Chapter II: Part 2
THE PHEASANT-HEN 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!
PATOU You?
THE PHEASANT-HEN The Pheasant!
PATOU [_Politely correcting her._] Pheasant-hen.
THE PHEASANT-HEN 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!
CHANTECLER She is distractingly lovely, so much is certain!
PATOU He is never going to fall in love with a woman dressed as a man!
THE BLACKBIRD [_Who has again hopped down from his cage._] 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! [_Off._]
CHANTECLER So you come to us from the East, like the Dawn?
THE PHEASANT-HEN My life has the picturesque disorder of a poem. If I came from the East, it was by way of Egypt.
PATOU [_Aside, heart-broken._] A gypsy, on top of the rest!
THE PHEASANT-HEN [_To_ CHANTECLER, _tossing and twisting her head so that the colours ripple at her throat._] 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--
PATOU [_In consternation._] She is mad!
THE PHEASANT-HEN Wild as a tree-bough in a southerly gale, I tremble, flutter, spend myself in motion, till a vast languor overtakes me--
CHANTECLER [_Who for a minute or so has been letting his wing hang, now begins slowly circling about the_ PHEASANT-HEN, _in the manner of the_ BLACKBIRD _aping him, with a very gentle, throaty._] Coa--[_The_ PHEASANT-HEN _looks at him. Believing himself encouraged, he takes up again louder, while circling about her._] Coa--
THE PHEASANT-HEN My dear sir, I prefer to tell you at once that if it is for my benefit you are doing that--
CHANTECLER [_Stopping short._] What?
THE PHEASANT-HEN The eye--the peculiar gait--the drooping wing--the “Coa--”
CHANTECLER But I--
THE PHEASANT-HEN You do it all very nicely, I admit; only, it has not the very slightest effect upon me!
CHANTECLER [_Slightly abashed._] Madam--
THE PHEASANT-HEN 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--
CHANTECLER But--
THE PHEASANT-HEN I do not bestow my affections quite so lightly. For my taste, anyhow, you are altogether too frankly Cock of the Walk!
CHANTECLER Too--?
THE PHEASANT-HEN Spoiled! The only Cock to my fancy would be a plain inglorious Cock to whom I should be all in all.
CHANTECLER But--
THE PHEASANT-HEN Love a celebrated Cock? I am not such a very woman!
CHANTECLER But--well--still--We might, however, Madam, take a little stroll together!
THE PHEASANT-HEN Yes, like two friends.
CHANTECLER Two friends.
THE PHEASANT-HEN Two chickens.
CHANTECLER Very old!
THE PHEASANT-HEN [_Quickly._] No, no--not old! Very ugly!
CHANTECLER [_Quicker still._] Oh, no, not ugly! [_Coming nearer to her._] Will you take a turn in the yard?--Accept my wing!
THE PHEASANT-HEN You shall show me the sights.
CHANTECLER [_Stopping before the_ CHICKENS’ _drinking-trough._]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--
THE BLACKBIRD [_Returning._] The Guinea-hen is having a fit!
THE PHEASANT-HEN [_To_ CHANTECLER, _looking about her._] And so you live here untroubled, and have nothing to fear?
CHANTECLER 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.
THE BLACKBIRD The showman’s on the job!
THE PHEASANT-HEN [_Indicating the_ BLACKBIRD.] And that?
CHANTECLER Our humorist.
THE PHEASANT-HEN What does he do?
CHANTECLER Oh, he keeps busy!
THE PHEASANT-HEN Doing what?
CHANTECLER Trying never to appear a fool, and that’s hard work.
THE PHEASANT-HEN Possibly--but most unattractive! [_They move towards the back._]
THE BLACKBIRD [_With a glance at the_ PHEASANT-HEN’S _scarlet breast._] Size up the highfalutin’ dame!--Get on to the waistcoat will you?
CHANTECLER [_Continuing the round._] 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.
PHEASANT-HEN Your song then is a matter of importance?
CHANTECLER [_Seriously._] The greatest.
THE PHEASANT-HEN Why?
CHANTECLER That is my secret.
THE PHEASANT-HEN If I should ask you to tell me?
CHANTECLER [_Turning the conversation, and showing a pile of brushwood tied in bundles._] My friends, the fagots.
THE PHEASANT-HEN Stolen from my forest!--So what they say is true?--you have a secret?
CHANTECLER [_Dryly._] Yes, Madam.
THE PHEASANT-HEN I suppose it would be useless to insist--
CHANTECLER [_Climbing on the wall at the back._] 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.
THE PHEASANT-HEN What?--This is all?
CHANTECLER This is all.
THE PHEASANT-HEN And do you imagine the world ends at your vegetable-patch?
CHANTECLER No.
THE PHEASANT-HEN Do you never, as you watch, far overhead, the wedge of the south-flying birds, dream of vaster horizons?
CHANTECLER No.
PHEASANT-HEN But all these things about you are dreary and poor and flat!
CHANTECLER And I can never become used to the richness and wonder of these things!
THE PHEASANT-HEN It is always the same, you must agree!
CHANTECLER Nothing is ever the same,--nothing,--ever,--under the sun! And that because of the sun!--For _She_ changes everything!
THE PHEASANT-HEN She--Who?
CHANTECLER 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!
THE PHEASANT-HEN [_Thoughtfully._] 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?
CHANTECLER 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!
THE OLD HEN [_Appearing._] None knows the heavens like the water in the well!
CHANTECLER [_Presenting her to the _PHEASANT-HEN_ before the basket-lid drops._] My foster-mother!
THE PHEASANT-HEN [_Politely approaching._] Delighted!
THE OLD HEN [_Slyly winking at her._] He’s a fine Cock!
THE PHEASANT-HEN He is a Cock, moreover, for whom that fact is not the only thing in the world!
CHANTECLER [_Who has gone toward_ PATOU.] There, my dear boy, is a Hen with whom one can have a bit of solid conversation.
SCENE SEVENTH
THE SAME, _the_ GUINEA-HEN, _and the whole_ POULTRY-YARD
_Cries outside, nearer and nearer,_ “Ah!--” _Enter all the_ HENS _in tumult, preceded by the agitated_ GUINEA-HEN.
