Chapter IV: Part 4
THE BLACKBIRD It’s time to climb up on the chairs!
CHANTECLER [_To the_ WHITE PILE.] Sir--
THE PHEASANT-HEN You are never going to challenge that giant?
CHANTECLER I am! To appear tall it is sufficient to talk on stilts! [_To the_ GAME COCK, _slowly crossing the stage toward him._] Know that such a remark is not to be endured, and permit me to tell you--[_Finding a_ CHICK _between himself and the_ GAME COCK, _he gently puts him aside, saying_] Run to your mother, tot! [_To the_ WHITE PILE, _looking insolently at his docked comb_]--that you look like a Fool who has mislaid his coxcomb!
THE WHITE PILE [_Astonished._] Fool? Coxcomb? What? What? What?
CHANTECLER [_Beak to beak with the_ GAME COCK.] What? What? What? [_A pause. They arch themselves, with bristling neck-hackle._]
THE WHITE PILE [_Emphatically._] In America, during my grand tour, I killed three Claybornes in a day. I have killed two Sherwoods, three Smoks, and one Sumatra. I have killed--let me advise anyone fighting me to take something beforehand to keep down his pulse!--three Red-game at Cambridge and ten Braekels at Bruges!
CHANTECLER [_Very simply._] I, my dear sir, have never killed anything. But as I have at different times succored, defended, protected, this one and that, I might perhaps be called, in my own fashion, brave. You need not take these mighty airs with me. I came here knowing that you would come. That rose was dangled to afford you the opportunity for brutal stupidity. You did not fail to nibble at its petals. Your name?
THE GAME COCK White Pile. And yours?
CHANTECLER Chantecler.
THE PHEASANT-HEN [_Running desperately to the_ DOG.] Patou!
CHANTECLER [_To_ PATOU, _who is growling between his teeth._] You, keep out of this!
PATOU So I will, but it’s rrrrrrrough!
THE PHEASANT-HEN [_To_ CHANTECLER.] A Cock does not risk his life for a Rose!
CHANTECLER A slur upon a flower is a slur upon the Sun!
THE PHEASANT-HEN [_Running to the_ BLACKBIRD.] Do something! This must be patched up--You know you had promised me!
THE BLACKBIRD Everything can be patched up, my dear, except the quarrels of a fellow’s friends!
THE GUINEA-HEN [_Giving loud cries of despair._] Horrible! Oh, horrible A five-o’clock tea at which guests kill each other! How dreadful--[_To her son._] that the Tortoise should not have got here yet!
A VOICE [_Crying._] Chantecler, ten against one!
THE GUINEA-HEN [_Seating her company, assisting the_ HENS _to climb upon flower-pots, cold-frames, pumpkins._] Quick! quick!
THE BLACKBIRD Our charming hostess is in great feather, doing the honours of an affair of honour.
PATOU [_To_ CHANTECLER.] Go in and thrash him. This crowd is longing for the sight of your blood.
CHANTECLER [_Sadly._] I was never anything but kind!
PATOU [_Showing the ring which has formed, the faces lighted with hateful eagerness._] Look at them! [_All necks are craned, all eyes shine; it is hideous._ CHANTECLER _looks, understands, and bows his head._]
THE PHEASANT-HEN [_With a cry of rage._] It’s a disgrace! A disgrace to the name of fowl!
CHANTECLER [_Raising his head again._] So be it. But they shall at least learn to-day who I was, and my secret--
PATOU No, don’t tell them, if it’s what my old dreamer’s heart has apprehended!
CHANTECLER [_Addressing the multitude, in a loud voice, solemnly, like one confessing his faith._] Know, all of you, that it is I--[_Deep silence falls. To the_ WHITE PILE, _who has given a sign of impatience._] Your pardon, excellent duellist, but I have a mind, before getting myself killed, to do something brave--
THE WHITE PILE [_Surprised._] Ah?
CHANTECLER Yes,--get myself laughed at!
THE PHEASANT-HEN No, dearest, no! Don’t do it!
CHANTECLER I wish to perish amid salvos of laughter! [_To the crowd._] Riot, spirit of Mockery! Disciples of the Blackbird, prepare! [_In a still louder voice, hammering home every word._] It is I, who, by my song, bring back the light of day! [_Amazement, then vast laughter shakes the multitude._] Is the merriment well under way? On guard!
THE GOLDEN PADUA COCK [_Nodding his plume._] Gentlemen, engage!
VOICES [_Amid storms of laughter._] Funny! Side-splitting! Was anything ever so droll? I shall die laughing!
THE BLACKBIRD The old Gallic love of a joke is not dead!
A CHICKEN He sings light into the sky!
A DUCK The Sun gets up to hear him!
CHANTECLER [_Avoiding the blows which the_ WHITE PILE _is beginning to aim at him._] Yes, it is I who give you back the Day!
A CHICK And a jolly fine day it is!
CHANTECLER [_While parrying and attacking._] The crowing of other Cocks, able neither to make nor mar, is no better nor worse than sonorous sneezing! Mine--[_He is wounded._]
A VOICE Biff! In the neck!
CHANTECLER --mine makes--[_He is again wounded._]
THE TURKEY Insufferable self-sufficiency!
CHANTECLER --the light--[_Again he is struck._]
A VOICE Biff! On the neb!
CHANTECLER --the light appear!
A VOICE Biff! In the eye!
CHANTECLER [_Blinded with blood._] Yes, the light!
A VOICE [_Sneering._] Better have let sleeping darkness lie!
CHANTECLER [_Automatically repeating beneath his adversary’s blows._] It is I who make the dawn appear!
PATOU [_Barking._] Aye! Aye! Aye!
THE PHEASANT-HEN [_Sobbing._] Stand up to him, darling! Oh, hit back! Hit back!
A CHICK Fellows, a nickname for the dawn!
ALL Yes! Yes!
[_The_ WHITE PILE _hurls himself upon_ CHANTECLER.]
THE PHEASANT-HEN Oh, cruel!
THE BLACKBIRD Chantecler’s Light o’ Love!
A VOICE A nickname for the Cock!
ALL Yes! Yes!
THE BLACKBIRD Grand Master of Illuminations!
ANOTHER VOICE Purveyor of Sunny Beams!
CHANTECLER [_Defending himself foot to foot._] Thanks! Another quip, for I can still fight with my feet!
A VOICE The Alarm-Cock!
CHANTECLER [_Who seems upheld by their insults._] Another pun! And I who know no more of fighting than can be learned on a peaceful farm--
A VOICE Thresh out his hayseed!
CHANTECLER Thanks! I--[_His torn feathers fly around him._]
CRY OF JOY See his fur fly!
CHANTECLER I feel--Another pleasantry!
A VOICE Lay on, Macfluff!
CHANTECLER Thanks! I feel that the more I am mocked, insulted, flouted, and denied--
AN ASS [_Stretching his neck over the hedge._] Hee-haw!
CHANTECLER Thanks!--the better I shall fight!
THE WHITE PILE [_Chuckling._] He is game, but he’s giving out.
THE PHEASANT-HEN Enough. Enough. Oh, stop!
A VOICE On White Pile, twenty to one!
THE PHEASANT-HEN [_Seeing_ CHANTECLER’S _bleeding neck._] He bleeds, oh!
A HEN [_Rising on tiptoe behind the_ GOLDEN PADUA COCK.] I should like to see the blood!
