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.
CHANTECLER
[_Looking at her._] I can see it in your eyes!
THE PHEASANT-HEN
Over the meadows--
CHANTECLER
On your throat--[_In a smothered voice._] Oh, it is exquisite!
THE PHEASANT-HEN
What?
CHANTECLER
I am at once doing my duty, and making you more fair. I am gilding my
valley, while brightening your wing. [_Tearing himself from love, and
dashing toward the right._] But the shadow still fights all along the
line of retreat. There is much to be done over there! Cock-a-doodle-doo!
THE PHEASANT-HEN
[_Looking up at the sky._] Oh, look!
CHANTECLER
[_Looking too, sadly._] How can I prevent it? The morning star is fading
out!
THE PHEASANT-HEN
[_In a tone of regret for the little bright spark which the growing
light must necessarily quench._] It is fading out--
CHANTECLER
Alas!--But shall we therefore despond? [_And tearing himself from
melancholy, he springs toward the left._] There is still much to do over
here. Cock-a--[_At this point the crowing of other_ COCKS _ascends from
the valley._ CHANTECLER _listens, then softly._] Hark! Do you hear
them now?
THE PHEASANT-HEN
Who dare--?
CHANTECLER
The other Cocks.
THE PHEASANT-HEN
[_Bending above the plain._] They are singing in the rosy light--
CHANTECLER
Yes, they believe in the light as soon as they see it.
THE PHEASANT-HEN
They sing all in a haze of blue--
CHANTECLER
I sang in total blackness. My song rose from the cheerless shade, and
was the first to rise. It is when Night prevails that it's fine to
believe in the Light!
THE PHEASANT-HEN
How dare they sing when you are singing?
CHANTECLER
Let them sing! Their songs acquire significance from mingling with mine,
and their tardy but numerous cries unconsciously hasten the flight of
the dark. [_Straightening upon his hillock, he calls to the distant_
COCKS.] Now, all together!
CHANTECLER AND ALL THE COCKS
Cock-a-doodle-doo!
CHANTECLER
[_Alone, with familiar cordiality._] Forward, forward, boldly, Day!
THE PHEASANT-HEN
[_Beside him, stamping her feet._] Boldly, Day!
CHANTECLER
[_Crying encouragements to the Light._] Yes, there, there before you, is
a roof for you to gild! Come, come, a touch of green on that patch of
waving hemp!
THE PHEASANT-HEN
[_Beside herself with excitement._] A glimmer of white on that road!
CHANTECLER
A wash of blue on the river!
THE PHEASANT-HEN
[_In a great cry._] The Sun! Look, the Sun!
CHANTECLER
There he is, I can see him, but we must hale him from that grove! [_And
both of them, moving backward together, appear to be drawing something
after them._ CHANTECLER _prolonging his crow as if to drag up the_ SUN
_by it._] Cooooooo--
THE PHEASANT-HEN
[_Shouting above_ CHANTECLER'S _crow._] There he comes--
CHANTECLER
--oock-a--
THE PHEASANT-HEN
--climbing--
CHANTECLER
--doodle--
THE PHEASANT-HEN
--above--
CHANTECLER
--doooooo!
THE PHEASANT-HEN
--the poplars!
CHANTECLER
[_In a last, dry-throated, desperate crow._] Cock-a-doodle-doo [_Both
stagger, suddenly flooded with light._] It is done! [_He adds, in a tone
of satisfaction._] A proper Sun,--a giant! [_He totters toward a mossy
rise and drops against it._]
THE PHEASANT-HEN
[_Running to him, while all grows brighter and brighter._] One song now
to greet the beautiful rising Sun!
CHANTECLER
[_Very low._] I have no voice left. I spent it all. [_Hearing the other_
COCKS _crowing in the valley, he adds gently._] It matters not. He has
the songs and praises of the others.
THE PHEASANT-HEN
[_Surprised._] What? After he appears, he hears no more from you?
CHANTECLER
No more.
THE PHEASANT-HEN
[_Indignant._] But in that case, perhaps the Sun believes the other
Cocks have made him rise?
CHANTECLER
It matters not.
THE PHEASANT-HEN
But--
CHANTECLER
Hush! Come to my heart and let me thank you. Never has there been a
lovelier dawn.