THE BLACKBIRD [_In his cage._] The next course will be Guinea-hen!
THE GUINEA-HEN [_Running to the_ PHEASANT-HEN.] Ah, my dear, my dear, my dear!--A beauty, a very beauty!--We have come to make your acquaintance, my dear!
[_General admiration,_ “Ah!--” _The_ PHEASANT-HEN _is surrounded. Conversation, cries, clucking._]
CHANTECLER [_Watching the_ PHEASANT-HEN, _aside._] How well she walks, with free and graceful gait!--[_He looks at the_ HENS.] So differently from my Hens! [_Irritably, to the_ HENS.] Ladies, you walk as if you had blisters! You walk as if you trod on your own eggs!
PATOU No mistaking the symptoms! He is very much in love.
THE GUINEA-HEN [_Presenting her son to the_ PHEASANT-HEN.] The Guinea-cock, my son.
THE YOUNG GUINEA-COCK [_Looking admiringly at the_ PHEASANT-HEN.] What a jolly shade of blond!
A HEN [_Disparagingly._] Like butter!
CHANTECLER [_Turning, dryly to the_ HENS.] It is time you went indoors.
THE PHEASANT-HEN [_Amiably._] So soon?
CHANTECLER They retire early.
A HEN [_A little mortified._] Yes, we must turn in.
THE PHEASANT-HEN They go in by a ladder!
THE GUINEA-HEN [_To the_ PHEASANT-HEN.] Let us be great friends, my dear, shall we?
CHANTECLER [_Looking at the_ PHEASANT-HEN, _aside._] Her sumptuous court-dress sets her apart from the rest, and removes her far above.--My Hens are dowdies!
THE PHEASANT-HEN [_To the_ GUINEA-HEN, _excusing herself._] I return to my forest home to-night.
THE GUINEA-HEN [_In excessive grief._] So soon--? [_A shot in the distance._]
PATOU They are still after game.
THE GUINEA-HEN You must stay.
CHANTECLER [_Eagerly._] That’s it! Let us keep her a prisoner among us till to-morrow.
PHEASANT-HEN But where can I spend the night?
PATOU [_Indicating his kennel._] There, in my bachelor’s quarters.
PHEASANT-HEN I?--Sleep beneath a roof?
PATOU [_Insisting._] Go in, I pray.
THE PHEASANT-HEN But you? What shall you do?
PATOU I shall do very well!
THE PHEASANT-HEN [_Resigning herself._] I will stay then until to-morrow.
THE GUINEA-HEN [_With piercing cries._] Ah! Ah! But to-morrow, my dear! to-morrow--
ALL [_In alarm._] What is it?
THE YOUNG GUINEA-COCK To-morrow is my mother’s day!
THE GUINEA-HEN [_Impetuously._] My dear, would you care to come to-morrow quite informally, and take a simple snail with us? The Peacock--
CHANTECLER [_Mounting the ladder, from whence he can inspect the scene._] Quiet, if you please! Evening has blown its smoke across the sky--[_In a tone of command._] Is every one in his accustomed place?
THE GUINEA-HEN [_Lower, to the_ PHEASANT-HEN.] The Peacock is coming. We shall hold our little gathering among the currant-bushes.
CHANTECLER Are the turkeys on their roost?
THE GUINEA-HEN [_Same business._] From five to six.
CHANTECLER Are the ducks in their pointed house?
THE GUINEA-HEN [_Same business._] The Tortoise has kindly said we may expect her.
PHEASANT-HEN Indeed?
CHANTECLER [_On the last rung of the ladder._] Is every one under cover?--Every chick under a wing?
THE GUINEA-HEN [_Still insisting with the_ PHEASANT-HEN _that she come on the morrow._] The Tufted Hen has promised to bring the Cock.--[_To_ CHANTECLER.] Charmed, I am sure.
CHANTECLER But--
THE TUFTED HEN [_Looking out of the hen-house._] You will come, won’t you, dear?
CHANTECLER No.
THE PHEASANT-HEN [_At the foot of the ladder, looking up at him._] Oh, but you will?
CHANTECLER Why?
THE PHEASANT-HEN Because you said “No!” to the other!
CHANTECLER [_Wavering._] Ah!
PATOU Humph! I beseech you--
CHANTECLER [_Still wavering._] I--
PATOU Humph! He is weakening.--They will make him pay dear if he yields!
THE OLD HEN [_Appearing._] Make a reed into a pipe and play a tune upon it! [_The basket-lid drops._]
[_Night is thickening._]
CHANTECLER [_Still hesitating._] I--
A VOICE Let us go to sleep--
THE TURKEY [_On his roost, solemnly._] _Quandoque dormitat_--
THE BLACKBIRD [_In his cage._] Dormittimus!
CHANTECLER [_Very firmly to the_ PHEASANT-HEN.] I will not go. Good night.
THE PHEASANT-HEN [_Slightly offended._] Good night! [_With a curt hop she enters the dog-kennel._]
PATOU [_Falling asleep, stretched in front of his kennel._] Let us sleep until the sky grows pink--pink as--as--a puppy’s tummy--
THE GUINEA-HEN [_Dropping off._] From five to six--
THE BLACKBIRD [_Likewise dropping off._] Tew--tew--[_He nods._] tew--
CHANTECLER [_Still at the top of the ladder._] All sleeps.--[_He spies a_ CHICK _stealing out._] Is that a chick I see?--[_Springing after him and driving him in._] Let me catch you!--[_In driving back the_ CHICK, _he finds himself near the kennel. He calls very softly._] Pheasant-hen!
THE PHEASANT-HEN [_Lost among the straw, sleepily._] What do you want?
CHANTECLER [_After a moment’s hesitation._] Nothing.--Nothing! [_He goes back to the top of his ladder._]
THE PHEASANT-HEN Shall I be able to sleep, I wonder--
PATOU [_Falling sound asleep._] A puppy’s tum--
THE PHEASANT-HEN [_Indistinctly, overcome by slumber._] To sleep under a roof?--I, with my gypsy tastes?