THE WHITE PILE [_Increasing the fury of his onset._] I’ll have your gizzard!
THE HEN [_Trying to see._] The Padua Cock’s hat shuts off my view!
THE BLACKBIRD Hats off!
A VOICE That was a stinger! On his comb!
SHRILL CRIES [_From the crowd._] Land him one! Do him up! Lay him out! Have his gore!
PATOU [_Standing up in his wheelbarrow._] Will you stop behaving like human beings?
CRIES [_Furiously keeping time with the blows showering upon_ CHANTECLER.] In the neck! On the nut! On the wing! On the--[_Sudden silence._]
CHANTECLER [_Amazed._] What is this? The ring breaks up, the shouting dies--[_He looks around. The_ WHITE PILE _has drawn away and backed against the hedge. A strange commotion agitates the crowd._ CHANTECLER, _exhausted, bleeding, tottering, does not understand, and murmurs._] What joke are they preparing against my end? [_And suddenly._] Joy, Patou, joy!
PATOU What?
CHANTECLER I have done them an injustice. All of them, ceasing to insult and mock me, look, gather round me, closer and closer--look!
PATOU [_Seeing them all, in fact, crowding around_ CHANTECLER, _and gazing anxiously at the sky, looks up too, and says simply._] It is the hawk!
CHANTECLER Ah! [_A dark shadow slowly sweeps over the motley crowd, who crouch and cower._]
PATOU When that great shadow falls, it is not the fine, strange Cocks we trust to keep off the bird of prey!
CHANTECLER [_Suddenly grown great of size, his wounds forgotten, stands in the midst of them, and in an authoritative tone._] Yes, close around me, all of you, all! [_All, huddled in their feathers, their heads drawn in between their wings, press against him._]
THE PHEASANT-HEN Dear, brave, and gentle heart!
CHANTECLER [_The shadow sweeps over the crowd a second time. The_ GAME COCK _makes himself small._ CHANTECLER _alone remains standing, in the midst of a heap of ruffled, trembling feathers._]
A HEN [_Looking up at the_ HAWK.] Twice the black shadow has swept over us!
CHANTECLER [_Calling to the_ CHICKS, _who come madly running._] Chicks, come here to me!
THE PHEASANT-HEN You take them under your wing?
CHANTECLER I must. Their mother is a box!
THE PHEASANT-HEN [_Looking upward._] He hovers over us--[_The shadow of the_ HAWK, _circling lower and lower, passes for the third time, darker than ever._]
ALL [_In a moan of fear._] Ah!
CHANTECLER [_Shouting toward the sky._] I am here!
PATOU He has heard your trumpet cry!
THE PHEASANT-HEN He flies further.
[_All rise with a joyous cry of deliverance, “Ah!” and go back to their places to watch the end of the combat._]
PATOU Without loss of a moment they form the ring again.
CHANTECLER [_With a start._] What did you say? [_He looks. It is true, the ring has immediately formed._]
THE PHEASANT-HEN Now they want you killed to be revenged for their fine scare.
CHANTECLER But now I shall not be killed! I felt my strength come back when the common enemy flew across the sky. [_Striding boldly up to the_ WHITE PILE.] I got back my courage, fearing for the others.
THE WHITE PILE [_Amazed at being smartly attacked._] Whence has he drawn new strength?
CHANTECLER I am thrice stronger now than you. Black excites me, you see, as red excites the bull, and thrice I have stared at night in the form of a bird’s shadow!
THE WHITE PILE [_Driven to bay, against the hedge, prepares to use his razors._]
THE PHEASANT-HEN [_Screaming._] Look out! He has two sharp razors at his heels, the beast!
CHANTECLER I knew it!
THE CAT [_From his tree, to the_ GAME COCK.] Use your knives!
PATOU [_Ready to spring from his wheelbarrow._] If he uses those, I’ll strangle him, that’s all!
THE CROWD Oh!
PATOU I will! Howl you never so loud!
THE WHITE PILE [_Feeling himself lost._] No help for it!
THE PHEASANT-HEN [_Closely watching him._] He is getting one of his razors ready!
THE WHITE PILE [_Striking with his sharp spur._] Take that! Die! [_He utters a terrible cry, while_ CHANTECLER, _avoiding the blow, springs aside._] Ah! [_He drops to the ground. Cry of amazement._]
SEVERAL VOICES What is it?
THE BLACKBIRD [_Who has hopped up to the fallen_ COCK _and examined him._] Nothing! Merely he has dexterously slashed his left claw with his right!
THE CROWD [_Following and hooting the_ WHITE PILE, _who, having picked himself up, limps off._] Hoo! Hoo!
PATOU _and the_ PHEASANT-HEN [_Laughing and weeping and talking, all in one, beside_ CHANTECLER, _who stands motionless, utterly spent, with closed eyes._] Chantecler! It is we! The Pheasant-hen! The Dog! Speak to us, speak!
CHANTECLER [_Opening his eyes, looks at them and says gently._] The day will rise to-morrow!
SCENE SIXTH
THE SAME, _except the_ WHITE PILE
THE CROWD [_After seeing the_ WHITE PILE _off, return tumultuously to_ CHANTECLER, _hailing him with acclamations._] Hurrah!
CHANTECLER [_Drawing away from them, in a terrible voice._] Stand back! I know your worth! [_The crowd hastily draws back._]
THE PHEASANT-HEN [_Close by his side._] Come away to the woods, where true-hearted animals live!
CHANTECLER No, I will stay here.
THE PHEASANT-HEN After finding them out?
CHANTECLER After finding them out.
THE PHEASANT-HEN You will stay here?
CHANTECLER Not for their sakes, but the sake of my song. It might spring forth less clear from any other soil! But now, to inform the Day that it is sure to be called tomorrow I will sing! [_Obsequious movement of the crowd, attempting to approach._] Back! All of you! I have nothing left but my song! [ALL _draw away, and alone in his pride, he begins._] Co--[_To himself, stiffening himself against pain._] Nothing left but my song, therefore let us sing well! [_He tries again._] Co--Now, I wonder, shall I take it as a chest-note, or--Co--a head-note? Shall I count one-three, or--Co--And the accent? Since they filled my head with all that sort of thing, I--Coocooroo--Keekee-ree--And the theory? The dynamic theory? Cock-a--I am all tangled up in schools and rules and rubbish! If he reduced his flight to a theory, what eagle would ever soar? Co--[_Trying again, and ending in a raucous, abortive crow._] Co--I cannot sing any more, I, whose method was not to know how, but be quite certain why! [_In a cry, of despair._] I have nothing left! They have taken everything from me, my song and everything else. How shall I get it back?
THE PHEASANT-HEN [_Opening her wings._] Come away to the woods!
CHANTECLER [_Falling upon her breast._] I love you!
THE PHEASANT-HEN To the woods, where the simple birds sing their sweet unconscious songs!
CHANTECLER Let us go! [_Both go toward the back._ CHANTECLER _turning._] But there is one thing I wish to say--
THE PHEASANT-HEN [_Trying to lead him away._] Come to the woods!
CHANTECLER --to all the Guineahennery gathered beneath these arbors. Let the garden--the Bees agree with me, I fancy!--let the garden work untroubled at changing its blossoms into fruit--
BUZZING OF BEES _We agree--ee--ee_!