THE PHEASANT-HEN
But what will repay you for all your pains?
CHANTECLER
Echoes of awakening life down in the valley! [_Confused living noises
are beginning to mount from below._] Tell me of them. I have not the
strength to listen for myself.
THE PHEASANT-HEN
[_Runs to the top of the rise, and listens._] I hear a finger knocking
against the rim of a brazen sky--
CHANTECLER
[_With closed eyes._] The Angelus.
THE PHEASANT-HEN
Other strokes, which sound like a human Angelus after the divine--
CHANTECLER
The forge-hammer.
THE PHEASANT-HEN
Lowing,--then a song--
CHANTECLER
The plow.
THE PHEASANT-HEN
[_Continuing to listen._] Sounds as of a bird's nest fallen into the
little street--
CHANTECLER
[_With growing emotion._] The school!
THE PHEASANT-HEN
Imps of whom I catch no glimpse buffet one another in the water--
CHANTECLER
Women washing linen.
THE PHEASANT-HEN
And suddenly, on all sides, what are they--iron locusts rubbing their
wings together?
CHANTECLER
[_Half rising, in the fullness of pride._] Ah, if scythes are whetting,
the reapers will soon be harvesting the golden grain! [_The sounds
increase and mingle: bells, hammers, washer-women's wooden spades,
laughter, singing, grinding of steel, cracking of whips._] All at work!
And I have done that!--Oh, impossible!--Pheasant-hen, help me! This is
the dreadful moment! [_He looks wildly about him._] I made the sunrise!
I did! Wherefore And how? And where? No sooner does my reason
return--than I go mad! For I who believe I have power to rekindle the
celestial gold--I--well--oh, it is dreadful--
THE PHEASANT-HEN
What is?
CHANTECLER
I am humble-minded, modest! You will never tell?
THE PHEASANT-HEN
No, no!
CHANTECLER
You promise? Ah! let my enemies never know!
THE PHEASANT-HEN
[_Moved._] Chantecler!
CHANTECLER
I feel myself unworthy of my glory. Why was I chosen, even I, to drive
out black night? No sooner have I brought the heavens to a white glow,
than the pride which lifted me aloft drops dead. I fall to earth. What,
I, so small, I made the immeasurable dawn? And having done this, I must
do it again? Nay, but I cannot! Nay, it would be vain! Never need I
attempt it! Despair overtakes me--Comfort me, love!
THE PHEASANT-HEN
[_Tenderly._] My own!
CHANTECLER
Such a burden of responsibility resting upon me! That inspiring breath
which I await when I scratch in the sand, will it come again? I feel the
whole future depending upon an incomprehensible something which might
perchance fail me! Do you understand now the anguish gnawing me? Ah, the
swan is certain, by bending his neck, to find under water the grasses he
delights in; the eagle, when he swoops from the blue, sure of falling
upon his prey; and you are ever sure of finding in the earth the well
supplied nests of the ants,--but I, for whom my own work remains a
mystery, I, possessed ever by the fear of the morrow, am I sure of
finding my song in my heart?
THE PHEASANT-HEN
[_Clasping him with her wings._] Surely, you will find it, surely!
CHANTECLER
Yes, talk to me like that. I listen, I heed you. You must believe me
when I believe, and not when I doubt. Tell me again--
THE PHEASANT-HEN
You are beautiful!
CHANTECLER
About that I care very little.
THE PHEASANT-HEN
And you sang beautifully!
CHANTECLER
Say that I sang badly, but tell me that it is I who make--
THE PHEASANT-HEN
Indeed, indeed, I admire you beyond all bounds and measure!
CHANTECLER
No,--tell me that what I told you is true--
THE PHEASANT-HEN
What?
CHANTECLER
That it is I who make--
THE PHEASANT-HEN
Yes, my glorious Beloved, yes, it is you who make the dawn appear!
THE BLACKBIRD
[_Suddenly appearing._] Well, well, old man!
SCENE FOURTH
THE SAME, THE BLACKBIRD
CHANTECLER
The Blackbird!--My secret!