CHANTECLER I am going in. [_He disappears in the hen-house. He is heard saying in a dreamy voice._] It is time to shut my--my--
THE PHEASANT-HEN [_In a last effort._]--gyp--sy--tastes.--[_Her head nods and disappears among the straw._]
CHANTECLER [_His voice, sleepier and fainter._]--to shut my eyes--[_Silence. He sleeps. Two green eyes are seen suddenly kindling at the top of the wall._]
THE CAT And to open mine! [_Immediately two more yellow eyes shine forth from the darkness above the hay-cock._]
A VOICE And mine! [_Two more yellow eyes on the wall._]
ANOTHER VOICE And mine! [_Two more yellow eyes._]
ANOTHER VOICE And mine!
SCENE EIGHTH
_The_ POULTRY-YARD _asleep. The_ CAT _awake. Three_ SCREECH-OWLS, _later the_ MOLE _and the_ VOICE _of the_ CUCKOO.
FIRST VOICE Two green eyes?
THE CAT [_Sitting up on the wall, and looking at the other phosphorescent eyes._] Six golden eyes?
FIRST VOICE On the wall?
THE CAT On the rick?--[_He calls._] Owls!
THE OWLS Cat!
THE BLACKBIRD [_Waking up._] What’s this?
THE SCREECH-OWL [_To the_ CAT.] Great plot against him!
THE CAT To-night?
THE THREE OWLS To-night, too-whit!
THE CAT Pfitt!--Where?
THE OWLS The hollies, too-whoo!
THE CAT What o’clock?
THE OWLS Eight, too-whit! too-whoo!
FIRST OWL Bats weaving soft black snares of flight--
THE CAT Are they with us?
THE THREE OWLS They are!
FIRST OWL Mole, burrowing from nether to upper night--
THE CAT Is she with us?
THE THREE OWLS She is!
THE CAT [_Talking toward the house-door._] You, strike your eight strokes bravely, Cuckoo of the little clock!
THE SCREECH-OWL Is he with us?
THE CAT He is!--And I am pleased to tell you, silent night-watchers that some of the day-birds are likewise with us.
THE TURKEY [_Coming forward surrounded by a number of the barnyard constituents, obsequiously._] So it is settled for this evening, dear Round Eyes? You will be there?
THE OWLS We will be there! All the Round Eyes of the neighbourhood will be there!
THE BLACKBIRD That’s a show I’d like to see!
PATOU [_In his sleep._] Grrrrrrr--
THE CAT [_To the startled_ NIGHT-BIRDS.] The dog is dreaming.--He growls in his sleep.
CHANTECLER [_Inside the hen-house._] Coa--
THE OWLS [_Frightened._] Himself!
THE TURKEY Fly!
FIRST OWL No need. The night is dark. We can vanish by merely closing our eyes. [_They shut their luminous eyes. Darkness._ CHANTECLER _appears at the top of the ladder._]
CHANTECLER [_To the_ BLACKBIRD.] Did you hear anything, Blackbird?
THE BLACKBIRD I did, indeed, old chap.
THE OWLS [_Frightened._] What’s this?
THE BLACKBIRD A black conspiracy--
CHANTECLER Ah?
THE BLACKBIRD [_With melodramatic emphasis._] Against you!--Tremble!
CHANTECLER [_Going in again, unalarmed._] Joker!
THE OWLS He has gone in.
THE BLACKBIRD I have betrayed no one!
AN OWL The Blackbird then is with us?
THE BLACKBIRD No--but may I come and look on?
AN OWL A Night-bird never eats a black bird. You can come.
THE BLACKBIRD The password?
THE OWL Terror and Talons!
THE PHEASANT-HEN [_Putting her head out of the dog-kennel._] I can’t breathe in that stifling, low-roofed little house, and--[_Catching sight of the_ NIGHT-BIRDS.] Oh!--[_She darts aside, behind the kennel, and watches._]
THE OWLS Hush! [_They close their eyes._ THE CAT _does the same. After a time, hearing no further sound, they open them again._] It was nothing. Let us be off.
THE GROUP OF THE DISAFFECTED [_With fawning obsequiousness to the_ NIGHT-BIRDS.] Success to you, Owls,--success!
THE OWL Thanks! But how is it that you are with us?
THE CAT Ah, night brings out what daylight will not own to! I do not like the Cock because the Dog does.--There you have it!
THE TURKEY I do not like him, for the reason that having known him as a Chick I cannot admit him as a Cock!
A DUCK I do not like the Cock because, not being web-footed, he marks his passage by a track of stars!
A CHICKEN I do not like the Cock because I’m such a homely bird!
ANOTHER CHICKEN I do not like the Cock because he has his picture painted in purple on all the plates!
ANOTHER CHICKEN I do not like the Cock because on all the steeples he has his statue in gilt-bronze!
AN OWL [_To a big overgrown_ CHICKEN.] Well, well!--And you, Capon?
THE CAPON [_Dryly._] I do not like the Cock!
THE CUCKOO [_Beginning to strike eight inside the house._] Cuckoo!
FIRST OWL The hour!
CUCKOO Cuckoo!
SECOND OWL Let us go!
THE CUCKOO Cuckoo!
FIRST OWL The moon!
THE CUCKOO Cuckoo!
FIRST OWL Silently cleave the blue air--
THE CUCKOO Cuckoo!
THE MOLE [_Suddenly pushing up through the ground._]--the dark earth!
FIRST OWL There comes the Mole!
THE CUCKOO Cuckoo!
FIRST OWL [_To the_ MOLE.] And you, why do you hate him?
THE MOLE I hate him because I have never seen him!
THE CUCKOO Cuckoo!
FIRST OWL And you, Cuckoo, do you know why you hate him?
THE CUCKOO [_On the last stroke._] Because he does not have to be wound up! Cuckoo!
FIRST OWL And we do not love--
SECOND OWL [_Hurriedly._] We are keeping the others waiting--
ALL --the Cock, because--[_They fly off. Silence._]
THE PHEASANT-HEN [_Coming slowly from behind the kennel._] I am beginning to love him!
