--is it a road? A flutter of wings--is it a garden?
_The curtain here rippling as if about to rise, the_ MANAGER _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._
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.
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.
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.
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!
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!
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!
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.
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.
Sunday!--Farmer and farmer’s wife are starting for the fair. The old horse paws the ground--
A ROUGH VOICE [_Behind the curtain, through the horse’s pawing._] Whoa, Dapple!
ANOTHER VOICE [_As if calling to a laggard._] Come along! We shan’t get home till morning!
AN IMPATIENT VOICE Are you ready?
ANOTHER VOICE Fasten the shutters!
MAN’S VOICE All right!
WOMAN’S VOICE My sunshade!
MAN’S VOICE [_Through the cracking of the whip._] Gee up!
THE MANAGER 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.
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. [_He listens again._]
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!
The members of our company are small, but--[_Calling toward the flies._] Alexander! [_To the audience._] He is my chief machinist. [_Calling again._] Let it down!
A VOICE [_From the flies._] It’s coming, sir!
MANAGER We have lowered between the audience and the stage an invisible screen of magnifying glass--
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!
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.
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--
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!
ACT I
THE EVENING OF THE PHEASANT-HEN
_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._
SCENE FIRST
_The whole barnyard company,_ HENS, CHICKENS, CHICKS, DUCKS, TURKEYS, _etc.;_ THE BLACKBIRD _in his cage_, THE CAT _asleep on the wall, later_ A BUTTERFLY _on the flowers._
THE WHITE HEN [_Pecking._] Ah! Delicious!
ANOTHER HEN What are you eating?
ALL THE HENS [_Rushing to the spot._] What’s she eating?
THE WHITE HEN A small green beetle, crisp and nice, tasting of the rose-leaves he had lived on.
THE BLACK HEN [_Standing before the_ BLACKBIRD’S _cage._] Really, the Blackbird whistles amazingly!
THE WHITE HEN Any little street urchin can do as much!
THE TURKEY [_Solemnly._] An urchin who had learned of a shepherd in Sicily!
THE DUCK He never whistles his tune to the end--
THE TURKEY That’s too easy, carrying it to the end! [_He hums the tune the_ BLACKBIRD _has been whistling._] “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!
[_The_ BLACKBIRD _comes out on the little platform in front of his cage and bows._]
A CHICK [_Astonished._] Can he get out?
BLACKBIRD Applause is salt on my tail!
THE CHICK But his cage?
THE TURKEY 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!
THE BLACK HEN [_Catching sight of a_ BUTTERFLY _alighting on the flowers above the wall at the back._] Oh, what a gorgeous butterfly!
THE WHITE HEN Where?
THE BLACK HEN On the honey-suckle.
THE TURKEY That kind is called an Admiral.
THE CHICK [_Looking after the_ BUTTERFLY.] Now he has settled on a pink.
THE WHITE HEN [_To the_ TURKEY.] An Admiral, wherefore?
THE BLACKBIRD Obviously because he is neither a seaman nor a soldier.
THE WHITE HEN Our Blackbird has a pretty wit!
THE TURKEY [_Nodding and swinging his red stalactite._] He has better than wit, my dear!
ANOTHER HEN [_Watching the_ BUTTERFLY.] It’s sweet--a butterfly!
THE BLACKBIRD Easy as possible to make! You take a W and set it on top of a Y!
A HEN [_Delighted._] A flourish of his bill, and there you have your caricature!
THE TURKEY 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.
A CHICK [_To a_ HEN.] Mother, why does the Cat hate the Dog?
THE BLACKBIRD Because he appropriates his seat at the theatre.
THE CHICK [_Surprised._] They have a theatre?
THE BLACKBIRD Where dumb-shows are given.
THE CHICK Eh?
THE BLACKBIRD The hearthstone from whence both alike wish to watch the play of the Fire among the Logs.
THE TURKEY [_Delighted._] 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!
THE SPECKLED HEN [_To the_ WHITE HEN, _who is pecking._] Do you peck peppers?
THE WHITE HEN Constantly.
THE SPECKLED HEN How can you stand the sting?
THE WHITE HEN It imparts to the feathers a delicate rosy tint.
THE SPECKLED HEN Oh, does it!
A VOICE IN THE DISTANCE Cuckoo!
THE WHITE HEN Listen!
THE VOICE [_From a greater distance._] Cuckoo!
THE WHITE HEN The Cuckoo!
A GREY HEN [_Comes running excitedly._] Which Cuckoo? The one who lives in the woods, or the one who lives in the clock?
THE VOICE [_Still further off._] Cuckoo!
THE WHITE HEN The one of the woods.
THE GREY HEN [_With a sigh of relief._] Oh, I was so afraid of having missed the other!
THE WHITE HEN [_Going near enough to her to speak in an undertone._] Do you mean to say you love him?
THE GREY HEN [_Sadly._] 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--[_She takes up her position on the threshold._]
A VOICE White Hen!
SCENE SECOND
THE SAME, _a_ PIGEON _on the roof, later_ CHANTECLER.
THE WHITE HEN [_Looking about with quick jerks of her head._] Who called me?
THE VOICE A pigeon.
THE WHITE HEN [_Looking for him._] Where?
THE PIGEON On the sloping roof.