CHANTECLER Nothing good is ever accomplished in the midst of noise. Noise prevents the bough--
BUZZING [_Further off._] _So say we--e--e! we--e--e_!
CHANTECLER --from bringing its apple to perfection, prevents the grape--
BUZZING [_Dying away among the foliage._] _So say we--e--e_!
CHANTECLER --from ripening on the vine. [_Going toward the back with the_ PHEASANT-HEN.] Let us go! [_Turning and coming again angrily toward the front._] But I wish furthermore to say to these H--[_The_ PHEASANT-HEN _lays her wing across his beak._]--ens that those unnatural Cocks will lightly take themselves away, back to the gilded mangers of their sole affection, the moment they hear the cry of Chick-chick-chick-chick-chick! [_Imitating a servant girl calling_ CHICKENS _to feed._] For all those charlatans are stalking appetites, and nothing more!
THE PHEASANT-HEN [_Trying to lead him off._] Come! Come!
A HEN She is eloping with him.
CHANTECLER I am coming! But--[_Coming forward again._] I must first say to this Peacock, in the presence of that Addlepate--[_Indicating the_ GUINEA-HEN.]
THE GUINEA-HEN He insults me in my own house. Sensational!
CHANTECLER False hero whom Fashion has taken for leader, you walk in such terror of appearing behindhand to the eyes of your own tail that your throat is blue with it! But, urged forward, on and on, by every staring eye upon it, you will fall at last, breathless for good and all, and end in the false immortality bestowed, false artist, by the--[_Imitating the manner of the_ PEACOCK.] shall I say bird-stuffer?
THE GUINEA-HEN [_Mechanically._] Yes!
CHANTECLER No. Taxidermist,--to use the word you would prefer. That, my dear Peacock, is what I wished to say.
THE BLACKBIRD Bang!
CHANTECLER [_Turning toward him._] As for you--
THE BLACKBIRD Fire away!
CHANTECLER I will! You became acquainted one grey morning with a city sparrow, did you not tell us so? That was your ruin. You have been possessed ever since with the desire to appear like one yourself.
THE BLACKBIRD But--
CHANTECLER From that hour, unresting, acting the sparrow night and day, the sparrow even in sleep, self-condemned to play the sparrow without respite, you have appeared--famous jay!
THE BLACKBIRD But--
CHANTECLER Pathetic effort of a country birdkin, twisting his thick bill to talk with a city accent! Ah, you wish to bite off bits of slang? My friend, they are green! Every grape you pick breaks in your jaws, for city grapes are glass bubbles! Having taken from the sparrow only his make-up and grimace, you are just a clumsy understudy, a sort of vice-buffoon! And you serve up stale old cynicisms picked up with crumbs in fashionable club-rooms, poor little bird, and think to astonish us with your budget of scandalous news--
THE BLACKBIRD But--
CHANTECLER I have not exhausted my ammunition! You wish to imitate the sparrow? But the sparrow does not, slyly and meanly mischievous, make a cult of sprightliness is not funny with authority, is not the pedant of flippancy! You percher among low bushes, who never care to fly, you wish to imitate--[_Turning to one of the exotic_ COCKS _cackling behind him._] Silence, Cock of Japan! or I shall spoil a picture!
THE JAPANESE COCK [_Hurriedly._] I beg your pardon!
CHANTECLER [_Continuing to the_ BLACKBIRD.] You wish to imitate the sparrow, who, rising on light wing, underlines his words with a telegraph wire! Very well, I hate to grieve you, but--you know I can hear the sparrows when they come to steal my corn!--you are not in it, you do not pull it off. Your lingo is a fake!
THE BLACKBIRD A--?
CHANTECLER And your performance is a shine!
THE BLACKBIRD He can talk slang?
CHANTECLER I can talk anything!--It’s the Paris article made in Germany!
THE BLACKBIRD But--
CHANTECLER Fire away, I think you said. I hope you don’t mind my air-gun?
THE BLACKBIRD I--
CHANTECLER The Grand Master of Illuminations is entirely at your service. What do you say?
THE BLACKBIRD [_Hastily._] Nothing! [_He tries to get away._]
CHANTECLER You wish to ape the sparrow of city streets! But his impudence is not a manner of prudence, an art of remaining vague, an elegant method of having no opinion. His eyes always express either wrath or delight. Do you care to know the secret by which the little beggar, with his “Chappie” and his “See” can steal away our hearts? It is that he is frank and fearless that he believes, that he loves, that the railings of a balcony where some child strews crumbs for him are the only cage he ever knew! It is that one can be sure of his gaiety of soul, since he is gay when he is hungry! But you who, void of gaiety because void of love, have imagined that evil wit can take the place of good humour, and that one can play the sparrow when he is a sleek and vulgar trimmer, sniggering behind his wing, what I say to you is, “Guess again, Mock-sparrow, guess again!”
THE GUINEA-HEN [_Always applauding everything that is said at her receptions._] Good! That was extremely good!
A CHICKEN [_To the crestfallen_ BLACKBIRD.] You will make him smart for this?
THE BLACKBIRD [_Prudently._] No. I will take it out on the Turkey. [_At this point a_ VOICE _calls, “Chick-chick-chick-chick-chick!” and all the_ FANCY COCKS, _rushing toward the irresistible call to food, hurry out, tumbling over one another in their haste._]
THE GUINEA-HEN [_Running after them._] Are you going?
A PADUA COCK [_The last to leave._] I beg to be excused! [_Disappears._]
THE GUINEA-HEN [_In the midst of the hubbub._] Are you going? Must you go? Oh, don’t go yet!
CHANTECLER [_To the_ PHEASANT-HEN.] Come, my golden Pheasant!
THE GUINEA-HEN [_Running to_ CHANTECLER.] Are you running away?
CHANTECLER To save my song!
THE GUINEA-HEN [_Running to the_ YOUNG GUINEA-COCK.] My son, I am in such a state--I am in such--
A HEN [_Calling after_ CHANTECLER.] And when shall we see you again?
CHANTECLER [_Before going._] When you have grown teeth! [_Off with the_ PHEASANT-HEN.]
THE GUINEA-HEN [_To the_ YOUNG GUINEA-COCK.] This has been quite the finest affair of the season! [_Darting madly about among the departing guests._] Au revoir! Mondays in August! Don’t forget!
THE MAGPIE [_Announcing._] The Tortoise!
ACT FOURTH
THE NIGHT OF THE NIGHTINGALE
_In the Forest. Evening. Huge trees with thick gnarled roots. At the base of one of the trees, Time or a lightning stroke has hollowed a sort of chamber. Rising slopes carpeted with heather. Rabbit holes. Mosses. Toadstools. Stretched between two ferns, a great cobweb, spangled with water-drops. At the rise of the curtain_, RABBITS _are discovered on every side among the underbrush, peacefully inhaling the evening air. A time of serene silence and coolness._
SCENE FIRST
_A_ RABBIT _in front of his burrow_, CHOIR OF UNSEEN BIRDS.
A RABBIT It is the hour when with sweet and solemn voices the two warblers, Black-cap of the Gardens, and Red-wing of the Woods, intone the evening prayer.
A VOICE [_Among the branches._] O God of Birds!
ANOTHER VOICE
O God of Birds! or, rather, for the Hawk
Has surely not the same God as the Wren,
O God of Little Birds!
A THOUSAND VOICES [_Among the leaves._] O God of Little Birds!