CURTAIN
ACT SECOND
THE MORNING OF THE COCK
_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._
SCENE FIRST
_The_ NIGHT-BIRDS, _of all sorts and sizes, form a great circle, perching in tiers on the branches, the briers, the stones; the_ CAT _crouches in the grass; the_ BLACKBIRD _hops hither and thither on a fagot._
_At the rise of the curtain the_ NIGHT-BIRDS _are discovered, motionless, black shapes with closed eyes. The_ GRAND DUKE _is perched upon a tree branch above the rest. The_ SCREECH-OWL’S _phosphorescent eyes alone are wide open. He proceeds with the roll-call, and at every name two great round eyes brighten in the dark._
THE SCREECH-OWL [_Calling._] Strix! [_Two eyes light up._] Scops! [_Two more eyes light up._] Grand-Duke! [_Two more eyes._] Metascops! [_Two more eyes._] Minor! [_Two more eyes._]
ONE NIGHT-BIRD [_To the other._] The Great Bubo presides.
THE SCREECH-OWL [_Calling._] Owl of the Wall! Of the Belfry! Of the Cloister! Of the Yew! [_At every name two more eyes have opened wide._]
A NIGHT-BIRD [_To another just arriving._] The roll is called!
THE OTHER I know. All there is to do is to open our eyes.
THE SCREECH-OWL Asio! Nictea! Nyctalis! [_Three more pairs of eyes have opened._] Brachyotus! [_No eye opening at the name, he repeats._] Brachyotus!
ONE OF THE NIGHT-BIRDS He will be here directly. He stopped to eat a linnet.
BRACHYOTUS [_Arriving._] Present!
THE SCREECH-OWL Not one of them would miss, when the meeting relates to the Cock!
BRACHYOTUS Not one!
THE SCREECH-OWL Carine! [_Two eyes open._] Caparacoch! [_No eye opening, he repeats emphatically._] Ca-pa-ra-coch!--Well?--Well?
CAPARACOCH [_Arriving out of breath, opens his eyes, faltering an excuse. _] I live a long way off!
THE SCREECH-OWL [_Dryly._] You should have started the earlier! [_Looking around._] We are all present, I believe. [_Calling._] Flammeolus! And Flammeoline! [_All the eyes are now open._]
THE GRAND-DUKE [_Solemnly._] Before beginning, let us give, but not too loud, the cry which makes us all as one!
ALL
Long live the Night!
_And in a weird, savage, hurried chorus, interspersed with hoots and flapping of wings, all talking together and rocking themselves in hideous glee._
THE GRAND-DUKE
Praise the Night, discreet, propitious,
When with wadded wing and muted
O’er the sleeping world we fly,
And the partridge in the bracken
Ne’er suspects the hovering presence
Till we pounce without a cry.
THE SCREECH-OWL
Praise the Night, convenient, secret,
When in slaughtering baby rabbits
We can do it at our ease,
Daub the grass with blood in comfort,
Spare the pains to look like heroes,
Be ourselves where no one sees!
AN OLD HORNED-OWL
Praise the density of darkness!
A WOOD-OWL
The intensity of stillness
Letting crunching bones be heard!
A BARN-OWL
Freshness pleasantly contrasting
With the genial warmth of blood drops
Spurting from a strangled bird!
THE WOOD-OWL
Praise the black rock oozing terror!
THE SCREECH-OWL
And the cross-roads where our screeches,
Furrowing the startled air,
Our demoniac yelling, hooting,
Make the hardened unbeliever
Cross himself and fall to prayer!
THE GRAND-DUKE
Praise the snares of the great Weaver,
Night, whose only fault or weakness
Is her tolerance of stars!
THE SCREECH-OWL
For spectators are not wanted
At the work of plucking fledglings--
Be they Jupiter and Mars!
THE GRAND-DUKE
Praise the Night, when we take vengeance
On the goldfinch for his beauty,
On the titmouse for his grace!
When the darkness takes possession
Let them tremble, those confiding
Hostages of Day’s!
THE WOOD-OWL
For there is a choice in murder!
THE GRAND-DUKE
And the inkier the blackness
All the clearer do we see
To select the whitest pigeon
In the dove-cote, and the bluest
Blue jay on the shuddering tree!
THE BARN-OWL
Praise the hour and taste and relish
Of the eggs we suck, destroying
Hopes of many a haughty line!
THE SCREECH-OWL
And the councils where in whispers
We prepare what shall resemble
Accidents by every sign!
THE GRAND-DUKE
Praise the shadow’s grim suggestions!
The advantage over others
We inherit through their fright!
THE SCREECH-OWL
For our grisly cachinnations
Give the very eagle goose-flesh--
ALL TOGETHER
Praise our patroness, the Night!
THE GRAND-DUKE And now let the Screech-Owl in his russet robe take the floor.
SEVERAL VOICES Silence!
THE BLACKBIRD [_On his fagot._] What an awf’ly lovely evening party!
THE SCREECH-OWL [_Oratorically._] Brethren of the Night--
THE GRAND-DUKE [_To the_ OWL _next to him._] 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!
THE SCREECH-OWL Brethren of the Night!--
AN OWL There comes the Mole!
SEVERAL VOICES Silence!
THE OWL She must have taken, to come here, a route below the roots of the daisies--
THE BLACKBIRD The subway, what else?
THE GRAND-DUKE [_To his neighbor._] Is that the Blackbird?
THE BLACKBIRD [_Coming forward._] Yes, your Grace. And the two agate balls over there are the Cat.
THE GRAND-DUKE I can hear him licking his paws.
THE SCREECH-OWL [_Resuming._] Brethren of the Night! Inasmuch as everybody here--and we plume ourselves upon it!--is possessed of the evil eye--
ALL THE BIRDS [_Chuckling and rocking in their peculiarly disgusting and characteristic fashion._] Ha, ha!
THE GRAND-DUKE [_Spreading his wings to demand silence._] Hush! [_All return to their appalling stillness._]
THE BLACKBIRD My eye is merely roguish. I am here to look on, you know, without taking sides,--in the artist spirit, that’s all.
AN OWL If you are not taking sides, then you are siding with us!