THE BLACKBIRD
[_Bowing with every sign of admiration._] Allow me to--
CHANTECLER
That inveterate mocker! [_To the_ PHEASANT-HEN.] Leave us not alone! My
soul is still open--his mockery would enter in!
THE BLACKBIRD
Ripping!
CHANTECLER
Where have you come from?
THE BLACKBIRD
[_Indicating an empty overturned flower-pot._] From that flower-pot.
CHANTECLER
But how--?
THE BLACKBIRD
I was having my early snack cozily in the earthenware retreat you see,
when suddenly--oh, allow me to express at once the amazement, the
admiration--
CHANTECLER
Eavesdropping inside a pot! How can you stoop to--
THE BLACKBIRD
Hang the pot! I've had a sensation! I tell you I was wild! My feet were
doing such a horn-pipe I had trouble to keep my eye steady at the
peep-hole.
THE PHEASANT-HEN
You could see us?
THE BLACKBIRD
[_Showing the hole at the bottom of the flower-pot._] Could I see you!
Yonder stump of red cone has exactly the black hole to let through my
yellow bill. Apologies,--but it was too tempting! A bird of taste, I am.
THE PHEASANT-HEN
For the sake of this sincere tribute, I forgive you all the rest!
CHANTECLER
But--
THE BLACKBIRD
[_Coming and going in excitement._] Oh, wonderful, and again wonderful,
and then again wonderful!--Hear me rant!
CHANTECLER
[_Amazed._] What, is it possible that you--?
THE BLACKBIRD
Am I given to gush? This time, old man, it's the genuine article,
Enthusiasm with a capital E!
CHANTECLER
Are you in earnest?
THE BLACKBIRD
Must I send you a blankety carrier-pigeon with the news?--That Cock and
that crow,--oh, my soul!--And then the day breaking,--oh, my stars!
THE PHEASANT-HEN
[_To_ CHANTECLER.] There seems to be no reason, dear, why I should not
leave you alone together.
CHANTECLER
But where are you going?
THE PHEASANT-HEN
[_Slightly ashamed of her own frivolity._] I am going to the--
THE BLACKBIRD
The Guinea-hen's Day he's just given the finishing touches to!
CHANTECLER
[_To the_ PHEASANT-HEN.] Must I go too?
THE PHEASANT-HEN
[_Tenderly._] No, after rising to such heights, I think you may be
excused from the Guinea-hen's at home!
CHANTECLER
[_With a touch of sadness._] You, however, are going?
THE PHEASANT-HEN
[_Gaily._] I want to show off your sunshine on my dress! I will be back
directly. Wait for me here.
THE BLACKBIRD
Yes, much better keep out of the way.
CHANTECLER
[_Looking at him._] Wherefore?
THE BLACKBIRD
[_Quickly._] Nothing! [_Falling into fresh ecstasies._] Oh, this blessed
Cock of ours!
CHANTECLER
[_To the_ PHEASANT-HEN.] You will not be long?
THE PHEASANT-HEN
The merest moment. [_Low to him before leaving._] You see, even the
Blackbird is impressed! [_She flies off._]
SCENE FIFTH
CHANTECLER, THE BLACKBIRD
CHANTECLER
[_Coming back to the_ BLACKBIRD.] And so that habitual skeptical
sneer--?
THE BLACKBIRD
Wiped out! My satirical whistling, as the Dog called it, now expresses
pure admiration. Listen, like this: [_He whistles admiringly._]
Tew!--How is that?--Tew-tew [_Nodding soberly._] That's all right!
CHANTECLER
[_Innocently._] You are not such a bad fellow, after all. I said so to
the Dog.
THE BLACKBIRD
[_With profound conviction._] You're a wonderful old boy!
CHANTECLER
[_Modestly._] Oh!
THE BLACKBIRD
To come it over the Hens--[_He again whistles Admiringly._] make them
believe that he engineers the dawn! [CHANTECLER _starts._] A simple
idea, but it took you to get on to it! Brother, I believe you were
hatched in Columbus' egg!
CHANTECLER
But--
THE BLACKBIRD
All other Don Juans are donkeys beside you! Says he to himself: Make the
daybreak to impress little pheasant-hens! And does it, too--succeeds!
CHANTECLER
[_In a smothered voice._] Be still!
