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!
CHANTECLER
[_Bending over the body which is shaken by a last throe._] Peace, little
poet!
[_Rustling of leaves and snapping of twigs; from a thicket projects_
PATOU'S _shaggy head._]
SCENE SEVENTH
_The same_, PATOU, _emerging for a moment from the brush._
CHANTECLER
[_To_ PATOU.] You! [_Reproachfully._] You have come to get him?
PATOU
[_Ashamed._] Forgive me! The poacher compels me--
CHANTECLER
[_Who had sprung before the body, to protect it, uncovers it._] A
Nightingale!
PATOU
[_Hanging his head._] Yes. The evil race of man loves to shower lead
into a singing tree.
CHANTECLER
See, the burying beetle has already come.
PATOU
[_Gently withdrawing._] I will make believe I found nothing.
THE PHEASANT-HEN
[_Watching the day break._] He has not noticed that night is nearly over.
CHANTECLER
[_Bending over the grasses which begin to stir about the dead bird._]
Insect, where the body has fallen, be swift to come and open the earth.
The funereal necrophaga are the only grave-diggers who never carry the
dead elsewhere, believing that the least sad, and the most fitting tomb,
is the very clay whereon one fell into the final sleep. [_To the funeral
insects, while the_ NIGHTINGALE _begins gently to sink into the
ground._] Piously dig his grave! Light lie the earth upon him!
THE PHEASANT-HEN
[_Aside, looking at the horizon._] Over there--
CHANTECLER
Verily, verily, I say unto you, Bul-bul to-night shall see the Bird of
Paradise!
THE PHEASANT-HEN
[_Aside._] The sky is turning white! [_A whistle is heard in the
distance._]
PATOU
[_To_ CHANTECLER.] I will come back. He is whistling me. [_Disappears._]
THE PHEASANT-HEN
[_Restlessly dividing her attention between the horizon and the_ COCK.]
How can I conceal from him--[_She moves tenderly toward_ CHANTECLER,
_opening her wings so as to hide the brightening East, and taking
advantage of his grief._] Come and weep beneath my wing! [_With a sob he
lays his head beneath the comforting wing which is quickly clapped over
him. And the_ PHEASANT-HEN _gently lulls him, murmuring._] You see that
my wing is soft and comforting! You see--
CHANTECLER
[_In a smothered voice._] Yes!
THE PHEASANT-HEN
[_Gently rocks him, darting a glance now and then over her shoulder to
see how the dawn is progressing._] You see that a wing is an outspread
heart--[_Aside._] Day is breaking! [_To_ CHANTECLER.] You see
that--[_Aside._] The sky has paled! [_To_ CHANTECLER.]--that a wing
is--[_Aside._] The tree is steeped in rosy light! [_To_
CHANTECLER.]--partly a shield, and partly a cradle, partly a cloak and a
place of rest,--that a wing is a kiss which enfolds and covers you over.
You see that--[_With a backward leap, suddenly withdrawing her wings._]
the Day can break perfectly well without you!
CHANTECLER
[_With the greatest cry of anguish possible to created being._] Ah!
THE PHEASANT-HEN
[_Continuing inexorably._] That the mosses in a moment will be scarlet!
CHANTECLER
[_Running toward the moss._] Ah, no! No! Not without me! [_The moss
flushes red._] Ungrateful!
THE PHEASANT-HEN
The horizon--
CHANTECLER
[_Imploringly, to the horizon._] No!
THE PHEASANT-HEN
--is glowing gold!
CHANTECLER
[_Staggering._] Treachery!
THE PHEASANT-HEN
One may be all in all to another heart, you see, one can be nothing to
the sky!
CHANTECLER
[_Swooning._] It is true!
PATOU
[_Returning, cheery and cordial._] Here I am! I have come to tell you
that they are all mad over there, at the topsy-turvy farm, to have back
the Cock who orders the return of Day!
CHANTECLER
They believe that now I have ceased to believe it!
PATOU
[_Stopping short, amazed._] What do you mean?
THE PHEASANT-HEN
[_Bitterly pressing close to_ CHANTECLER.] You see that a heart pressing
against your own is better than a sky which does not in the very
least need you.
CHANTECLER
Yes!
THE PHEASANT-HEN
That darkness after all may be as sweet as light if there are two
close-clasped in the shade.
CHANTECLER
[_Wildly._] Yes! Yes! [_But suddenly leaving her side he raises his head
and in a ringing voice._] Cock-a-doodle-doo!
THE PHEASANT-HEN
[_Taken aback._] Why are you crowing?
CHANTECLER
As a warning to myself,--for thrice have I denied the thing I love!
THE PHEASANT-HEN
And what is that?
CHANTECLER
My life's work! [_To_ PATOU.] Up and about! Come, let us go!
THE PHEASANT-HEN
What are you going to do?