THE BLACKBIRD Oh, I say, what a primitive notion!
THE SCREECH-OWL [_Completing his sentence._] Let us express ourselves with simple and direct malevolence: the Cock is a robber!
ALL A robber! He robs us!
THE BLACKBIRD Now, what the--Robs you of what?
THE GRAND-DUKE Of health! Gladness!
THE BLACKBIRD How is that?
THE SCREECH-OWL By his crowing!
THE GRAND-DUKE His crowing brings on enlargement of the spleen and pericarditis! For it heralds--
THE BLACKBIRD [_Hopping about._] Oh, I see--The light!
[_All make a violent motion in his direction; the_ BLACKBIRD _frightened, hides among the fagots._]
THE GRAND-DUKE [_Emphatically._] Never speak that word! When that word is spoken, Night at the horizon feels a crawling discomfort, a titillation underneath her wing.
THE BLACKBIRD [_Cautiously correcting himself._] The brightness of--[_General start of dismay repeated; the_ BLACKBIRD _again dodges behind the fagots._]
AN OWL [_Hurriedly._] Never utter that horrible grating word, which so hatefully suggests the scratching of a match!
THE SCREECH-OWL You should express yourself: The Cock heralds the folding back of the pall--
THE BLACKBIRD But the day--[_Start and threatening gesture from all._]
ALL [_In voices of unspeakable anguish._] Not that word!
THE GRAND-DUKE You must refer to it as “that which will be!”
THE BLACKBIRD What difference does it make whether or not he heralds the--
ALL [_Stopping him._] Ha!
THE BLACKBIRD --the folding back of the pall, since that which will be--will be!
THE GRAND-DUKE [_In tones of despair._] Simple torture it is to hear a brazen throat forever reminding you of what you know to be only too true!
ALL [_Writhing in pain._] Too true! Too true!
THE GRAND-DUKE He begins while the night is still pleasant and cool--
CRIES ON ALL SIDES He is a robber, a thief!
THE GRAND-DUKE He cheats us!
ALL THE OWLS He cheats us! Cheats us!
THE GRAND-DUKE Of the good bit of night there still is left.
AN OWLET He compels us to leave our posts beside the warrens--
THE SCREECH-OWL Our feasts of steaming flesh!
THE WOOD-OWL The witches’ routs where we ride perched on the fist of a hag!
THE GRAND-DUKE After cock-crow an Owl is no longer in his normal state--
THE SCREECH-OWL He does evil in a hurry!
THE GRAND-DUKE And bungles it in consequence!
THE OLD HORNED-OWL As soon as the Cock has crowed all becomes temporary provisional--
THE BARN-OWL Though the Night be still black, we are painfully aware of it growing less and less black!
THE SCREECH-OWL When his metallic voice has cleft the night, we squirm like a worm in a fruit that is cut in two.
THE BLACKBIRD [_On his fagot, mystified._] The other Cocks, however--
THE GRAND-DUKE Their song creates no uneasiness. It is his song which must be silenced.
ALL THE NIGHT-BIRDS [_Flapping their wings, in a long lament._] Silenced! Silenced!
AN OWL How can it be accomplished?
THE SCREECH-OWL The Blackbird here has worked in our cause.
THE BLACKBIRD Who--I?
THE SCREECH-OWL Yes, you laughed at him.
ALL [_Cackling._] Ha, ha!
THE GRAND-DUKE [_Spreading his wings._] Hush! [_They resume their sinister stillness._]
THE SCREECH-OWL 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.
ALL What shall we do?
THE SCREECH-OWL The Peacock, that great booby--
ALL [_Cackling and rocking._] Ha, ha!
THE GRAND-DUKE [_Opening his wings._] Hush! [_All instantly motionless._]
THE SCREECH-OWL 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.
ALL What shall we do?
AN OWL Cut his throat!
CRIES Death to the Cock!
AN OWL Death to that aristocrat posing as a democrat and socialist!
ANOTHER With spurs on his heels, but a liberty cap on his head!
THE GRAND-DUKE Night-birds all, arise!
[ALL, _arising with outspread wings and glaring eyes, increase enormously in size. The night appears doubly dark._]
THE BLACKBIRD [_With unabated lightness._] Midnight to the fore!
THE SCREECH-OWL Kill him! But how can we, when our eyes cease to see the moment he comes out?
ALL [_Wailing like an ancient chorus._] Woe!
THE OLD HORNED-OWL [_Craftily._] How kill--from afar?
THE GRAND-DUKE By means of what secret spring?
A VOICE [_From the tree._] Duke, may I lay a plan before the assembly?
THE GRAND-DUKE Scops! Let us hear!
ALL [_At sight of a small_ OWL _dropping from a bough, and coming forward with tiny hops._] Scops, dear little Scops!
SCOPS [_Bowing before the_ GRAND-DUKE.] 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--
THE GRAND-DUKE [_To his neighbour._] From every strange region!
SCOPS Cherishes the dream of presenting these same Cocks to-morrow, in the kitchen garden, at the--
ALL TOGETHER [_Laughing._] Guinea-hen’s!
SCOPS And launching among her set these Birds whose glory will be the finishing blow to the glory of Chantecler.
THE BLACKBIRD Flatten him out like a pan cake!
THE SCREECH OWL But those Cocks are always locked in!
SCOPS 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--
AN OWL [_To his neighbour._] What a bright mind, our little Scops!
SCOPS At sight of the ill-omened bird--
ALL [_Cackling and rocking._] Ha, ha!
THE GRAND-DUKE [_Spreading his wings._] Hush! [_All suddenly still._]
SCOPS Fled, with one arm across her eyes! The cage was left open, and the whole fantastic host will meet Chantecler to-morrow at the--
ALL [_With peals of laughter._] Guinea-hen’s!
THE BLACKBIRD He is not going. He has refused.
SCOPS The devil!
THE CAT [_Quietly._] Go on, Scops. He will be there.
THE BLACKBIRD [_Looking at him from a distance._] What do you know about it, pocket panther?
THE CAT I saw a Pheasant-hen exciting his admiration, and I saw that he would go.