FIRST VOICE
Who breathed into our wings to make us light,
And painted them with colours of His sky,
All thanks for this fair day, for meat and drink--
Sweet sky-born water caught in cups of stone,
Sweet hedgerow berries washed of dust with dew,
And thanks for these good little eyes of ours
That spy the unseen enemies of man,
And thanks for the good tools by Thee bestowed
To aid our work of little gardeners,
Trowels and pruning-hooks of living horn.
THE SECOND VOICE
To-morrow we will fight borer and blight,
Forgive Thy birds to-night their trespasses,
The stripping of a currant-bush or two!
THE FIRST VOICE
Breathe on our bright round eyes and over them
The triple curtain of the lids will close.
If Man, the unjust, pay us by casting stones,
For filling field and wood and eaves with song,
For battling with the weevil for his bread,
If he lime twigs for us, if he spread snares,
Call to our memory Thy gentle Saint,
Thy good Saint Francis, that we may forgive
The cruelty of men because a man
Once called us brothers, “My brothers, the birds!”
THE SECOND VOICE
Saint Francis of Assisi--
A THOUSAND VOICES [_Among the leaves._] Pray for us!
THE VOICE
Confessor of the mavis--
ALL THE VOICES
Pray for us!
THE VOICE
Preacher to the swallows--
ALL THE VOICES
Pray for us!
THE VOICE
O tender dreamer of a generous dream,
Who didst believe so surely in our soul
That, ever since, our soul, and ever more,
Affirms, defines itself--
ALL THE VOICES
Remember us!
THE FIRST VOICE
And by the favour of thy prayers obtain
The needful daily sup and crumb! Amen.
THE SECOND VOICE
Amen!
ALL THE VOICES [_In a murmur spreading to the uttermost ends of the forest._] Amen!
CHANTECLER [_Who, having a moment before stepped from the hollow tree, has stood listening._] Amen!
[_The shade has deepened and taken a bluer tinge. The spiderweb, touched by a moonbeam, looks as if sifting silver dust. The_ PHEASANT-HEN _comes from the tree and follows_ CHANTECLER _with little short feminine steps._]
SCENE SECOND
CHANTECLER, _the_ PHEASANT-HEN, _from time to time the_ RABBITS, _now and then the_ WOODPECKER.
CHANTECLER How softly sleeps the moonlight on the ferns! Now is the time--
A LITTLE QUAVERING VOICE
Spider at night,
Bodeth delight!
THE PHEASANT-HEN Thanks, kind Spider!
CHANTECLER Now is the time--
THE PHEASANT-HEN [_Close behind him._] Now is the time to kiss me.
CHANTECLER All those Rabbits looking on make it a trifle--
THE PHEASANT-HEN [_Suddenly flaps her wings; the frightened_ RABBITS _start, on all sides white tails disappear into rabbit-holes. The_ PHEASANT-HEN _coming back to_ CHANTECLER.] There! [_They bill._] Do you love my forest?
CHANTECLER I love it, for no sooner had I crossed its verdant border than I got back my song. Let us go to roost. I must sing very early to-morrow.
THE PHEASANT-HEN [_Imperiously._] But one song only!
CHANTECLER Yes.
THE PHEASANT-HEN For a month I have only allowed you one song.
CHANTECLER [_Resignedly._] Yes.
THE PHEASANT-HEN And has the Sun not risen just the same?
CHANTECLER [_In a tone of unwilling admission._] The Sun has risen.
THE PHEASANT-HEN You see that one can have the Dawn at a smaller cost. Is the sky any less red for your only crowing once?
CHANTECLER No.
THE PHEASANT-HEN Well then? [_Offering her bill._] A kiss! [_Finding his kiss absent-minded._] You are thinking of something else. Please attend! [_Reverting to her idea._] Why should you wear yourself out? You were simply squandering the precious copper of your voice. Daylight is all very well, but one must live! Oh! the male creature! If we were not there, with what sad frequency he would be fooled!
CHANTECLER [_With conviction._] Yes, but you are there, you see.
THE PHEASANT-HEN It is barbarous anyhow to keep up a perpetual cockaduddling when I am trying to sleep.
CHANTECLER [_Gently correcting her._] Doodling, dearest.
THE PHEASANT-HEN Duddling is correct.
CHANTECLER Doodling.
THE PHEASANT-HEN [_Raising her head toward the top of the tree and calling._] Mr. Woodpecker! [_To_ CHANTECLER.] We will ask the learned gentleman in the green coat. [_To the_ WOODPECKER _the upper half of whose figure appears at a round hole high up in the tree trunk; his coat is green, his waistcoat buff, and he wears a red skull-cap._] Do you say cockaduddling or cockadoodling?
THE WOODPECKER [_Bending a long professorial bill._] Both.
CHANTECLER _and the_ PHEASANT-HEN [_Turning to each other, triumphantly._] Ah!
THE WOODPECKER Duddling is more tender, doodling more poetic. [_He disappears._]
CHANTECLER It is for you I cockaduddle!
THE PHEASANT-HEN Yes, but you cockadoodle for the Dawn!
CHANTECLER [_Going toward her._] I do believe you are jealous!
THE PHEASANT-HEN [_Retreating coquettishly._] Do you love me more than her?
CHANTECLER [_With a cry of warning._] Be careful, a snare!
THE PHEASANT-HEN [_Jumping aside._] Ready to spring! [_Dimly visible against a tree, is, in fact, a spread bird-net._]
CHANTECLER [_Examining it._] A dangerous contrivance.
THE PHEASANT-HEN Forbidden by the game-laws of 44.
CHANTECLER [_Laughing._] Do you know that?
THE PHEASANT-HEN You seem to forget that the object of your affections comes under the head of game.
CHANTECLER [_With a touch of sadness._] It is true that we are of different kinds.
THE PHEASANT-HEN [_Returning to his side with a hop._] I want you to love me more than her. Say it’s me you love most. Say it’s me!
THE WOODPECKER [_Reappearing._] I!
CHANTECLER [_Looking up._] Not in a love-scene.
THE PHEASANT-HEN [_To the_ WOODPECKER.] See here,--you! Be so kind another time as to knock!
WOODPECKER [_Disappearing._] Certainly. Certainly.
THE PHEASANT-HEN [_To_ CHANTECLER.] He has a bad habit of thrusting his bill between the bark and the tree, but he is a rare scholar, exceptionally well informed--
CHANTECLER [_Absent-mindedly._] On what subjects?
THE PHEASANT-HEN The language of birds.
CHANTECLER Indeed?
THE PHEASANT-HEN For, you know, the birds when they say their prayers speak the common language, but when they chat together in private they use a twittering dialect, wholly onomatopoetic.
CHANTECLER They talk Japanese. [_The_ WOODPECKER _knocks three times with his bill on the tree: Rat-tat-tat!_] Come in!
THE WOODPECKER [_Appearing, indignant._] Japanese, did you say?
CHANTECLER Yes. Some of them say, Tio! Tio! and others say Tzoui! Tzoui!
THE WOODPECKER Birds have talked Greek ever since Aristophanes!
CHANTECLER [_Rushing to the_ PHEASANT-HEN.] Oh, for the love of Greek! [_They bill._]
THE WOODPECKER Know, profane youth, that the Black-chat’s cry Ouis-ouis-tra-tra, is a corruption of the word Lysistrata! [_Disappears._]
THE PHEASANT-HEN [_To_ CHANTECLER.] Will you never love anyone but me?
