THE PHEASANT-HEN [Opening her wings.] Come away to the woods!

CHANTECLER [Falling upon her breast.] I love you!

THE PHEASANT-HEN To the woods, where the simple birds sing their sweet unconscious songs!

CHANTECLER Let us go! [Both go toward the back. CHANTECLER turning.] But there is one thing I wish to say—

THE PHEASANT-HEN [Trying to lead him away.] Come to the woods!

CHANTECLER —to all the Guineahennery gathered beneath these arbors. Let the garden—the Bees agree with me, I fancy!—let the garden work untroubled at changing its blossoms into fruit—

BUZZING OF BEES We agree—ee—ee!

CHANTECLER Nothing good is ever accomplished in the midst of noise. Noise prevents the bough—

BUZZING [Further off.] So say we—e—e! we—e—e!

CHANTECLER —from bringing its apple to perfection, prevents the grape—

BUZZING [Dying away among the foliage.] So say we—e—e!

CHANTECLER —from ripening on the vine. [Going toward the back with the PHEASANT-HEN.] Let us go! [Turning and coming again angrily toward the front.] But I wish furthermore to say to these H—[The PHEASANT-HEN lays her wing across his beak.]—ens that those unnatural Cocks will lightly take themselves away, back to the gilded mangers of their sole affection, the moment they hear the cry of Chick-chick-chick-chick-chick! [Imitating a servant girl calling CHICKENS to feed.] For all those charlatans are stalking appetites, and nothing more!

THE PHEASANT-HEN [Trying to lead him off.] Come! Come!

A HEN She is eloping with him.

CHANTECLER I am coming! But—[Coming forward again.] I must first say to this Peacock, in the presence of that Addlepate—[Indicating the GUINEA-HEN.]

THE GUINEA-HEN He insults me in my own house. Sensational!

CHANTECLER False hero whom Fashion has taken for leader, you walk in such terror of appearing behindhand to the eyes of your own tail that your throat is blue with it! But, urged forward, on and on, by every staring eye upon it, you will fall at last, breathless for good and all, and end in the false immortality bestowed, false artist, by the—[Imitating the manner of the PEACOCK.] shall I say bird-stuffer?

THE GUINEA-HEN [Mechanically.] Yes!

CHANTECLER No. Taxidermist,—to use the word you would prefer. That, my dear Peacock, is what I wished to say.

THE BLACKBIRD Bang!

CHANTECLER [Turning toward him.] As for you—

THE BLACKBIRD Fire away!

CHANTECLER I will! You became acquainted one grey morning with a city sparrow, did you not tell us so? That was your ruin. You have been possessed ever since with the desire to appear like one yourself.

THE BLACKBIRD But—

CHANTECLER From that hour, unresting, acting the sparrow night and day, the sparrow even in sleep, self-condemned to play the sparrow without respite, you have appeared—famous jay!

THE BLACKBIRD But—

CHANTECLER Pathetic effort of a country birdkin, twisting his thick bill to talk with a city accent! Ah, you wish to bite off bits of slang? My friend, they are green! Every grape you pick breaks in your jaws, for city grapes are glass bubbles! Having taken from the sparrow only his make-up and grimace, you are just a clumsy understudy, a sort of vice-buffoon! And you serve up stale old cynicisms picked up with crumbs in fashionable club-rooms, poor little bird, and think to astonish us with your budget of scandalous news—

THE BLACKBIRD But—

CHANTECLER I have not exhausted my ammunition! You wish to imitate the sparrow? But the sparrow does not, slyly and meanly mischievous, make a cult of sprightliness is not funny with authority, is not the pedant of flippancy! You percher among low bushes, who never care to fly, you wish to imitate—[Turning to one of the exotic COCKS cackling behind him.] Silence, Cock of Japan! or I shall spoil a picture!

THE JAPANESE COCK [Hurriedly.] I beg your pardon!

CHANTECLER [Continuing to the BLACKBIRD.] You wish to imitate the sparrow, who, rising on light wing, underlines his words with a telegraph wire! Very well, I hate to grieve you, but—you know I can hear the sparrows when they come to steal my corn!—you are not in it, you do not pull it off. Your lingo is a fake!

THE BLACKBIRD A—?

CHANTECLER And your performance is a shine!

THE BLACKBIRD He can talk slang?

CHANTECLER I can talk anything!—It's the Paris article made in Germany!