THE BLACKBIRD It’s when you’re sound asleep that you see everything!
THE GRAND-DUKE [_To_ SCOPS.] Very well, then, let us suppose him going.
SCOPS Chantecler, for all his fame, has retained his bluff country squire’s frankness. When he sees this--
THE BLACKBIRD [_Prompting._] Tea-fight--
SCOPS And the contortions of those--
THE BLACKBIRD [_Same business._] Snobs--
SCOPS In the presence of those--
THE BLACKBIRD [_Same business._] Big guns--
SCOPS He is sure to say things which they are equally sure to take up.
THE GRAND-DUKE [_Thrilled._] And do you believe that a cock-fight--?
SCOPS Such is my fond hope.
THE CAT But listen, Scops. Suppose Chantecler should win?
SCOPS Know, Angora, that there will be among those fancy cocks a genuine game-cock, lean, with tawny wing, the same who--
THE BLACKBIRD [_Seeing the_ OWLS _puff out their feathers for joy._] Sensation among the audience!
SCOPS 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.
THE SCREECH-OWL [_Enthusiastically._] We will go and gloat over his corpse!
THE GRAND-DUKE [_Risen to his full height, formidable._] 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!
ALL [_With a yell, which ends in their ferocious cackling and rocking._] And we will eat it,--eat it, ha, ha!
THE GRAND-DUKE [_Spreading his wings._] Hush! [_Dead silence._]
SCOPS And after that--
THE BLACKBIRD [_Hopping._] It’s quite a tidy proposition as it stands--
SCOPS What?
THE BLACKBIRD 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. [_He concludes, with four little hops._] For I know--that all this--will turn out--beautifully!
SCOPS [_Ironically._] Beautifully indeed! [_He continues in growing excitement._] 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!
THE GRAND-DUKE [_In his neighbour’s ear._] And after that we will eat the Blackbird for dessert.
THE BLACKBIRD [_Who has not caught the last sentence._] What did he say?
SCOPS [_Quickly._] Nothing! [_In a still increasing frenzy of glee._] And after that--
[_In the distance: Cock-a-doodle-doo! Instant silence. _SCOPS_ stops short and collapses, as if mown down. All the puffed _OWLS_ appear suddenly to have grown thin._]
ALL [_Looking at one another and blinking._] What is it? What was that? [_They hastily spread their wings and call to one another for flight._] Grand-Duke! Minor! Minimus!
THE BLACKBIRD [_Hopping from one to the other._] Going? So soon? Why, what’s your hurry?
VOICE [_Of one of the_ NIGHT-BIRDS _calling to another._] Nyctalis!
THE BLACKBIRD It’s hours before daybreak. Oceans of time, you have!
AN OWL Asio, are you coming?
ANOTHER OWL [_Calling._] Nictea!
ANOTHER [_Fluttering up to him._] Yes, my dear! [_They all stagger and trip over their wings._]
THE BLACKBIRD What makes them stumble?
THE NIGHT-BIRDS [_Winking and blinking with marked evidences of pain._] Oh, how it hurts! Ow! Ow!
THE BLACKBIRD Lightning opthalmia, I declare! [_One by one the_ OWLS _fly off._]
THE GRAND-DUKE [_The last to go, spins on himself with a cry of pain and rage._] How does he contrive, that pernicious Cock, to have a voice that fairly puts out your eyes! [_He heavily flaps off._]
VOICES OF THE NIGHT-BIRDS [_In the distance._] Strix!
THE BLACKBIRD [_Looking after them among the branches, and later in the blue space over the valley._] They are calling one another!
VOICE IN THE DISTANCE Scops!
THE BLACKBIRD [_Bending over the valley, where the dark wings are dwindling and fading._] They wheel--waver--dip--
VOICES [_Dying in the distance._] Owl of the Wall! Of the Belfry! Of the Yew!
THE BLACKBIRD Gone! [_He looks about, gives a hop, and with an immediate return to levity._] But it’s supper-time.--Now for a bite of cold grasshopper! [_The_ PHEASANT-HEN _suddenly flies over the brushwood tangle, dropping beside him._] You!
SCENE SECOND
THE BLACKBIRD, THE PHEASANT-HEN, _later_ CHANTECLER
THE PHEASANT-HEN [_Panting, tragically earnest._] 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!
THE BLACKBIRD [_Cheerfully rummaging among the moss._] Or the thigh of a katydid will do.
THE PHEASANT-HEN I was watching from a distance. I crouched in a ditch--[_In an anguished voice._] Well?
THE BLACKBIRD [_In genuine surprise._] Well, what?
THE PHEASANT-HEN Their conspiracy--
THE BLACKBIRD [_Calmly._] It all went off very nicely.
THE PHEASANT-HEN What do you mean?
THE BLACKBIRD The shadow was a correct and appropriate blue, and the Owls said perfectly characteristic things.
THE PHEASANT-HEN [_In wild alarm._] Heavens, they plotted his death?
THE BLACKBIRD His decease, which is not nearly so bad.
THE PHEASANT-HEN But--
THE BLACKBIRD 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.
THE PHEASANT-HEN Those Owls--
THE BLACKBIRD Are good enough in their various parts, but it’s the old excessive style of acting.
THE PHEASANT-HEN I beg your pardon?
THE BLACKBIRD Back numbers!
THE PHEASANT-HEN Oh?
THE BLACKBIRD 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!
THE PHEASANT-HEN [_Fluttering hither and thither feverishly._] I am never quite sure of understanding when a person is talking in fun.
THE BLACKBIRD [_Winking at her._] No flies on your acting!
THE PHEASANT-HEN Surely you wouldn’t be laughing if he were in danger? Those ruffians--?
THE BLACKBIRD Prattlers! Wooden Swords! Knights of Hot Air!
THE PHEASANT-HEN But Scops--?
THE BLACKBIRD A stuffed Owl!
THE PHEASANT-HEN And the Great Bubo--?
THE BLACKBIRD Just two ten-candle-power lamps, to be turned on and off with a switch,--crick-crack! And Flammeolus, two lamps likewise--but acetylene!