THE WHITE HEN [_Lifting her head and seeing him._] Ah!
THE PIGEON Though I am the bearer of an important missive, I would not miss the opportunity--Good evening, Hen!
THE WHITE HEN Postman, howdedo?
THE PIGEON My duty on the Postal Service of the Air obliging me this summer evening to pass your habitations, I should be most happy if--
THE WHITE HEN [_Spying a crumb of some sort._] One moment, please.
ANOTHER HEN [_Running eagerly towards her._] What are you eating?
ALL THE HENS [_Arriving at a run._] What’s she eating?
THE WHITE HEN A simple grain of wheat.
THE GREY HEN [_Taking up her conversation with the_ WHITE HEN.] As I was telling you, I mean to stay right on the door-step there--[_Showing the door of the house._]
THE WHITE HEN [_Looking at the door._] The door is shut.
THE GREY HEN Yes, but I shall hear the hour striking, and I will catch a look at my Cuckoo by stretching my neck,--
THE PIGEON [_Calling, slightly out of patience._] White Hen!
THE WHITE HEN One moment, please! [_To the_ GREY HEN.]--Catch a look at your Cuckoo, by stretching your neck where?--Where?
THE GREY HEN [_Pointing with her beak at the small, round opening at the foot of the door._] Through the cat-hole!
THE PIGEON [_Raising his voice to a shout._] Am I to be kept here cooling my feet on your rain-pipe? Hi, there, whitest of Hens!
THE WHITE HEN [_Hopping towards him._] You were saying?
THE PIGEON I was about to say--
THE WHITE HEN What, bluest of Pigeons?
THE PIGEON 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--
THE WHITE HEN Of what?
THE PIGEON Oh, just a glimpse, the very least glimpse of--
ALL THE HENS [_Impatiently._] Of what?--What?
THE PIGEON Of his comb!
THE WHITE HEN [_Laughing, to the others._] Ha! ha! he wishes to see--
THE PIGEON [_In great excitement._] That’s it! Just to see--
THE WHITE HEN There, there, cool down!
THE PIGEON I am shaking with excitement!
THE WHITE HEN You are shaking down the roof!
THE PIGEON You can’t think how we admire him!
THE WHITE HEN Oh, everyone admires him!
THE PIGEON And I promised my missis to tell her what he is like!
THE WHITE HEN [_Quietly pecking._] Oh, he’s a fine fellow, no doubt of that!
THE PIGEON 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!
THE BLACKBIRD [_Hopping up and down in his cage._] Tick-tock!--who sets all hearts a-beating, tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock!
A HEN Our Cock!
THE BLACKBIRD [_Thrusting his head between the bars of his cage._] My, thy, his, her, our, your, and their Cock!
THE TURKEY [_To the_ PIGEON.] He will soon be coming in from his usual round in the fields.
THE PIGEON You have the honour of his acquaintance, sir?
THE TURKEY [_Importantly._] 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.
THE PIGEON Ah, indeed? You give lessons in--
THE TURKEY Certainly. A bird who can gobble is qualified to teach crowing.
THE PIGEON Where was he born?
THE TURKEY [_Indicating an old covered basket, badly battered and broken._] In that old basket.
THE PIGEON And is the hen who brooded him still living?
THE TURKEY [_Again indicating the basket._] She is there.
THE PIGEON Where?
THE TURKEY In that old basket.
THE PIGEON [_More and more interested._] Of what breed is she?
THE TURKEY She is just a good old-fashioned Gascon hen, born in the neighbourhood of Pau.
THE BLACKBIRD [_Thrusting out his head._] She is the one Henry the Fourth wished to see cooking in every Frenchman’s pot!
THE PIGEON How proud she must be of having hatched such a Cock!
THE TURKEY 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-- [_Calling towards the basket._] Hey, old lady, he is growing!
ALL THE HENS He is growing!
[_The lid of the basket is suddenly lifted, and a bristling aged hen’s head appears._]
THE PIGEON [_To the_ OLD HEN, _gently and feelingly._] Does it make you happy, mother, to think of him grown to a big fine Cock?
THE OLD HEN [_Nodding, sententiously._] Happy?--Wednesday’s crops do credit to Tuesday! [_She disappears, the lid drops._]
THE TURKEY She opens now and then, like that, and ping! shoots at us some such pearl of homely lore--
THE PIGEON [_To the_ WHITE HEN.] White Hen!
THE TURKEY --not always wholly without point!
THE OLD HEN [_Reappearing for an instant._] In the Peacock’s absence, the Turkey spreads his tail!
[_The_ TURKEY _turns quickly around, the lid has already dropped._]
THE PIGEON [_To the_ WHITE HEN.] Is it a fact that Chantecler is never hoarse, never the very least husky?
THE WHITE HEN [_Keeping on with her pecking._] Perfectly true.
THE PIGEON [_With growing enthusiasm._] Ah, you must be proud Cock who will be numbered among Illustrious Animals and his name remembered five, ten, fifteen years!
THE TURKEY Very proud. Very proud. [_To a_ CHICK.] Who are the Illustrious Animals? Tell them off!
THE CHICK [_Reciting a lesson._] Noah’s Dove--Saint Rocco’s Poodle--The--the Horse of Cali--
THE TURKEY Cali--?