[THE WOODPECKER’S _knock is heard: Rat-tat-tat._]
CHANTECLER Come in!
THE PHEASANT-HEN [_To_ CHANTECLER.] Do you promise?
THE WOODPECKER [_Appears, soberly nodding his red cap._] Tiri-para! sings the small sedge-warbler to the reeds. Incontrovertibly from the Greek. _Para,_ along, and the word water is understood. [_Disappears._]
CHANTECLER He has Greek on the brain!
THE PHEASANT-HEN [_Reverting to her idea._] Am I the whole, whole world to you?
CHANTECLER Of course you are, only--
THE PHEASANT-HEN In my green-sleeved Oriental robe, I look to you--how do I look?
CHANTECLER Like a living commandment ever to worship that which comes from the East.
THE PHEASANT-HEN [_Exasperated._] Will you stop thinking of the light of day, and think only of the light in my eyes?
CHANTECLER I shall never forget, however, that there was a morning when we believed equally in my Destiny, and that in the radiant hour of dawning love you forgot, and allowed me to forget, your gold for the gold of the Dawn!
THE PHEASANT-HEN The Dawn! Always the Dawn! Be careful, Chantecler I shall do something rash! [_Going toward the Back._]
CHANTECLER You will infallibly do as you like.
THE PHEASANT-HEN In the glade not long ago I met the--[_She catches herself and stops short, intentionally._]
CHANTECLER [_Looks at her, and in an angry cry._] The Pheasant? [_With sudden violence._] Promise me that you will never again go to the glade!
THE PHEASANT-HEN [_Assured of her power over him, with a bound returns to his side._] And you, promise that you will love me more than the Light!
CHANTECLER [_Sorrowfully._] Oh!
THE PHEASANT-HEN That you will not sing--
CHANTECLER More than one song, we have settled that point. [_Rat-tat-tat, from the_ WOODPECKER.] Come in!
THE WOODPECKER [_Appearing and pointing with his bill at the net._] The snare! The farmer placed it there. He declared he would capture the Pheasant-hen.
THE PHEASANT-HEN He flatters himself!
THE WOODPECKER And that he would keep you on his farm.
THE PHEASANT-HEN [_Indignant._] Alive? [_To_ CHANTECLER, _in a tone of reproach._] Your farm!
CHANTECLER [_Seeing a_ RABBIT _who has returned to the edge of his hole._] Ah, there comes a Rabbit!
THE RABBIT [_Showing the snare to the_ PHEASANT-HEN.] You know if you put your foot on that spring--
THE PHEASANT-HEN [_In a tone of superiority._] I know all about snares, my little man. If you put your foot on that spring, the thing shuts. I am afraid of nothing but dogs. [_To_ CHANTECLER.] On your farm, which you secretly yearn for.
CHANTECLER [_In a voice of injured innocence._] I?
THE PHEASANT-HEN [_To the_ RABBIT, _giving him a light tap with her wing to send him home._] Afraid of nothing but dogs. And since you put me in mind of it, I think I must go and perplex their noses, by tangling my tracks all among the grass and underwoods.
CHANTECLER That’s it, you go and fool the dogs!
THE PHEASANT-HEN [_Starts of, then returns._] You are homesick for that wretched old farm of yours?
CHANTECLER I? I? [_She goes off. He repeats indignantly._] I? [_Watching her out of sight, then, dropping his voice, to the_ WOODPECKER.] She is not coming back, is she?
THE WOODPECKER [_Who from his high window in the tree can look off._] No.
SCENE THIRD
CHANTECLER, THE WOODPECKER.
CHANTECLER [_Eagerly._] Keep watch! They are going to talk with me from home.
THE WOODPECKER [_Interested._] Who?
CHANTECLER The Blackbird.
THE WOODPECKER I thought he hated you.
CHANTECLER He came near it, but the Blackbird cast of mind admits of compromise, and it amuses him to keep me informed.
THE WOODPECKER Is he coming?
CHANTECLER [_Who is a different bird since the_ PHEASANT-HEN’S _exit, light-hearted, boyishly cheerful._] No, but the blue morning-glory opening in his cage amid the wistaria, communicates by subterranean filaments with this white convolvulus trembling above the pool. [_Going to the convolvulus._] So that by talking into its chalice--[_He plunges his bill into one of the trembling milky trumpets._] Hello!
THE WOODPECKER [_Nodding to himself._] From the Greek, _allos_, another. He talks with another.
CHANTECLER Hello! The Blackbird, please!
THE WOODPECKER [_Keeping watch._] Most imprudent, this is! To choose among the convolvuli exactly the one which--
CHANTECLER [_Lighter and lighter of mood, returning to the_ WOODPECKER.] But it’s the only one open all night! When the Blackbird answers, the Bee who sleeps in the flower wakes up and we--
THE BEE [_Inside the convolvulus._] Vrrrrrrrrr!
CHANTECLER [_Briskly running to the flower and listening at the horn-shaped receiver._] Ah? This morning, did you say?
THE WOODPECKER [_Filled with curiosity._] What is it?
CHANTECLER [_In a voice of sudden emotion._] Thirty chicks have been born! [_Listening again._] Briffaut, the hunting-dog, is ill? [_As if something interfered with his hearing._] I believe it is the Dragon-flies, deafening us with the crackling of their wings--[_Shouting._] Will you be so kind, young ladies, as not to cut us off? [_Listening._] And big Julius obliges Patou to go with him on his hunting expeditions? [_To the_ WOODPECKER.] Ah, you ought to know my friend Patou! [_Burying his bill again in the flower._] So? Without me everything goes wrong? Yes! [_With satisfaction._] Yes! Waste and carelessness naturally!
THE WOODPECKER [_Who has been keeping watch, warns him suddenly under breath._] Here she comes!
CHANTECLER [_With his bill in the flower._] Indeed?
THE WOODPECKER [_Fluttering desperately._] Hush!
CHANTECLER The Ducks spent the night under the cart, did they?
THE WOODPECKER Pst!
SCENE FOURTH
THE SAME, THE PHEASANT-HEN
THE PHEASANT-HEN [_Who has come upon the scene, with a threatening gesture at the_ WOODPECKER.] Go inside! [_The_ WOOD PECKER _precipitately disappears. She stands listening to_ CHANTECLER.]
CHANTECLER [_In the convolvulus, more and more deeply interested._] You don’t mean it! What, all of them?--Yes?--No--Oh!--Well, well!--Is that so?
THE WOODPECKER [_Who has timidly come back, aside._] Oh, that an ant of the heaviest might weigh down his tongue!
CHANTECLER [_Talking into the flower._] So soon? The Peacock out of fashion?
THE WOODPECKER [_Trying to get_ CHANTECLER’S _attention behind the_ PHEASANT-HEN’S _back._] Pst!
THE PHEASANT-HEN [_Turning around, furious._] You!--You had better! [_The_ WOODPECKER _alertly retires, bumping his head._]
CHANTECLER [_In the flower._] An elderly Cock?--I hope that the Hens--? [_With intonations more and more expressive of relief._] Ah, that’s right! that’s right! that’s right! [_He ends, with evident lightening of the heart._] A father! [_As if answering a question._] Do I sing? Yes, but far away from here, at the water-side.