THE BLACKBIRD
Neat, the little roof which must be gilded! Complete, the ladder for the
Motes!
CHANTECLER
[_In a spasm of pain._] Be still!
THE BLACKBIRD
And the access of modesty, a sweet little final touch! I kiss my hand to
you! Oh, he knows how--no mistake he knows--
CHANTECLER
[_Constraining himself, in a curt voice._] The Dawn? Certainly, I know
her. I think I may claim that honor!
THE BLACKBIRD
You precious fakir! Don't you consider you have succeeded?
CHANTECLER
In bringing on the day? Yes, certainly, I have succeeded admirably, in
this case.
THE BLACKBIRD
Oh, you do it so well! How awfully well he does it!
CHANTECLER
Making the light? Of course, I have done it so often! I am used to it.
The Sun obeys me.
THE BLACKBIRD
So, worthy Joshua! You feel the dawn coming, and then you crow! For
lightness of touch and richness of invention, give us a lyric poet!
CHANTECLER
[_Bursting forth._] Wretch!
THE BLACKBIRD
[_Surprised._] Are you keeping it up with me? [_Winking._] Oh, we know
how the thing is done!
CHANTECLER
You may know,--not I! I just open my heart and sing!
THE BLACKBIRD
[_Hopping about._] That's the idea!
CHANTECLER
Blackbird, laugh at everything besides, but not at that, if you love me!
THE BLACKBIRD
I love you!
CHANTECLER
[_Bitterly._] With half a heart!
THE BLACKBIRD
Can't say a word about his _Fiat Lux?_
CHANTECLER
Not that! Not that!
THE BLACKBIRD
Old man, it's not my fault that I'm no gull.
CHANTECLER
[_Looking after him as he hops about._] He cannot keep still long
enough, I suppose, to let the sacred truth sink in. [_Trying to stop him
in his hopping._] You behold the agony of emotion shaking me. No more
baffle and keep me off with words!
THE BLACKBIRD
[_Hopping past him._] Catch, if you can, and convince me!
CHANTECLER
[_Imploring._] It's a matter of life--my profoundest life! Oh, convince
you I must, if only for a second! I feel the holy impulse to struggle
with your soul!
THE BLACKBIRD
[_Hopping past him._] Do you!
CHANTECLER
In solemn earnest, at the bottom of your heart, you did--did you
not?--believe me?
THE BLACKBIRD
I believe you!
CHANTECLER
[_With pressing anguish._] You must in some manner be aware of the
dreadful cost to me of that song? Come, use your reason. To sing as you
heard me sing, you must realise that I needed--
THE BLACKBIRD
A whopping muscle and a tolerable nerve!
CHANTECLER
No, let us not make light of serious things, responsible winged
creatures that we are!
THE BLACKBIRD
Let us go in for heavy-weight truths, by all means!
CHANTECLER
But can't you see that to look straight at the sun, rising before his
eyes by the exertions of his larynx, one must have at the same time--
THE BLACKBIRD
Stentorian lungs and the eyes of a lynx! [_He hops out of the way._]
CHANTECLER
[_Controlling himself._] No, I cannot give up the hope of winning this
soul to the truth! [_With desperate patience._] Come, now, have you any
conception, unhappy bird, of what dawn actually is?
THE BLACKBIRD
I should say so! It's the time of day when fluffy Aurora gets busy, as
it were, and plays ball!
CHANTECLER
But what do you say when you see the dawn shining upon the mountains?
THE BLACKBIRD
Mountains, I say, what on earth are you blushing about?
CHANTECLER
And what do you say when you hear me singing in the furrow long before
the cricket is awake?
THE BLACKBIRD
Cricket, I say, you scandalous slug-a-bed! [_He hops out of the way._]
CHANTECLER
[_Beside himself._] Are you conscious of no impulse to exclaim, cry out,
when I have made a dawn so fine and fiery-red that the heron, flying in
the early glow, looks from afar like a flamingo?
THE BLACKBIRD
Sure, brother, sure! I feel like shouting, "Bully, do it again!" [_He
hops out of the way._]
CHANTECLER
[_Exhausted._] That soul! I am more spent with chasing it than with a
whole day's grasshopper hunting! [_Violently._] Did you not see the sky?