THE CHICK [_Trying to remember._] Cali--
THE PIGEON 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?
THE WHITE HEN [_Pecking._] Perfectly true.
THE CHICK [_Still hunting for his word._] Cali--Cali--
THE PIGEON White Hen, is it true that by his song, defender of the warm and sacred egg, he has frequently kept the lissome weasel from--
THE BLACKBIRD [_Looking out between the bars._]--messing his shirtfront with omelette?
THE WHITE HEN Perfectly true.
THE CHICK Cali--
THE TURKEY [_Helping him._] Gu?
THE CHICK Gu--
THE PIGEON Is it true--?
THE CHICK [_Jumping for joy at having found._] Gula!
THE PIGEON --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?
THE WHITE HEN [_Weary of this questioning._] Perfectly true.
THE PIGEON That secret, that great secret, is it known to anyone?
THE WHITE HEN No.
THE PIGEON He has not even told his Hen?
THE WHITE HEN [_Correcting him._] His Hens.
THE PIGEON [_Slightly shocked._] Ah, he has more than one?
THE BLACKBIRD He crows, remember, you only coo.
THE PIGEON Well, then, he has not even told his favourite?
THE TUFTED HEN [_Promptly._] No, he has not!
THE WHITE HEN [_As promptly._] No, he has not!
THE BLACK HEN [_As promptly._] No, he has not!
THE BLACKBIRD [_Thrusting out his head._] Hush!--An aÎrial drama! The Butterfly, absorbed in his head of blossom, banquets, all oblivious of--
[_A great green gauze butterfly-net appears above the wall, softly coming towards the_ BUTTERFLY _settled on one of the flowers._]
A HEN What is that?
THE TURKEY [_Solemnly._] Fate!
THE BLACKBIRD In a thin disguise of gauze!
THE WHITE HEN Oh, a net--at the end of a cane!
THE BLACKBIRD No harm in the cane--it’s the kid at the other end of the cane! [_Half aloud, watching the_ BUTTERFLY.] You neat little fop, sailing from rose to rose, to-night you’ll be neat as a pin can make you!
ALL [_Watching the cautious approach of the net beyond the wall._] Nearer--Nearer--Hush! He’ll catch it!--No he won’t!--Yes, he will!
SUDDENLY OUTSIDE Cock-a-doodle-doo!
[_At the sound, the_ BUTTERFLY _flies off. The_ NET _wavers a moment, with an effect of disappointment, then disappears._]
SEVERAL HENS What?--Eh?--What was it?
A HEN [_Who having hopped up on a wheelbarrow can follow the flight of the_ BUTTERFLY.] He is off and away, over the meadow.
THE BLACKBIRD [_With ironical emphasis._] It’s Chantecler, practicing knight-errantry!
THE PIGEON [_With emotion._] Chantecler!
A HEN He is coming!
ANOTHER HEN He is just outside--
THE WHITE HEN [_To the_ PIGEON.] Now you will see. He’s a very fine bird indeed.
THE BLACKBIRD [_Thrusting his head between the bars._] Easy as possible to make, a Cock!
THE TURKEY [_Admiringly._] Admirable amenity!
THE BLACKBIRD 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!
THE PIGEON [_Gently._] One thing you have omitted--His heavenly clarion call!
THE BLACKBIRD [_Indicating_ CHANTECLER, _who now appears upon the wall._] Yes, but with the exception of that--slight detail, you must own my portrait is a likeness.
THE PIGEON Not at all. Not in the very least. [_Contemplating_ CHANTECLER _with a very different eye from the_ BLACKBIRD’S.] 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!
CHANTECLER [_On the wall, in a long guttural sigh._] Coa--
THE BLACKBIRD When he makes that noise in his throat, he either is in love, or preparing some poetic outburst.
CHANTECLER [_Motionless on the wall, with head high._] Blaze forth in glory!--Dazzle--
THE BLACKBIRD He’s letting off hot air!
CHANTECLER Irradiate the world!
A HEN Now he pauses--one claw lifted--
CHANTECLER [_In a sort of groan of excessive tenderness._] Coa--
THE BLACKBIRD That, if you please, is ecstasy!
CHANTECLER Thy gold is of all gold alone beneficent! I worship thee!
THE PIGEON [_Under breath._] To whom is he talking?
THE BLACKBIRD [_Sneering._] To the sun, sonny, the sun!
CHANTECLER
O thou that driest the tears of the meanest among weeds
And dost of a dead flower make a living butterfly--
Thy miracle, wherever almond-trees
Shower down the wind their scented shreds,
Dead petals dancing in a living swarm--
I worship thee, O Sun! whose ample light,
Blessing every forehead, ripening every fruit,
Entering every flower and every hovel,
Pours itself forth and yet is never less,
Still spending and unspent--like mother’s love!
I sing of thee, and will be thy high priest,
Who disdainest not to glass thy shining face
In the humble basin of blue suds,
Or see the lightning of thy last farewell
Reflected in an humble cottage pane!
THE BLACKBIRD [_Thrusting out his head._] Can’t call it off now, boys, he’s started on an ode!
THE TURKEY [_Watching_ CHANTECLER _as by a series of stately hops he comes down a pile of hay._] Here he comes, prouder than--
A HEN [_Stopping in front of a small tin cone._] See there! The new-fangled drinking-trough! [_She drinks._] Handy!