THE PHEASANT-HEN Oh!
CHANTECLER [_With a tinge of bitterness._] Golden Pheasants will not long allow one to purchase glory by too strenuous an effort, and so I go off by myself, and work at the Dawn in secret.
THE PHEASANT-HEN [_Approaching from behind with threatening countenance._] Oh!
CHANTECLER As soon as the beauteous eye which enthralls me--
THE PHEASANT-HEN [_Pausing._] Oh!
CHANTECLER --closes, and in her surpassing loveliness she sleeps--
THE PHEASANT-HEN [_Delighted._] Ah!
CHANTECLER I make my escape.
THE PHEASANT-HEN [_Furious._] Oh!
CHANTECLER I speed through the dew to a distant place, to sing there the necessary number of times, and when I feel the darkness wavering, when only one song more is needed, I return and noiselessly getting back to roost, wake the Pheasant-hen by singing it at her side.--Betrayed by the dew? Oh, no! [_Laughing._] For with a whisk of my wing I brush my feet clear of the tell-tale silveriness!
THE PHEASANT-HEN [_Close behind him._] You brush your--?
CHANTECLER [_Turning._] Ouch! [_Into the convolvulus._] No nothing! I--Later!--Ouch!
THE PHEASANT-HEN [_Violently._] So! So! Not only you keep up an interest in the fidelity of your old flames--
CHANTECLER [_Evasively._] Oh!
THE PHEASANT-HEN You furthermore--
CHANTECLER I--
THE BEE [_Inside the morning-glory._] Vrrrrrrr!
CHANTECLER [_Placing his wing over the flower._] I--
THE PHEASANT-HEN You deceive me to the point of remembering to brush off your feet!
CHANTECLER But--
THE PHEASANT-HEN This clodhopper, see now, whom I picked up off his haystack--and to rule alone in his soul is apparently quite beyond my power!
CHANTECLER [_Collecting himself and straightening up._] When one dwells in a soul, it is better, believe me, to meet with the Dawn there, than with nothing.
THE PHEASANT-HEN [_Angrily._] No! the Dawn defrauds me of a great and undivided love!
CHANTECLER There is no great love outside the shadow of a great dream! How should there not flow more love from a soul whose very business it is to open wide every day?
THE PHEASANT-HEN [_Coming and going stormily._] I will sweep everything aside with my golden russet wing!
CHANTECLER And who are you, bent upon such tremendous sweeping [_They stand rigid and erect in front of each other, looking defiance into each other’s eyes._]
THE PHEASANT-HEN The Pheasant-hen I am, who have assumed the golden plumage of the arrogant male!
CHANTECLER Remaining in spite of all a female, whose eternal rival is the Idea!
THE PHEASANT-HEN [_In a great cry._] Hold me to your heart and be still!
CHANTECLER [_Crushing her brutally to him._] Yes, I strain you to my Cock’s heart--[_With infinite regret._] Better it were I had folded you to my Awakener’s soul!
THE PHEASANT-HEN To deceive me for the Dawn’s sake! Very well, however much you may abhor it, you shall for my sake deceive the Dawn.
CHANTECLER I? How?
THE PHEASANT-HEN [_Stamping her foot; in a capricious tone._] It is my formal and explicit wish--
CHANTECLER But listen, dear--
THE PHEASANT-HEN My formal and explicit wish that you should for one whole day refrain altogether from singing.
CHANTECLER That I--
THE PHEASANT-HEN I desire you to remain one whole day without singing.
CHANTECLER But, heavens and earth, am I to leave the valley in total darkness?
THE PHEASANT-HEN [_Pouting._] What harm will it do to the valley?
CHANTECLER Whatever lies too long in darkness and sleep becomes used to falsehood and consents to death.
THE PHEASANT-HEN Leave singing for one day--[_In a tone of evil insinuation._] It will free my mind of certain suspicions troubling it.
CHANTECLER [_With a start._] I can see what you are trying to do!
THE PHEASANT-HEN And I can see what you are afraid of!
CHANTECLER [_Earnestly._] I will never give up singing.
THE PHEASANT-HEN And what if you were mistaken? What if the truth were that Dawn comes without help from you?
CHANTECLER [_With fierce resolution._] I shall not know it.
THE PHEASANT-HEN [_In a sudden burst of tears._] Could you not forget the time, for once, if you saw me weeping?
CHANTECLER No, I could not.
THE PHEASANT-HEN Nothing, ever, can make you forget the time?
CHANTECLER Nothing. I am conscious of darkness as too heavy a weight.
THE PHEASANT-HEN You are conscious of darkness as--Shall I tell you the truth? You think you sing for the Dawn, but you sing in reality to be admired, you--songster, you! [_With contemptuous pity._] Is it possible you are not aware that your poor notes raise a smile right through the forest, accustomed to the fluting of the thrush?
CHANTECLER I know, you are trying now to reach me through my pride, but--
THE PHEASANT-HEN I doubt if you can get so many as three toadstools and a couple of sassafras stalks to listen to you, when the ardent oriole flings across the leafy gloom his melodious pir-piriol!
THE WOODPECKER [_Reappearing._] From the Greek: Pure, _puros._
CHANTECLER No more from you, please! [_The_ WOODPECKER _hurriedly withdraws._]
THE PHEASANT-HEN [_Insisting._] The echo must make some rather interesting mental reservations, one fancies, when he hears you sing after hearing the great Nightingale!
CHANTECLER [_Turning to leave._] My nerves, my dear girl, are not of the very steadiest to-night.
THE PHEASANT-HEN [_Following._] Did you ever hear him?
CHANTECLER Never.
THE PHEASANT-HEN His song is so wonderful that the first time--[_She stops short, struck by an idea._] Oh!
CHANTECLER What is it?
THE PHEASANT-HEN [_Aside._] Ah, you feel the weight of the darkness--
CHANTECLER [_Coming forward again._] What?
THE PHEASANT-HEN [_With an ironical curtsey._] Nothing! [_Carelessly._] Let us go to roost! [CHANTECLER _goes to the back and is preparing to rise to a branch. The_ PHEASANT-HEN _aside._] He does not know that when the Nightingale sings one listens, supposing it to be a minute, and lo! the whole night has been spent listening, even as happens in the enchanted forest of a German legend.
CHANTECLER [_As she does not join him, returns to her._] What are you saying?
THE PHEASANT-HEN [_Laughing in his face._] Nothing!
A VOICE [_Outside._] The illustrious Cock?
CHANTECLER [_Looking around him._] I am wanted?
THE PHEASANT-HEN [_Who has gone in the direction from whence came the voice._] There, in the grass! [_Jumping back._] Mercy upon us! They are the--[_With a movement of insuperable disgust._] They are the--[_With a spring she conceals herself in the hollow tree, calling back to_ CHANTECLER.] Be civil to them!
SCENE FIFTH
CHANTECLER, _the_ PHEASANT-HEN, _hidden in the tree, and the_ TOADS.
A BIG TOAD [_Rearing himself in the grass._] We have come--[_Other_ TOADS _become visible behind him._]
CHANTECLER Ye gods, how ugly they are!
THE BIG TOAD [_Obsequiously._]--in behalf of all the thinking contingency of the Forest, to the author of so many songs--[_He places his hand on his heart._]
CHANTECLER [_With disgust._] Oh, that hand spread over his paunch!