THE BLACKBIRD But—

CHANTECLER Fire away, I think you said. I hope you don't mind my air-gun?

THE BLACKBIRD I—

CHANTECLER The Grand Master of Illuminations is entirely at your service. What do you say?

THE BLACKBIRD [Hastily.] Nothing! [He tries to get away.]

CHANTECLER You wish to ape the sparrow of city streets! But his impudence is not a manner of prudence, an art of remaining vague, an elegant method of having no opinion. His eyes always express either wrath or delight. Do you care to know the secret by which the little beggar, with his "Chappie" and his "See" can steal away our hearts? It is that he is frank and fearless that he believes, that he loves, that the railings of a balcony where some child strews crumbs for him are the only cage he ever knew! It is that one can be sure of his gaiety of soul, since he is gay when he is hungry! But you who, void of gaiety because void of love, have imagined that evil wit can take the place of good humour, and that one can play the sparrow when he is a sleek and vulgar trimmer, sniggering behind his wing, what I say to you is, "Guess again, Mock-sparrow, guess again!"

THE GUINEA-HEN [Always applauding everything that is said at her receptions.] Good! That was extremely good!

A CHICKEN [To the crestfallen BLACKBIRD.] You will make him smart for this?

THE BLACKBIRD [Prudently.] No. I will take it out on the Turkey. [At this point a VOICE calls, "Chick-chick-chick-chick-chick!" and all the FANCY COCKS, rushing toward the irresistible call to food, hurry out, tumbling over one another in their haste.]

THE GUINEA-HEN [Running after them.] Are you going?

A PADUA COCK [The last to leave.] I beg to be excused! [Disappears.]

THE GUINEA-HEN [In the midst of the hubbub.] Are you going? Must you go? Oh, don't go yet!

CHANTECLER [To the PHEASANT-HEN.] Come, my golden Pheasant!

THE GUINEA-HEN [Running to CHANTECLER.] Are you running away?

CHANTECLER To save my song!

THE GUINEA-HEN [Running to the YOUNG GUINEA-COCK.] My son, I am in such a state—I am in such—

A HEN [Calling after CHANTECLER.] And when shall we see you again?

CHANTECLER [Before going.] When you have grown teeth! [Off with the PHEASANT-HEN.]

THE GUINEA-HEN [To the YOUNG GUINEA-COCK.] This has been quite the finest affair of the season! [Darting madly about among the departing guests.] Au revoir! Mondays in August! Don't forget!

THE MAGPIE [Announcing.] The Tortoise!



ACT FOURTH

THE NIGHT OF THE NIGHTINGALE

In the Forest. Evening. Huge trees with thick gnarled roots. At the base of one of the trees, Time or a lightning stroke has hollowed a sort of chamber. Rising slopes carpeted with heather. Rabbit holes. Mosses. Toadstools. Stretched between two ferns, a great cobweb, spangled with water-drops. At the rise of the curtain, RABBITS are discovered on every side among the underbrush, peacefully inhaling the evening air. A time of serene silence and coolness.

SCENE FIRST

A RABBIT in front of his burrow, CHOIR OF UNSEEN BIRDS.

A RABBIT It is the hour when with sweet and solemn voices the two warblers, Black-cap of the Gardens, and Red-wing of the Woods, intone the evening prayer.

A VOICE [Among the branches.] O God of Birds!

ANOTHER VOICE O God of Birds! or, rather, for the Hawk Has surely not the same God as the Wren, O God of Little Birds!

A THOUSAND VOICES [Among the leaves.] O God of Little Birds!

FIRST VOICE Who breathed into our wings to make us light, And painted them with colours of His sky, All thanks for this fair day, for meat and drink— Sweet sky-born water caught in cups of stone, Sweet hedgerow berries washed of dust with dew, And thanks for these good little eyes of ours That spy the unseen enemies of man, And thanks for the good tools by Thee bestowed To aid our work of little gardeners, Trowels and pruning-hooks of living horn.

THE SECOND VOICE To-morrow we will fight borer and blight, Forgive Thy birds to-night their trespasses, The stripping of a currant-bush or two!

THE FIRST VOICE Breathe on our bright round eyes and over them The triple curtain of the lids will close. If Man, the unjust, pay us by casting stones, For filling field and wood and eaves with song, For battling with the weevil for his bread, If he lime twigs for us, if he spread snares, Call to our memory Thy gentle Saint, Thy good Saint Francis, that we may forgive The cruelty of men because a man Once called us brothers, "My brothers, the birds!"