THE BLACKBIRD Prouder than a drum major chanting as he marches: “My country, ’tis of thee!”
CHANTECLER [_Beginning to walk about the yard._] Thou smilest on the--
ALL THE HENS [_Rushing to the_ WHITE HEN _who is eating something._] What’s she eating?
THE WHITE HEN Corn. Nothing but corn.
CHANTECLER
Thou smilest on the sunflower craning after thee,
And burnishest my brother of the vane,
And softly sifting through the linden-trees
Strewest the ground with dappled gold,
So fine there’s no more walking where it lies.
Through thee the earthen pot is an enamelled urn,
The clout hung out to dry a noble banner,
The hay-rick by thy favour boasts a golden cape,
And the rick’s little sister, the thatched hive,
Wears, by thy grace, a hood of gold!
Glory to thee in the vineyards! Glory to thee in the fields!
Glory among the grass and on the roofs,
In eyes of lizards and on wings of swans,--
Artist who making splendid the great things
Forgets not to make exquisite the small!
’Tis thou that, cutting out a silhouette,
To all thou beamest on dost fasten this dark twin,
Doubling the number of delightful shapes,
Appointing to each thing its shadow,
More charming often than itself.
I praise thee, Sun! Thou sheddest roses on the air,
Diamonds on the stream, enchantment on the hill;
A poor dull tree thou takest and turnest to green rapture,
O Sun, without whose golden magic--things
Would be no more than what they are!
THE PIGEON Bravo! I shall have something to tell my mate. We shall long talk of this!
CHANTECLER [_Seeing him, with noble courtesy._] Young blue-winged stranger, with new-fledged bill, thanks! Pray lay my duty at her coral feet!
[_The_ PIGEON _flies off._]
THE BLACKBIRD Jolly your admirers, it pays!
CHANTECLER [_In a cordial voice, to the whole barnyard._] To work now, all of you, with a will!
[_A_ FLY _darts past, buzzing._]
CHANTECLER Busy and resonant Fly, I love thee! Behold her! What is her flight but the heart-whole gift of herself?
THE TURKEY [_Loftily._] Yes.--She has dropped considerably in my esteem, however, since that matter of the--
CHANTECLER Of the what?
THE TURKEY Of the Fly and the--
CHANTECLER 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!
THE TURKEY Yes, but all the same--
CHANTECLER [_Turning his back on him._] Come, let us make of labour a delight! Come, all of you!--High time, Ganders my worthies, you escorted your geese to the pond.
A GANDER [_Lazily._] Is it quite necessary, do you think?
CHANTECLER [_Going briskly towards him, with a look that forbids discussion._] Quite! And let there be no idle quacking and paltering! [_The_ GANDERS _go off in haste._] 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!
THE COCKEREL [_Slightly mortified._] The echo--?
CHANTECLER That is what I was doing to limber up my glottis before I was rid of the egg-shell sticking to my tail!
A HEN [_Airily._] None of this is particularly interesting!
CHANTECLER Everything is interesting! Pray go and sit on the eggs you have been entrusted with! [_To another_ HEN.] 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! [_To another._] You, hie to the rescue of cabbages in old neglected corners, where the grasshopper lays siege to them with his vigorous battering-ram! [_To the remaining_ HENS.] You--[_Catching sight of the_ OLD HEN, _whose shaking, senile head has lifted the basket-lid._] Ah, there you are, Nursie! Good day! [_She gazes at him admiringly._] Well, have I grown?
THE OLD HEN Sooner or later, tadpole becomes toad!
CHANTECLER True! [_To the _HENS,_ resuming his tone of command._] Ladies, stand in line! Your orders are to peck in the fields. Off at a quick-step, go!
THE WHITE HEN [_To the_ GREY HEN.] Are you coming?
THE GREY HEN Not a word! I intend to stay behind, to see the Cuckoo. [_She hides behind the basket._]
CHANTECLER You, little tufted hen, was it just my fancy that you looked sulky falling into line?
THE TUFTED HEN [_Going up to him._] Cock--
CHANTECLER What is it?
THE TUFTED HEN I, who am nearest to your heart--
CHANTECLER [_Quickly._] Hush!
THE TUFTED HEN It annoys me not to be told--
THE WHITE HEN [_Who has drawn near on the other side._] Cock--
CHANTECLER Well?
THE WHITE HEN [_Coaxingly._] I who am your favourite--
CHANTECLER [_Quickly._] Hush!
THE WHITE HEN [_Caressingly._] I want to know--
THE BLACK HEN [_Who has softly drawn near._] Cock--
CHANTECLER What?
THE BLACK HEN Your special and tender regard for me--
CHANTECLER [_Quickly._] Hush!
THE BLACK HEN Tell me, do--
THE WHITE HEN --the secret--
THE TUFTED HEN --of your song? [_Going still closer to him, in a voice thrilled with curiosity._] I do believe that you have in your throat a little copper contrivance--
CHANTECLER That’s it, that’s what I have, very carefully concealed!
THE WHITE HEN [_Same business._] Most likely, like great tenors one has heard of, you gulp raw eggs--
CHANTECLER You have guessed!--A second Ugolino!
THE BLACK HEN [_Same business._] My idea is that taking snails out of their shells, you pound them to a paste--
CHANTECLER And make them into troches! Exactly!