THE BIG TOAD [_With a hop toward_ CHANTECLER.]--at once novel,--
ANOTHER TOAD [_Same business._] Pellucid!
ANOTHER [_Same business._] Succinct!
ANOTHER [_Same business._] Vital!
ANOTHER [_Same business._] Pure!
ANOTHER [_Same business._] Great!
CHANTECLER Gentlemen, pray be seated. [_They seat themselves around a large toadstool._]
THE BIG TOAD True, we are ugly--
CHANTECLER [_Politely._] You have fine eyes.
THE BIG TOAD [_Raising himself by bearing with both hands upon the rim of the toadstool._] But, Knights of this fungoid Round Table, we desire to do homage to the Parsifal who has given to the world a sublime song--
SECOND TOAD A true song!
THE BIG TOAD And a celestial!
THIRD TOAD And a no less terrestrial!
THE BIG TOAD [_With authority._] A song by comparison with which the song of the Nightingale sinks into insignificance!
CHANTECLER [_Astonished._] The Nightingale’s song?
SECOND TOAD [_In a tone of finality._] Is not a circumstance to yours!
THE BIG TOAD [_With a hop._] It was high time that a new singer--
ANOTHER [_Same business._] And a new song--
FIFTH TOAD [_Quickly, to his neighbour._] And a song by a stranger--
THE BIG TOAD Came to change conditions here.
CHANTECLER Ah, I shall change conditions?
ALL Glory to the Cock!
CHANTECLER I do not see that the forest thinks so poorly of me after all!
THE BIG TOAD Played out, the Nightingale!
CHANTECLER [_More and more surprised._] Really?
SECOND TOAD More and more his song confesses itself effete--
THE BIG TOAD Mawkish!
THIRD TOAD Null!
FOURTH [_Contemptuously._] And his old-fashioned pretense of inspiration!
FIFTH TOAD And the name he has adopted: Bul-bul!
ALL THE TOADS [_Puffing with laughter._] Bul-bul!
THE BIG TOAD This is the way he goes on: [_Parodying the song of the_ NIGHTINGALE.] Tio! Tio!
SECOND TOAD His solitary idea is an old silver trill copied from the bubbling spring. [_He imitates in grotesque fashion the singing of the_ NIGHTINGALE.] Tio! Tio!
CHANTECLER But--
THE BIG TOAD [_Quickly._] Do not attempt, you, the Renovator of Art, to defend that ancient high authority on sentimental gargling!
SECOND TOAD That superannuated tenor quavering out his cavatinas to the glory of minor poetry and the edification of fogydom!
THIRD TOAD The Harp that twanged through Tara’s hall, and insists on twanging still!
CHANTECLER [_Indulgently._] But why should he not, after all, if he enjoys it?
THE BIG TOAD Endeavouring to impose on a suffering and surfeited public the musty old fashion of ingenious fioritura!
CHANTECLER Audiences nowadays, of course, look for a different sort of thing.
THIRD TOAD Your song has exposed the artificiality of his.
ALL [_In an explosion._] Down with Bul-bul!
CHANTECLER [_Whom the_ TOADS _have gradually surrounded._] Gentlemen and honored Batrachians, my voice, it is true, gives forth natural notes--
THE BIG TOAD Yes, notes which lend us wings--
CHANTECLER [_Modestly._] Oh!
ALL [_Waggling their bodies as if about to fly._] Wings!
THE BIG TOAD Their secret being that they sing Life!
CHANTECLER That is true.
SECOND TOAD Yes, my dear fellow, Life!
CHANTECLER [_With careless complacency._] My crest for that reason is flesh and blood!
ALL THE TOADS [_Clapping their little hands._] Good, very good!
THE BIG TOAD That formula is a programme.
SECOND TOAD Since we are assembled around a table, why should we not offer to the Chief--
CHANTECLER [_Modestly, hanging back from the suggested honour._]Gentlemen--
SECOND TOAD --to the Chief of whom we stood in notable need, a banquet?
ALL [_Beating enthusiastically upon the toadstool._] A banquet!
THE PHEASANT-HEN [_Looking out from the tree._] What is the matter?
CHANTECLER [_In spite of all, rather flattered._] A banquet!
THE PHEASANT-HEN [_Slightly ironical._] Shall you accept?
CHANTECLER You see, my dear--the new tendencies--Art,--the thinking contingency of the Forest--[_Indicating the_ TOADS.] Yes, I have lent wings to--[_In a light and careless tone._] It’s all up with the Nightingale, you see. Musty old method! Antiquated trill! This is the way he goes on--[_To the_ TOADS.] How was it you said he went on?
ALL THE TOADS [_Comically._] Tio! Tio!
CHANTECLER [_To the_ PHEASANT-HEN, _with pitying indulgence._] He goes on like this: Tio! Tio! And I believe I need not scruple to accept--
A VOICE [_In the tree above him breaks forth in a long note, limpid, and heart-moving._] Tio! [_Silence._]
CHANTECLER [_Startled, raising his head._] What was that?
THE BIG TOAD [_Quickly, visibly embarrassed._] Nothing! It is he!
THE VOICE [_Slowly and wonderfully, with the sigh of a soul in every note._] Tio! Tio! Tio! Tio!
CHANTECLER [_Turning upon the_ TOADS.] Scum of the earth!
THE TOADS [_Backing away from him._] What--?
SCENE SIXTH
THE SAME, _the_ NIGHTINGALE _unseen, and little by little all the_ FOREST CREATURES.
THE NIGHTINGALE [_From the tree, in his emotionally throbbing voice._] Tiny bird, lost in the darkness of the tree, I feel myself turning into the heart-beat of the infinite night!
CHANTECLER [_To the_ TOADS.] And you have dared--
THE NIGHTINGALE Hushed lies the ravine beneath the magic of the moon--
CHANTECLER --to compare my rude singing with that divine voice? Scum of the earth! Toads! And I never divined that they were doing to him here what was done to me over yonder!
THE BIG TOAD [_Suddenly swelling to a great size._] Toads! Yes, as it happens, we are Toads!
THE NIGHTINGALE Vapour of pearl wreathes the summits in an ethereal veil--
THE BIG TOAD [_Self-appreciatively._] We are Toads, certainly, magnificently embossed with warts! [_All rear themselves up, swollen, standing between_ CHANTECLER _and the tree._]
CHANTECLER And I perceived not, I who have never known envy, to what venomous feast I was bidden!
THE NIGHTINGALE What matter? Sooner or later, you, the strong, and I, the tender, we were fated, despite all the Toads in the world, to understand each other!
CHANTECLER [_With religious fervour._] Sing!
A TOAD [_Who has hastily dragged himself to the tree in which the_ NIGHTINGALE _is singing._] Let us clasp the bark with our slimy little arms, and slaver upon the foot of the tree! [_All crawl toward the tree._]
CHANTECLER [_Trying to stop one of them who is clumsily hopping._] But are you not yourself gifted with a singing voice of exceptional purity?
THE TOAD [_In a tone of sincerest suffering._] I am, but when I hear somebody else singing, I can’t help it,--I see green! [_He joins his companions._]
THE BIG TOAD [_Working his jaws as if chewing something which foamed._] There foam up beneath our tongues I know not what strange soapsuds, and--[_To his neighbour._] Are you frothing?
THE OTHER I am frothing.
ANOTHER He is frothing.
ALL We are frothing.