THE PHEASANT-HEN [_Bewildered by his imagery._] And so--?
THE BLACKBIRD No, trembling Gypsy, there’s not enough in this great plot to choke a flea withal!
THE PHEASANT-HEN Truly? I have been so horribly afraid--
THE BLACKBIRD 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!
THE PHEASANT-HEN So it might seem.
THE BLACKBIRD We have in these latter days bowed Tragedy respectfully out of the house!
THE PHEASANT-HEN But had we not best warn Chantecler, so that--
THE BLACKBIRD He would go instantly and challenge them. And then such a whetting of steel!
THE PHEASANT-HEN You are right. So he would.
THE BLACKBIRD On your principle, mad Gitana, an oak-gall could be made into a world.
THE PHEASANT-HEN You have much good sense.
THE BLACKBIRD Daughter of the forest, I have.
CHANTECLER’S VOICE [_Outside._] Coa--
THE PHEASANT-HEN Chantecler!
CHANTECLER [_Approaching on the left, between the hollies, calls from afar._] Who is there?
THE PHEASANT-HEN It is I!
CHANTECLER [_Still from a distance._] Alone?
THE PHEASANT-HEN [_With a significant look at the_ BLACKBIRD.] Yes, alone.
THE BLACKBIRD [_Understanding._] I vanish--I am off to supper.
THE PHEASANT-HEN [_Low to the_ BLACKBIRD.] And so--?
THE BLACKBIRD [_Motioning her to be silent._] Keep it dark! [_As he is leaving, by the right, in the manner of one giving an order to a waiter._] Earwigs for one!
THE PHEASANT-HEN [_Low._] It is wiser, you think, not to tell him?
THE BLACKBIRD [_Before disappearing among the flower-pots._] Well, rather!
SCENE THIRD
THE PHEASANT-HEN, CHANTECLER.
CHANTECLER [_Who has reached the_ PHEASANT-HEN’S _side._] Out so early?
THE PHEASANT-HEN To see the daybreak.
CHANTECLER [_With repressed emotion._] Ah--?
THE PHEASANT-HEN [_Teasingly._] What troubles you?
CHANTECLER I have had a wretched night.
THE PHEASANT-HEN So sorry! [_A pause._]
CHANTECLER Are you going to the Guinea-hen’s?
THE PHEASANT-HEN I stayed over solely for that purpose.
CHANTECLER Ah, yes, I know. [_A pause._] I dislike her extremely.
THE PHEASANT-HEN Come to her party.
CHANTECLER No.
THE PHEASANT-HEN As you please. Then we may as well say good-bye.
CHANTECLER No.
THE PHEASANT-HEN Come to the Guinea-hen’s. We shall have a chance to see something of each other there.
CHANTECLER No.
THE PHEASANT-HEN You are determined not to come?
CHANTECLER I am coming--but I hate it.
THE PHEASANT-HEN Why?
CHANTECLER It is weak.
THE PHEASANT-HEN No, no! That is no great sign of weakness!
CHANTECLER Ah--?
THE PHEASANT-HEN [_Softly, coming closer to him._] What would be showing a sweet, delightful, and fully masculine weakness--
CHANTECLER [_In alarm at her approach._] What?
THE PHEASANT-HEN Would be to tell me your secret. Oh, just a wee bit!
CHANTECLER [_With a start._] The secret of my song?
THE PHEASANT-HEN Yes.
CHANTECLER Golden Hen, my secret--
THE PHEASANT-HEN [_Coaxingly._] Often from the edge of the woods I hear you in the first golden glimmer of day--
CHANTECLER [_Flattered._] My song has reached your shapely little ear?
THE PHEASANT-HEN It has!
CHANTECLER [_Abruptly, moving away from her._] My secret--Never!
THE PHEASANT-HEN You are not very gallant!
CHANTECLER No--I am full of conflict and misery.
THE PHEASANT-HEN [_Languidly reciting._] The Cock and the Pheasant-hen a Fable--
CHANTECLER [_Half aloud._] A Cock loved a Pheasant-hen--
THE PHEASANT-HEN And would not tell her anything--
CHANTECLER Moral--
THE PHEASANT-HEN It was horrid of him!
CHANTECLER [_Pressing close to her._] Moral: Your dress has the fascinating rustle of silk!
THE PHEASANT-HEN Moral: I dislike familiarity! [_Withdrawing from him._] Go home to your Hen of the plebeian petticoat!
CHANTECLER [_Stamping._] I shall be angry!
THE PHEASANT-HEN No, no, don’t be angry--Say “Coa--” [_They stand bill to bill._]
CHANTECLER [_Angrily._] Coa--
THE PHEASANT-HEN No, no! Say it nicely--
CHANTECLER [_In a long, tender coo._] Coa--
THE PHEASANT-HEN Look at me without laughing. Your secret--
CHANTECLER Well?
THE PHEASANT-HEN You are dying to tell it to me!
CHANTECLER 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! [_Going brusquely nearer to her._] Shall you prove worthy, at least, of having been chosen? Is your breast true red to the core?
THE PHEASANT-HEN Now tell me!
CHANTECLER 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--
THE PHEASANT-HEN You are seeking for grains of corn, seeds, I suppose.
CHANTECLER Never! I have never looked for such things. I find them occasionally, into the bargain, but disdainfully I give them to my Hens.
THE PHEASANT-HEN Well, then, in your perpetual scratching, what is it you are looking for?
CHANTECLER The right spot! For always before singing I carefully choose my stand. Pray, observe--
THE PHEASANT-HEN True, and then you ruffle your feathers.
CHANTECLER 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!
THE PHEASANT-HEN Chantecler!
CHANTECLER 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--
THE PHEASANT-HEN [_Frightened._] Chantecler!
CHANTECLER And sounding its victory beforehand, my song springs forth so clear, so proud, so peremptory, that the horizon, seized with a rosy trembling--_obeys!_
THE PHEASANT-HEN Chantecler!
CHANTECLER I sing! Vainly Night offers to compromise, offers a dubious twilight--I sing again! And suddenly--
THE PHEASANT-HEN Chantecler!