ALL THREE HENS Cock--!
CHANTECLER Off with you all! Be off! [_The_ HENS _hastily start, he calls them back._] 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. [_They are leaving, he again calls them back._] And remember, when chickens go to the--
A HEN --fields--
CHANTECLER --the foremost--
THE HENS ALL TOGETHER --walks ahead!
CHANTECLER You may go! [_They are again starting, he peremptorily calls them back._] A word! [_In a stern voice._] Never when crossing the road stop to peck! [_The_ HENS _bow in obedience._] Now let me see you cross!
A HORN [_In the distance._] Honk! Honk! Honk!
CHANTECLER [_Rushing in front of the_ HENS _and spreading his wings before them._] Not yet!
THE HORN [_Very near, accompanied by a terrific snorting._] Honk! Honk! Honk!
CHANTECLER [_Barring the_ HENS’ _passage, while everything shakes._] Wait!
THE HORN [_Far away._] Honk! Honk! Honk!
CHANTECLER [_Standing aside for them to pass._] You can safely go!
THE GREY HEN [_From her hiding-place._] He has not seen me!
THE TUFTED HEN You may think this is fun! Now everything we eat will taste of gasoline!
SCENE THIRD
CHANTECLER, _the_ BLACKBIRD _in his cage, the_ CAT _still asleep on the wall, the_ GREY HEN _behind the_ OLD HEN’S _basket._
CHANTECLER [_To himself, after a pause._] 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 [_Shaking his feathers._] just rejoice in being a rooster! [_He struts up and down._] 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--
A VOICE [_Loud and gruff._] Beware, Chantecler!
CHANTECLER What silly beast is bidding me beware?
SCENE FOURTH
THE SAME, PATOU.
PATOU [_Barking inside his kennel._] I! I! I!
CHANTECLER [_Retreating._] Is it you, Patou, good shaggy head starting out of the dark, with straws caught among your eyelashes?
PATOU Which do not prevent my seeing what is plain as that hen-house rrrroof!
CHANTECLER Cross?
PATOU Grrrrrrr--
CHANTECLER When he rolls his r’s like that he is very cross indeed.
PATOU 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.
CHANTECLER Your humour? Your dogma, suspicion is! Call it your _dog_ma!
PATOU 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.
CHANTECLER But you are no rat-terrier!
PATOU [_Shaking his head._] Chantecler, how do we know?
CHANTECLER [_Considering him._] Your appearance is in fact peculiar What actually is your breed?
PATOU 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!
CHANTECLER Then what a sum of goodness must be stored in you!
PATOU 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--
CHANTECLER You lie on the earth and sleep in the sun!
PATOU [_With a pleased yap._] Aye!
CHANTECLER We have ever had in common our love for those two things.
PATOU 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!
CHANTECLER 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.
THE OLD HEN [_Lifting the basket-lid with her head._] The egg looks like marble until it gets smashed! [_The lid drops._]
CHANTECLER [_To_ PATOU.] What dangers, friend?
PATOU There are two. First, in yonder cage--
CHANTECLER Well?
PATOU That satirical whistling.
CHANTECLER What about it?
PATOU Pernicious.
CHANTECLER In what way?
PATOU In every way!
CHANTECLER [_Ironical._] Bad as all that, is it? [_The_ PEACOCK’S _squall is heard in the distance: “Ee--yong!”_]
PATOU And then that cry, the Peacock’s!
[_The_ PEACOCK, _further off: “Ee--yong!”_]
PATOU More out of tune all by itself than a whole village singing society!
CHANTECLER Come, what have they done to you, that whistler and that posturer?
PATOU [_Grumbling._] 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! [_The _ BLACKBIRD _is heard tentatively whistling, “How sweet to fare afield”._] 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!
CHANTECLER [_Indulgently._] Come, he whistles his tune like many another!
PATOU [_Unwillingly agreeing, in a drawling growl._] Ye-e-es, but he never whistles it to the end!
CHANTECLER [_Watching the_ BLACKBIRD _hopping about._] A light-hearted fellow!
PATOU [_Same business._] Ye-e-es, but he lies heavy on our hearts. A bird who takes his exercise indoors!
CHANTECLER You must own he is intelligent!
PATOU [_In a longer, more hesitant growl._] 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!
CHANTECLER Taste, my dear fellow, he unmistakably has!
PATOU 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.
CHANTECLER You will admit at least that he has an original fancy. No denying that he is amusing.
PATOU 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?
CHANTECLER His mind has a diverting, unexpected turn--
PATOU 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!
CHANTECLER 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--
PATOU Like a beastly little undertaker who, after burying Faith, hops with relief and glee!
CHANTECLER There, there! You make him blacker than he is!
PATOU I do believe a blackbird is just a misfit crow!
CHANTECLER His diminutive size, however--
PATOU [_Vigorously shaking his ears._] 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!
CHANTECLER [_Amused at_ PATOU’S _violence._] The blackbird in short is wicked, stupid, ugly--
PATOU 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--”
CHANTECLER But what harm does he do?
PATOU 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!
CHANTECLER Come, Patou!--
PATOU 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!
CHANTECLER [_Surprised at_ PATOU’S _having lowered his voice to utter the last words._] Why do you drop your voice?