A TOAD [_Tenderly laying his arm about the neck of a dilatory_ TOAD.] Come and froth!
CHANTECLER [_To the_ NIGHTINGALE.] But will they not trouble and prevent your mellifluent song?
THE NIGHTINGALE In no wise. I will take their refrain into my song--
THE BIG TOAD [_Patting a little_ TOAD _on the head to encourage him._] Don’t be afraid, go ahead,--froth!
THE TOADS [_All together, at the base of the tree to which they form a crawling, writhing girdle._] The Toads, croak! croak! the Toads are we!
THE NIGHTINGALE --And make of both a Villanelle!
THE TOADS We welter in malignity!
THE NIGHTINGALE The while they fume beneath my tree I fill with song the enchanted dell--
THE TOADS The Toads, croak! croak! the Toads are we! [_And the Villanelle proceeds, sung by the alternate voices, one of which, ever higher and more enraptured, carries the song proper, and the others, ever angrier and lower, the burden of the song._]
THE NIGHTINGALE _and_ THE TOADS, _alternately_
I sing! for Wind, that harper free,
And music bubbling from the well--
--We welter in malignity!--
And fragrance floating from the lea,
Of meadow-sweet and pimpernel--
--The Toads, croak! croak! the Toads are we!--
And Luna showering ecstasy,
All weave so wonderful a spell--
--We welter in malignity!--
Its melting magic moveth me
The secret of my heart to tell!
--The Toads, croak! croak! the Toads are we!--
Within my heart all sympathy,
Within mine eye all visions dwell--
--We welter in malignity!--
Life, Death, I turn to rhapsody,
Who am the deathless Philomel!
--The Toads, croak! croak! the Toads are we,
Who welter in malignity!
CHANTECLER Beside those heavenly pipes, ah, me! my voice is Punchinello’s squeak! Sing on! Sing on! The Croakers are in retreat.
THE TOADS [_Retreating, overcome by the conquering song._] Croak! croak!
CHANTECLER Their fate to seethe in the cauldron of a witch! But you, the creatures of the forest come to slake the thirst of their hearts at your song. See them creeping to the lure--
THE TOADS [_From the underbrush._] Croak! croak!
CHANTECLER A doe, look! tiptoeing on delicate hoofs, followed by a wolf who has forgotten to be a wolf--
THE TOADS [_Lost among the grass._] Croak!
CHANTECLER The squirrel steals down from the lofty tree-tops. The whole vast forest is stirred by a thrill of brotherliness.
THE TOADS [_Out of sight._]--roak!
CHANTECLER The echo alone now repeats--
FAINT DISTANT VOICE --oak!
CHANTECLER Gone! Gone are the Toads!
[_Music holds the night: a song without words, delicate volleys of rapturous notes._]
CHANTECLER The Glow-worms have lighted their small, green lamps. All that is good comes forth, while hate shrinks back to its lair. Now they that shall be eaten lay themselves down in the grass by the side of them that shall eat them. The Star of a sudden looks nearer to earth, and forsaking her web the Spider draws herself up toward your song, climbing by her own silken thread.
ALL THE FOREST [_In a moan of ecstasy._] Ah!
[_And the forest lies as if under a spell; the moonlight is softer, the tender green fire of the glow-worm shines blinking among the moss; on all sides, between the tree-boles creep, shadow-like, the charmed beasts; eyes shine, moist muzzles point toward the source of the music. The_ WOODPECKER _stands at his bark window, dreamily nodding; all the_ RABBITS, _with uppricked ears, sit at their earthen doors._]
CHANTECLER When he sings thus without words, what is he singing, Squirrel?
THE SQUIRREL [_From a tree-top._] The joy of swift motion.
CHANTECLER And what say you, Hare?
THE HARE [_In the coppice._] The thrill of fear!
CHANTECLER You, Rabbit?
ONE OF THE RABBITS The Dew!
CHANTECLER You, Doe?
THE DOE [_From the depths of the woods._] Tears!
CHANTECLER Wolf?
THE WOLF [_In a gentle distant howl._] The Moon!
CHANTECLER And you, Tree with the golden wound, singing Pine?
THE PINE-TREE [_Softly beating time with one of its boughs._] He tells me that my drops of resin in the form of rosin will sing upon the bows of violins!
CHANTECLER And you, Woodpecker, what does he say to you?
THE WOODPECKER [_In ecstasy._] He says that Aristophanes--
CHANTECLER [_Promptly interrupting him._] Never mind! I know! You, Spider?
THE SPIDER [_Swinging at the end of one of her threads._] He sings of the raindrop sparkling in my web like a royal gift.
CHANTECLER And you, Drop of Water, sparkling in her web?
A LITTLE VOICE [_From the cobweb._] Of the Glow-worm!
CHANTECLER And you, Glow-worm?
A LITTLE VOICE [_In the grass._]Of the Star!
CHANTECLER And you, if one may so far presume as to question you, of what does he sing to you, Star?
A VOICE [_In the sky._] Of the Shepherd!
CHANTECLER Ah, what fountain is it--
THE PHEASANT-HEN [_Who is watching the horizon between the trees._] The darkness is lightening.
CHANTECLER What fountain, in which each finds water for his thirst? [_Listening with greater attention._] To me he speaks of the Day, which arises and shines at my song!
THE PHEASANT-HEN [_Aside._] And speaks of it so eloquently that for once you will forget it!
CHANTECLER [_Noticing a_ BIRD _who having come a little way out of the thicket is beatifically listening._] And how do you, Snipe, translate his poem?
THE SNIPE I don’t know. I only know I like it--It is sweet!
THE PHEASANT-HEN [_Who is not lured--she!--into forgetting to watch the sky between the branches, aside._] The night is wearing away!
CHANTECLER [_To the_ NIGHTINGALE, _in a discouraged voice._] To sing! To sing! But how, after hearing the faultless crystal of your note, can I ever be satisfied again with the crude, brazen blare of mine?
THE NIGHTINGALE But you must!
CHANTECLER Shall I find it possible ever again to sing? My song, alas, must seem to me always after this too brutal and too red!
THE NIGHTINGALE I have sometimes thought that mine was too facile, perhaps, and too blue!
CHANTECLER Oh, how can you humble yourself to make such a confession to me?
THE NIGHTINGALE You fought for a friend of mine, the Rose! Learn, comrade, this sorrowful and reassuring fact, that no one, Cock of the morning or evening Nightingale, has quite the song of his dreams!
CHANTECLER [_With passionate desire._] Oh, to be a sound that soothes and lulls!
THE NIGHTINGALE To be a splendid call to duty!
CHANTECLER I make nobody weep!
THE NIGHTINGALE I awaken nobody! [_But after the expression of this regret, he continues in an ever higher and more lyrical voice._] What matter? One must sing on! Sing on, even while knowing that there are songs which he prefers to his own song. One must sing,--sing,--sing,--until--[_A shot. A flash from the thicket. Brief silence, then a small, tawny body drops at_ CHANTECLER’S _feet._]
CHANTECLER [_Bending and looking._] The Nightingale!--The brutes! [_And without noticing the vague, earliest tremour of daylight spreading through the air, he cries in a sob._] Killed! And he had sung such a little, little while! [_One or two feathers slowly flutter down._]
THE PHEASANT-HEN His feathers!
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Chantecler: Play in Four ActsChapter IV: Part 4
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