CHANTECLER
Follow my calling.
THE PHEASANT-HEN
But what night is there for you to rout?
CHANTECLER
The night of the eyelid!
THE PHEASANT-HEN
[_Pointing toward the growing glory of the dawn._] Very well, you will
rouse sleepers--
CHANTECLER
And Saint Peter!
THE PHEASANT-HEN
But can you not see that Day has risen without the benefit of your crowing?
CHANTECLER
I am more sure of my destiny than of the daylight before my eyes.
THE PHEASANT-HEN
[_Pointing at the_ NIGHTINGALE _who has already half disappeared into
the earth._] Your faith can no more return to life than can that
dead bird.
[_From the tree above their heads suddenly rings forth the
heart-stirring, limpid, characteristic note: Tio! Tio!_]
THE PHEASANT-HEN
[_Struck with amazement._] Is it another singing?
PATOU
[_With quivering ear._] And singing still better, if possible.
THE PHEASANT-HEN
[_Looking up in a sort of terror at the foliage, and then down at the
little grave._] Another takes up the song when this one disappears?
THE VOICE
In the forest must always be a Nightingale!
CHANTECLER
[_With exaltation._] And in the soul a faith so faithful that it comes
back even after it has been slain.
THE PHEASANT-HEN
But if the Sun is climbing up the sky?
CHANTECLER
There must have been left in the air some power from my yesterday's song.
[_Flights of noiseless grey wings pass among the trees._]
THE OWLS
[_Hooting joyfully._] He kept still!
PATOU
[_Raising his head and looking after them._] The Owls, fleeing from the
newly risen light, are coming home to the woods.
THE OWLS
[_Returning to their holes in the old trees._] He kept still!
CHANTECLER
[_With all his strength come back to him._] The proof that I was serving
the cause of light when I sang is that the Owls are glad of my silence.
[_Going to the_ PHEASANT-HEN, _with defiance in his mien._] I make the
Dawn appear, and I do more than that!
THE PHEASANT-HEN
[_Choking._] You do--
CHANTECLER
On grey mornings, when poor creatures waking in the twilight dare not
believe in the day, the bright copper of my song takes the place of the
sun! [_Turning to go._] Back to our work!
THE PHEASANT-HEN
But how find courage to work after doubting the work's value?
CHANTECLER
Buckle down to work!
THE PHEASANT-HEN
[_With angry stubbornness._] But if you have nothing whatever to do with
making the morning?
CHANTECLER
Then I am just the Cock of a remoter Sun! My cries so affect the night
that it lets certain beams of the day pierce through its black tent, and
those are what we call the stars. I shall not live to see shining upon
the steeples that final total light composed of stars clustered in
unbroken mass; but if I sing faithfully and sonorously and if, long
after me, and long after that, in every farmyard its Cock sings
faithfully, sonorously, I truly believe there will be no more night!
THE PHEASANT-HEN
When will that be?
CHANTECLER
One Day!
THE PHEASANT-HEN
Go, go, and forget our forest!
CHANTECLER
No, I shall never forget the noble green forest where I learned that he
who has witnessed the death of his dream must either die at once or else
arise stronger than before.
THE PHEASANT-HEN
[_In a voice which she does her best to make insulting._] Go and get
into your hen-house by the way of a ladder.
CHANTECLER
The birds have taught me that I can use my wings to go in.
THE PHEASANT-HEN
Go and see your old Hen in her old broken basket.
CHANTECLER
Ah, forest of the Toads, forest of the Poacher, forest of the
Nightingale, and of the Pheasant-hen, when my old peasant mother sees me
home again, back from your green recesses where pain is so interwoven
with love, what will she say?
PATOU
[_Imitating the_ OLD HEN'S _affectionate quaver._] How that Chick has
grown!
CHANTECLER
[_Emphatically._] Of course she will! [_Turning to leave._]
THE PHEASANT-HEN
He is going! When faithless they turn to leave, oh, that we had arms,
arms to hold them fast,--but we have only wings!
CHANTECLER
[_Stops short and looks at her, troubled._] She weeps?
PATOU
[_Hastily, pushing him along with his paw._] Hurry up!
CHANTECLER
[_To_ PATOU.] Wait a moment.
PATOU
I am willing. Nothing can sit so patiently and watch the dropping of
tears as an old dog.
THE PHEASANT-HEN
[_Crying to_ CHANTECLER, _with a leap toward him._] Take me with you!
CHANTECLER
[_Turns and in an inflexible voice._] Will you consent to stand second
to the Dawn?
THE PHEASANT-HEN
[_Fiercely drawing back._] Never!
CHANTECLER
Then farewell!
THE PHEASANT-HEN
I hate you!