THE BLACKBIRD
[_Simply._] How could I? The ground is all you can see through that
little black hole. [_Pointing at the flower-pot._]
CHANTECLER
Did you see the mountain-tops tremble and turn crimson?
THE BLACKBIRD
While you were crowing, I had my eye on your feet.
CHANTECLER
[_Sorrowfully._] Ah!
THE BLACKBIRD
They were performing on the soft sod something choice in the line of
fancy dances!
CHANTECLER
[_Giving up._] I pity you! Back to your darkness, obscure Blackbird!
THE BLACKBIRD
Your obedient servant, illustrious Cock!
CHANTECLER
My course is toward the sun!
THE BLACKBIRD
Take along smoked glasses!
CHANTECLER
Blackbird, do you know the one thing upon earth worthy that one should
live wholly for its sake?
THE BLACKBIRD
There I draw the line. I won't enter the debate!
CHANTECLER
That thing is effort, Blackbird--effort, which uplifts and ennobles the
lowest! For which reason, you, contemner of every sublime aspiration, I
contemn! And that fragile roseate snail, struggling unaided to silver
over a whole fagot, I honour!
THE BLACKBIRD
[_Snapping up the snail._] I'll make him look silly!
CHANTECLER
[_With a cry of horror._] Abominable! To point a joke--put out a little
flame! An end. Here we part. You have no more heart than soul.
[_Going._]
THE BLACKBIRD
[_Hopping up on the fagot._] I have mind, however!
CHANTECLER
[_Turning, disdainfully._] That is open to discussion.
THE BLACKBIRD
[_Acidly._] Oh, very well! I was administering, in my merry little
characteristic way, a grain of antidote against lunacy. But I wash my
claws of you. Go ahead, justify the report of your enemies.
CHANTECLER
[_Returning._] Who? What?
THE BLACKBIRD
Strut about with your bill-board: "I'm the whole show!"
CHANTECLER
You associate with those who hate me?
THE BLACKBIRD
Do you object?
CHANTECLER
No, you pitiful jester! The habit has grown so strong, you can no more
be in earnest about friendship now than anything else. [_Going nearer to
him._] Who are my enemies?
THE BLACKBIRD
The Owls.
CHANTECLER
You sorry fool! Can't you see that to believe in my destiny becomes all
too easy if the Owls are against me?
THE BLACKBIRD
Rest happy, then. They have a deal on--your lighting of the world being
a trifle flashy for their taste--a deal on for cutting your throat.
CHANTECLER
Through whom?
THE BLACKBIRD
A brother bird.
CHANTECLER
A Cock?
THE BLACKBIRD
A Saint George of a Cock, who is to meet you--
CHANTECLER
Where?
THE BLACKBIRD
At the Guinea-hen's.
CHANTECLER
What a farce!
THE BLACKBIRD
Wait! It's one of those Cocks bred and trained for fighting, who would
make just two bites of either you or me. [_As_ CHANTECLER _abruptly
starts toward the back._] Where are you going?
CHANTECLER
To the Guinea-hen's.
THE BLACKBIRD
Ha! I forgot our knightly spurs and helmet! [_He makes a feint of
preventing him._] Take my advice, don't go!
CHANTECLER
But I will go!
THE BLACKBIRD
Hold on!
CHANTECLER
[_Stopping beside the flower-pot, as if amazed._] How singular!
THE BLACKBIRD
What?
CHANTECLER
Did I understand you to say you came out of that flower-pot?
THE BLACKBIRD
You did.
CHANTECLER
[_Incredulous._] But how could you possibly have got into it?
THE BLACKBIRD
[_Getting into the pot._] I told you, and tell you again! Through that
little black hole I was looking at the--[_He thrusts his bill through
the hole at the bottom._]
CHANTECLER
The earth! And now through a little blue hole you shall look at the sky!
[_With a vigorous blow of his wing he turns the pot over the_ BLACKBIRD,
_who is heard fluttering beneath it, with smothered cries._] For you
hate and shun the blue sky, you Dwellers in Pots! But one can force you
to see at least as much as would cover a corn-flower, by overturning
your pot, now and then--with the sweep of a wing! [_Off._]
CURTAIN