CHANTECLER I fall back, blinded by the red light bathing me, dazzled at having, I, the Cock, made the Sun to rise!
THE PHEASANT-HEN Then the whole secret of your song--?
CHANTECLER 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!
THE PHEASANT-HEN What he says sounds slightly mad!--You are responsible for the rising of--
CHANTECLER 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.
THE PHEASANT-HEN But when you sing by day?
CHANTECLER I am practising, or else promising the ploughshare, the hoe, the harrow, the scythe, not to neglect my duty of waking them.
THE PHEASANT-HEN But what wakens you?
CHANTECLER The fear of forgetting.
THE PHEASANT-HEN And you believe that at the sound of your voice the whole world is suffused--?
CHANTECLER 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.
THE PHEASANT-HEN Still--
CHANTECLER But here I stand, explaining, perorating, and forgetting altogether to make my dawn.
THE PHEASANT-HEN His dawn!
CHANTECLER 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!
THE PHEASANT-HEN More fair?
CHANTECLER 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--[_Taking his stand upon a hillock at the back, overlooking the valley._] Now, Madam!
THE PHEASANT-HEN [_Gazing at his outline against the sky._] How beautiful he is!
CHANTECLER 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.
THE PHEASANT-HEN He is so beautiful that what he says almost seems possible!
CHANTECLER [_Talking toward the horizon._] Ha, Sun, I feel you just behind there, stirring--and I laugh with pride and joy amidst my scarlet wattles--[_Rising on tiptoe suddenly, in a voice of startling loudness._] Cock-a-doodle-doo!
THE PHEASANT-HEN What great breath lifts his breast-feathers?
CHANTECLER [_Toward the east._] 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! [_Whispering mysteriously._] Yes, yes, month of July--
THE PHEASANT-HEN To whom is he speaking?
CHANTECLER You shall have it earlier than April! [_Bending to right and left, encouragingly._] Yes, Bramble!--Yes, Brake!
THE PHEASANT-HEN He is magnificent!
CHANTECLER [_To the_ PHEASANT-HEN.] You see, I must at all times remember--[_Stroking the earth with his wing._] Yes, dear Grass!--remember the humble prayers whose interpreter I become. [_Talking to invisible things._] The golden ladder?--I understand! that you may all dance on it together!
THE PHEASANT-HEN To whom are you promising a ladder?
CHANTECLER To the Motes--Cock-a-doodle-doo!
THE PHEASANT-HEN [_Watching the sky and landscape._] A shiver of blue runs across the thatched roofs.--A star went out just then--
CHANTECLER No, it veiled itself. Even by daylight the stars are there.
THE PHEASANT-HEN You do not extinguish them?
CHANTECLER I extinguish nothing! But you shall see how great I am at kindling!
THE PHEASANT-HEN Oh, I see a dawning of--
CHANTECLER What do you see?
THE PHEASANT-HEN The blue is no longer blue!
CHANTECLER I told you! It is already green!
THE PHEASANT-HEN The green is turning to orange--
CHANTECLER You will have been the first this morning to see the transformation!
[_The distant plain takes on velvety purplish hues._]
THE PHEASANT-HEN It all seems to end in leagues of purple heather.
CHANTECLER [_Whose crow is beginning to tire._] Cock-a-doo--
THE PHEASANT-HEN Oh--yellow among the pine trees!
CHANTECLER Gold it ought to be,--gold!
THE PHEASANT-HEN And pearly grey--
CHANTECLER 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!
THE PHEASANT-HEN Every hollow in every tree is pink as a wild rose--
CHANTECLER [_With growing enthusiasm._] 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?
THE PHEASANT-HEN [_Lured along and half persuaded by the madness of the_ COCK.] Such a thing might be, after all, since love is involved in the mystery!
CHANTECLER Resume, horizon, at my command, your fringe of little poplars!
THE PHEASANT-HEN [_Bending over the valley._] There emerges from the shadow, gradually, a world of your creation--
CHANTECLER Sacred things you are witnessing--To sacred things I am initiating you!--Define your outlines, distant hills! Pheasant-hen, do you love me?
THE PHEASANT-HEN We shall always love to be in the secret of the Makers of Dawn!
CHANTECLER You help me to sing better. Come closer. Collaborate.
THE PHEASANT-HEN [_Springing to his side._] I love you!
CHANTECLER Every word you whisper in my ear shall be translated into sunshine for all the world to see!
THE PHEASANT-HEN I love you!
CHANTECLER Say it again, and I will gild that mountain suddenly!
THE PHEASANT-HEN [_Wildly._] I love you!--Let me see you gild it!
CHANTECLER [_In his greatest, most splendid manner._] Cock-a-doodle-doo! [_The mountain turns golden._]
THE PHEASANT-HEN [_Pointing to the lower ranges, still purple._] But the hills?
CHANTECLER Each in its turn. To the highest peaks belong the earliest rays! Cock-a-doodle-doo!
THE PHEASANT-HEN Ah!--across yonder drowsing slope a stealing gleam--
CHANTECLER [_Joyously._] I dedicate it to you!
THE PHEASANT-HEN The distant villages are coming into view.
CHANTECLER Cock-a--[_His voice breaks._]
THE PHEASANT-HEN You are weary!
CHANTECLER [_Stiffening himself._] I refuse to be! [_Wildly._] Cock-a-doodle-doo!
THE PHEASANT-HEN Exhausted!
CHANTECLER Do you see those tatters of mist still clinging? Cock-a-doodle-doo!
THE PHEASANT-HEN You will kill yourself!
CHANTECLER I only live, dear, when I am killing myself giving great splendid cries!
THE PHEASANT-HEN [_Pressing close to his side._] I am proud of you!
CHANTECLER [_With emotion._] Your head bows--
THE PHEASANT-HEN 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!
CHANTECLER [_While the little distant houses begin to smoke in the dawn._] I dedicate to you moreover those reawakened farmsteads. Man offers trinkets, I--wreaths and plumes of smoke!
THE PHEASANT-HEN [_Looking off._] I can see your work growing,--growing in the distance.
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Chantecler: Play in Four ActsChapter II: Part 2
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