PATOU You see?--If we speak of stars nowadays we must do it in a whisper! [_He lays his head on his paws in deep dejection._]
CHANTECLER [_Comforting him._] Be not downcast!
PATOU [_Lifting his head again._] No, it is too silly and too weak! I’ll shout it if I please! [_He howls with the whole power of his lungs._] Stars!--[_Then in a tone of relief._] There, I feel better!
CHICKENS [_Passing at the back, mocking._] Stars!--Ho! Stars for ours! Stars! [_They go off, fooling and giggling._]
PATOU Hear them! Our pullets will be whistling soon like blackbirds!
CHANTECLER [_Proudly strutting up and down._] What care I? I sing, and have on my side the Hens.
PATOU Trust not to the hearts of Hens--or of crowds. You are too willing to take the price of your singing in lip-service.
CHANTECLER But love--love is glory awarded in kisses!
PATOU 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!--[_Roaring in sudden wrath._] For whom?--For whom, do you suppose?
CHANTECLER [_Retreating._] You alarm me!
PATOU For a low-down dachshund who trod on his own ears!
THE BLACKBIRD [_Who has overheard_ PATOU’S _last words, sticking his head between the bars of his cage._] Still harping on the dachshund, is he? What’s the odds, old chappie? You were the goat!--How does being the goat matter?
PATOU But you up there, scoffing at everything, who are you, may one ask?
BLACKBIRD I’m the pet of the poultry yard!
PATOU Bad luck is what you’ll bring them!
BLACKBIRD A prophecy-sharp?--Say, wisteria, we are twisted up with laughter! [_He comes out of his cage and hops to the ground._]
PATOU [_As he approaches_] Grrrrrrr--
CHANTECLER Hush! He’s a friend!
PATOU A false one.
CHANTECLER [_To_ BLACKBIRD.] Fine things we learn when the talk is of you!
THE OLD HEN [_Her head protruding from the basket._] Strike rotten wood, and see the wood-lice scatter! [_The basket-lid drops._]
PATOU [_To_ CHANTECLER.] He laughs at you behind your back!
BLACKBIRD [_To_ PATOU.] Ha, retriever, you retrieve?
PATOU 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!
CHANTECLER So that’s what you say?
BLACKBIRD [_Affecting simplicity._] You surely don’t mind? How can it affect you? And a joke about you is always so sure of success!
PATOU [_To the_ BLACKBIRD.] Point-blank, do you admire or despise the Cock?
BLACKBIRD I make fun of him in spots, but admire him in lump!
PATOU You always peck two kinds of seed.
THE BLACKBIRD My cage has two seed-cups, you see.
PATOU I am single-minded and downright!
THE BLACKBIRD You--are an old poodle of the year 48! I am an up-to-date bird!
PATOU [_Gruffly._] Out of my way! lest I give your black coat red tails! [_The_ BLACKBIRD _nimbly gets out of the way,_ PATOU _goes into his kennel grumbling._] I’ll show him some up-to-date jaws!
CHANTECLER Be quiet! It’s his way. The truth is that if once he stood in the presence of beauty, this very Blackbird would applaud!
PATOU 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?
BLACKBIRD He never seems to suspect that the poacher is a blackguardly sort of brute!
PATOU What I know is that the underbrush is all a delicate golden gloom--
THE BLACKBIRD 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--
PATOU 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?
THE BLACKBIRD No, old chap--but the stag, you see, is just another kind of a hat-rack!
PATOU Oh, but freedom, freedom, with violets looking on! Love!--
THE BLACKBIRD 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--[_At_ PATOU’S _significant start and growl, he springs aside, finishing._] You can sling mud upon me, I have a porcelain bath!
CHANTECLER [_Slightly out of patience._] Why not make a practice of talking simply and to the point?
THE BLACKBIRD I like to make you sit up, and watch you blinking.
PATOU Grrrrr--in the plain interest of public decency, I say it behooves us--
THE BLACKBIRD Don’t say behooves, say it’s up to you, old chap!
CHANTECLER What’s all this juggling with words?
THE BLACKBIRD The thing, Chantecler, quite the thing! I knew a city sparrow once, and it’s the way they talk in fashionable circles.
CHANTECLER I was well acquainted with a little red-breast, who lived beneath a city poet’s eaves; he did not talk like you.
THE BLACKBIRD 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.
PATOU I froth at the mouth! Smart,--there’s the Peacock’s password!
CHANTECLER Oh, the Peacock, by the way, what is he doing these days?
THE BLACKBIRD Ogling with his tail-feathers!
PATOU Baneful his example has been to many an humble heart.
CHANTECLER What signs do you see of his influence?
PATOU A thousand nothings.
THE OLD HEN [_Appearing._] Bubbles floating down the stream tell of laundresses up stream! [_The lid drops._]
CHANTECLER I am sure I have not seen the smallest bubble from which--
PATOU [_Indicating a_ GUINEA-PIG, _who is passing._] See there, that Guinea-pig--
CHANTECLER [_Considering him._] What about him? He is just a yellow Guinea-pig!
GUINEA-PIG [_Snippily correcting._] Khaki, if you please!
CHANTECLER [_To_ PATOU.] Kha--?