CHANTECLER
[_Already at some distance among the brush._] I love you, but I should
poorly serve the work to which I devote myself anew at the side of one
to whom it were less than the greatest thing in the world! [_He
disappears._]
SCENE EIGHTH
THE PHEASANT-HEN, PATOU, _later the_ WOODPECKER, RABBITS, _and, all the_
VOICES _of the awakening forest._
PATOU
[_To the_ PHEASANT-HEN.] Mourn!
THE SPIDER
[_In the centre of her-web which now sifts the gold dust of a sunbeam._]
Spider at morn,
Cometh to warn!
THE PHEASANT-HEN
[_Furiously, tearing down the cobweb with a brush of her wing._] Be
still, hateful Spider!--Oh, may he perish for having disdained me!
THE WOODPECKER
[_Who from his window has been watching_ CHANTECLER'S _departure,
suddenly, frightened._] The poacher has seen him!
THE OWLS
[_In the trees._] The Cock is in danger!
THE WOODPECKER
[_Leaning out to see better._] He breaks his gun in two!
PATOU
[_Alarmed._] To load it! Is that murderous fool in sheepskin gaiters
going to fire upon a rooster?
THE PHEASANT-HEN
[_Spreading her wings to rise._] Not if he sees a pheasant!
PATOU
[_Springing before her._] What are you doing?
THE PHEASANT-HEN
Following my calling! [_She flies toward the danger._]
THE WOODPECKER
[_Seeing that in her upward swing she must touch the spring of the
forgotten snare._] Look out for the snare! [_Too late. The net falls._]
THE PHEASANT-HEN
[_Utters a cry of despair._] Ah!
PATOU
She is caught!
THE PHEASANT-HEN
[_Struggling in the net._] He is lost!
PATOU
[_Wildly._] She is--He is--
[_All the_ RABBITS _have thrust out their heads to see._]
THE PHEASANT-HEN
[_Crying in an ardent prayer._] Daybreak protect him!
THE OWLS
[_Rocking themselves gleefully among the branches._] The gun-barrel
shines, shines--
THE PHEASANT-HEN
Dawn, touch the cartridge with your dewy wing! Trip the foot of the
hunter in a tangle of grass! He is your Cock! He drove off the darkness
and the shadow of the Hawk! And he is going to die. Nightingale, you,
say something! Speak!
THE NIGHTINGALE
[_In a supplicating sob._] He fought for a friend of mine, the Rose!
THE PHEASANT-HEN
Let him live! And I will dwell in the farmyard beside the ploughshare
and the hoe! And renouncing for his sake all that in my pride I made a
burden and torment to him, I will own, O Sun, that when you made his
shadow you marked out my place in the world!
[_Daylight grows. On all sides, rustles and murmurs._]
THE WOODPECKER
[_Singing._] The air is blue!
A CROW
[_Cawing as he flies past._] Daylight grows!
THE PHEASANT-HEN
The forest is astir--
ALL THE BIRDS
[_Waking among the trees._] Good-morning! Good-morning! Good-morning!
Good-morning! Good-morning!
THE PHEASANT-HEN
Everyone sings!
A JAY
[_Darting past like a streak of blue lightning._] Ha, ha!
THE WOODPECKER
The Jay shakes with homeric laughter.
THE PHEASANT-HEN
[_Crying in the midst of the music of the morning._] Let him live!
THE JAY
[_Again darting past._] Ha, ha!
A CUCKOO
[_In the distance._] Cuckoo!
THE PHEASANT-HEN
I abdicate!
PATOU
[_Lifting his eyes heavenward._] She abdicates!
THE PHEASANT-HEN
Forgive, O Light, to whom I dared dispute him! Dazzle the eye taking
aim, and be victory awarded, O Sunbeams--
THE JAY _and the_ CUCKOO
[_Far away._] Ha! Cuckoo!
THE PHEASANT-HEN
--to your powder of gold--[_A shot. She gives a sharp cry, ending in a
dying voice._]--over man's black powder! [_Silence._]
CHANTECLER'S VOICE
[_Very far away._] Cock-a-doodle-doo!
ALL
[_In a glad cry._] Saved!
THE RABBITS
[_Capering gaily out of their burrows._] Let us turn somersets among the
thyme!
A VOICE
[_Fresh and solemn, among the trees._] O God of birds!
THE RABBITS
[_Stopping short in their antics stand abruptly still; soberly._] The
morning prayer!
THE WOODPECKER
[_Crying to the_ PHEASANT-HEN.] They are coming to examine the trap!
THE PHEASANT-HEN
[_Closes her eyes in resignation._] So be it!
THE VOICE IN THE TREES
God by whose grace we wake to this new day--
PATOU
[_Before leaving._] Hush! Drop the curtain! Men folk are coming! [_Off._]
[_All the woodland creatures hide. The_ PHEASANT-HEN _is left alone,
and, held down by the snare, with spread wings and panting breast,
awaits the approach of the giant._]
CURTAIN