PATOU A bubble!--And yonder waddling duck--
CHANTECLER [_Looking at him._] He is going to take his bath--
THE DUCK [_Drily._] My tub!
CHANTECLER His--?
PATOU A bubble!
[_A long grating noise is heard within the house Crrrrrrr, then._]
THE CLOCK Cuckoo!
THE GREY HEN [_Leaving her hiding-place and running towards the cat-hole._] His voice!--Now through the kitty’s little door I finally shall see him! [_She thrusts her head into the hole. The_ CUCKOO’S _call is not repeated._] Oh, deary, deary me! I am too late! [_Calling._] Bis! Encore!
CHANTECLER [_Turning around at the noise._] Eh?
THE GREY HEN [_Desperately, with her head in the cat-hole._] He has stopped!
THE BLACKBIRD It was the half-hour.
CHANTECLER [_Close behind the_ GREY HEN, _abruptly._] How does it happen, my love, that we are not in the fields?
THE GREY HEN [_Turning, scared._] Goodness gracious!
CHANTECLER What are we doing, my love, in the cat-hole?
THE GREY HEN [_Upset._] I was just taking a peep--
CHANTECLER To see whom?
THE GREY HEN [_More and more upset._] Oh--!
CHANTECLER [_Dramatically._] Who is it?
THE GREY HEN Oh--
CHANTECLER Confess!
THE GREY HEN [_In the voice of a woman caught in guilt._] The Cuckoo!
CHANTECLER [_Amazed._] You love him?--But wherefore?
THE GREY HEN [_Drops her eyes, then with emotion._] He is Swiss!
PATOU A bubble!
THE GREY HEN He is a thinker. He takes his airing--
CHANTECLER She loves a clock!
THE GREY HEN --always takes his airing at the same hour, like Kant.
CHANTECLER Like what?
THE GREY HEN Like Kant.
CHANTECLER Did one ever--! Out of my sight!
THE BLACKBIRD Trot, Kant you?
[THE GREY HEN _hurries off._]
CHANTECLER Here’s a pretty--Wherever did she learn that Kant--?
PATOU At the Guinea-hen’s.
CHANTECLER That foolish old party of the crazy cries and the white-plastered beak?
PATOU She has taken a day.
CHANTECLER A day off, do you mean?
PATOU No, a day at home.
CHANTECLER A day at--Where does she receive?
THE BLACKBIRD In a corner of the kitchen-garden.
PATOU Under the auspices of that strawman with the unsavoury old top-hat.
CHANTECLER The scarecrow?
THE BLACKBIRD Yes, his being there makes the affair select.
CHANTECLER [_Bewildered._] How is that?
THE BLACKBIRD Don’t you see? He scares off all the puny fowl--. Poor relations are not wanted at a function.
CHANTECLER So the Guinea-hen has a day!
PATOU [_Phlegmatically._] A bubble!
CHANTECLER A balloon!
THE BLACKBIRD [_Imitating the_ GUINEA-HEN.] Mondays, my dear--
CHANTECLER And what do they do at that feather-brain’s parties?
PATOU Cluck and cackle. The Turkey-cock airs his social gifts, the Chick gets into society.
BLACKBIRD [_Imitating the_ GUINEA-HEN.] From five to six--
CHANTECLER Evening?
PATOU No, morning.
CHANTECLER What--?
THE BLACKBIRD 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.
CHANTECLER What nonsense!
THE BLACKBIRD Quite so.
PATOU You needn’t talk. You go to her teas.
CHANTECLER He goes--?
THE BLACKBIRD Yes, I am one of their ornaments.
PATOU And I am not so sure but that some day--
CHANTECLER What are you mumbling to your brass-studded collar?
PATOU --some Hen may get you too to go!
CHANTECLER Me?
PATOU You!
CHANTECLER Me?--
PATOU Led by the end of your beak.
CHANTECLER [_In high wrath._] Me?--
PATOU For when a new Hen heaves in sight, you can’t help yourself, you know--you lose your balance-wheel--
THE BLACKBIRD You slowly circumambulate the fair one--[_He imitates the_ COCK _walking around a_ HEN.] “Yes, it’s me.--Here I am!” And you say, “Coa--”
CHANTECLER I never knew a more idiotic bird!
THE BLACKBIRD [_Continuing to mimic him._] You let your wing hang, sentimentally--your foot performs a sort of stately jig--[_A shot is heard._] Ha! I don’t like that!
PATOU [_Starts up quivering, and scents the air._] Poaching Julius is at his tricks again!
THE BLACKBIRD Dog, it seems to stimulate you agreeably!
PATOU [_With ears up-pricked and shining eyes._] Yes! [_Suddenly, as if controlling himself, passionately._] No--!
THE BLACKBIRD What affects you so?
PATOU Oh, horrible, horrible! A poor little partridge perhaps--
THE BLACKBIRD Is that streaming eye, my friend, a result of age or rheumatism?
PATOU 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! [_Another shot._]
CHANTECLER Again?
SCENE FIFTH
THE SAME, A GOLDEN PHEASANT, _later_ BRIFFAUT.
A GOLDEN PHEASANT [_Flying suddenly over the wall, and dropping in the yard, mad with fright._] Hide me!
CHANTECLER Heavens!
PATOU A golden pheasant!
GOLDEN PHEASANT Is this great Chantecler?
THE BLACKBIRD All over the shop, we’re famous!
GOLDEN PHEASANT [_Running hither and thither._] Save me, if you are he!
CHANTECLER I am!--Rely on me!
[_Another shot._]
GOLDEN PHEASANT [_Jumping and casting himself on_ CHANTECLER.] Merciful powers!
CHANTECLER But what a nervous bird it is--a golden pheasant!
GOLDEN PHEASANT I have no breath left! I ran too hard!-[_Faints._]
THE BLACKBIRD Puff!--Out goes his light!
CHANTECLER [_Upholding the_ PHEASANT _with one wing._] How beautiful he is, with drooping neck and softly ruffled throat-feathers! [_He runs to the drinking-trough._] Water!--One almost hesitates to dim such beauty with a wetting--[_He splashes him vigorously with his other wing._]
THE GOLDEN PHEASANT [_Coming to._] I am pursued! Oh, hide me!
THE BLACKBIRD “And the villain still--” Here’s melodrama!
[_To the_ PHEASANT.] How the dickens did he manage to miss you?
THE PHEASANT 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--[_Seeing_ PATOU _he quickly adds._] I am speaking of a hunting-dog! [_To_ CHANTECLER.] Hide me!
CHANTECLER 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?
PATOU There by the bench with the beehives stands my green cottage, very much at your service.--Go in, I pray! [_The_ GOLDEN PHEASANT _goes in, but his long tail projects._] There is too much of this golden vanity!--The tip is still in sight.--I shall have to sit on it.
[BRIFFAUT _appears above the wall. Long hanging ears and quivering chops._]
PATOU [_To_ BRIFFAUT, _affecting unconcern._] Good afternoon!
BRIFFAUT [_Snuffing._] Humph, what a good smell!
PATOU [_Pointing to his bowl._] My poor dinner! Soup with seasonable vegetables.
BRIFFAUT [_Hurriedly._] Have you seen a pheasant-hen go by?
PATOU [_In astonishment, reflecting._] A pheasant-hen,--?
CHANTECLER [_Walking about, with an assumption of gaiety._] Impressive, isn’t he, Briffaut there? with his look of a thoroughbred old Englishman!
PATOU No, but I saw a pheasant.
BRIFFAUT That was she!
PATOU A pheasant-hen wears dun. This was a golden pheasant He went off towards the meadow.
BRIFFAUT It is she!
CHANTECLER [_Going towards him, incredulous._] A pheasant-hen with golden plumage?
BRIFFAUT Ah, you do not know what sometimes happens?
CHANTECLER _and_ PATOU No.
THE BLACKBIRD We are in for a hunting yarn!--Give me chloroform!
BRIFFAUT 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--
PATOU What happens?
BRIFFAUT That the pheasant-hen--Ah, my dear fellows--!
CHANTECLER [_Stamping with impatience._] The pheasant-hen what?--what?
BRIFFAUT 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--
THE BLACKBIRD And it makes her sore!
BRIFFAUT 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! [_He sketches with his paw a slightly disrespectful gesture._]
CHANTECLER [_Dryly._] Pray, what do you know about it?
BRIFFAUT [_Astonished._] Is he annoyed?
PATOU [_Aside._] Already!
CHANTECLER In short, the pheasant your master missed--
BRIFFAUT Was a she!--[_He stops and scents the air._] Oh but!--
PATOU [_Quickly, showing his dish._] You know, it’s my dinner you smell!
BRIFFAUT It smells very unusually good.
CHANTECLER [_Aside._] I don’t like that way his nose has of twitching.
BRIFFAUT [_Starting upon another story._] Fancy such an instance as the following--
THE BLACKBIRD Holy Smoke! Here comes another!--Oh, I say, hire a hall!
[_A distant whistle is heard._]
CHANTECLER [_Quickly._] You are whistled for!
BRIFFAUT The deuce! Good evening! [_Disappears._]
PATOU Good evening.
CHANTECLER Gone, at last!
BLACKBIRD [_Calling._] Briffaut!
CHANTECLER Great Glory, what are you doing?
THE BLACKBIRD [_Calling._] I have something to tell you!
BRIFFAUT [_His head reappears above the wall._] Well--?
THE BLACKBIRD Look out, Briffaut!
CHANTECLER [_Low to the_ BLACKBIRD.] Do you make sport of our fears?
THE BLACKBIRD You are losing something!
BRIFFAUT What?
THE BLACKBIRD Time!
BRIFFAUT [_Disappearing with a snort of fury._] Wow!
SCENE SIXTH
CHANTECLER, THE BLACKBIRD, PATOU, THE PHEASANT-HEN
CHANTECLER [_After a moment, to the_ BLACKBIRD _who from his cage, which he has returned, can see off over the wall._] Is he gone?
THE BLACKBIRD He is nearly out of sight!
CHANTECLER [_Going toward_ PATOU’S _kennel._] Madam, come forth!
THE PHEASANT-HEN [_Appearing at the threshold of the kennel._] 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!
THE BLACKBIRD Whew! We hate ourself, don’t we!
THE PHEASANT-HEN In the forest where I live there comes a-poaching--
CHANTECLER That madman who would have given to vile lead a jewel for setting!
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Chantecler: Play in Four ActsChapter I: Part 1
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