THE SECOND VOICE Saint Francis of Assisi—

A THOUSAND VOICES [Among the leaves.] Pray for us!

THE VOICE Confessor of the mavis—

ALL THE VOICES Pray for us!

THE VOICE Preacher to the swallows—

ALL THE VOICES Pray for us!

THE VOICE O tender dreamer of a generous dream, Who didst believe so surely in our soul That, ever since, our soul, and ever more, Affirms, defines itself—

ALL THE VOICES Remember us!

THE FIRST VOICE And by the favour of thy prayers obtain The needful daily sup and crumb! Amen.

THE SECOND VOICE Amen!

ALL THE VOICES [In a murmur spreading to the uttermost ends of the forest.] Amen!

CHANTECLER [Who, having a moment before stepped from the hollow tree, has stood listening.] Amen!

[The shade has deepened and taken a bluer tinge. The spiderweb, touched by a moonbeam, looks as if sifting silver dust. The PHEASANT-HEN comes from the tree and follows CHANTECLER with little short feminine steps.]



SCENE SECOND

CHANTECLER, the PHEASANT-HEN, from time to time the RABBITS, now and then the WOODPECKER.

CHANTECLER How softly sleeps the moonlight on the ferns! Now is the time—

A LITTLE QUAVERING VOICE Spider at night, Bodeth delight!

THE PHEASANT-HEN Thanks, kind Spider!

CHANTECLER Now is the time—

THE PHEASANT-HEN [Close behind him.] Now is the time to kiss me.

CHANTECLER All those Rabbits looking on make it a trifle—

THE PHEASANT-HEN [Suddenly flaps her wings; the frightened RABBITS start, on all sides white tails disappear into rabbit-holes. The PHEASANT-HEN coming back to CHANTECLER.] There! [They bill.] Do you love my forest?

CHANTECLER I love it, for no sooner had I crossed its verdant border than I got back my song. Let us go to roost. I must sing very early to-morrow.

THE PHEASANT-HEN [Imperiously.] But one song only!

CHANTECLER Yes.

THE PHEASANT-HEN For a month I have only allowed you one song.

CHANTECLER [Resignedly.] Yes.

THE PHEASANT-HEN And has the Sun not risen just the same?

CHANTECLER [In a tone of unwilling admission.] The Sun has risen.

THE PHEASANT-HEN You see that one can have the Dawn at a smaller cost. Is the sky any less red for your only crowing once?

CHANTECLER No.

THE PHEASANT-HEN Well then? [Offering her bill.] A kiss! [Finding his kiss absent-minded.] You are thinking of something else. Please attend! [Reverting to her idea.] Why should you wear yourself out? You were simply squandering the precious copper of your voice. Daylight is all very well, but one must live! Oh! the male creature! If we were not there, with what sad frequency he would be fooled!

CHANTECLER [With conviction.] Yes, but you are there, you see.

THE PHEASANT-HEN It is barbarous anyhow to keep up a perpetual cockaduddling when I am trying to sleep.

CHANTECLER [Gently correcting her.] Doodling, dearest.

THE PHEASANT-HEN Duddling is correct.

CHANTECLER Doodling.

THE PHEASANT-HEN [Raising her head toward the top of the tree and calling.] Mr. Woodpecker! [To CHANTECLER.] We will ask the learned gentleman in the green coat. [To the WOODPECKER the upper half of whose figure appears at a round hole high up in the tree trunk; his coat is green, his waistcoat buff, and he wears a red skull-cap.] Do you say cockaduddling or cockadoodling?

THE WOODPECKER [Bending a long professorial bill.] Both.

CHANTECLER and the PHEASANT-HEN [Turning to each other, triumphantly.] Ah!

THE WOODPECKER Duddling is more tender, doodling more poetic. [He disappears.]

CHANTECLER It is for you I cockaduddle!

THE PHEASANT-HEN Yes, but you cockadoodle for the Dawn!

CHANTECLER [Going toward her.] I do believe you are jealous!

THE PHEASANT-HEN [Retreating coquettishly.] Do you love me more than her?

CHANTECLER [With a cry of warning.] Be careful, a snare!

THE PHEASANT-HEN [Jumping aside.] Ready to spring! [Dimly visible against a tree, is, in fact, a spread bird-net.]

CHANTECLER [Examining it.] A dangerous contrivance.

THE PHEASANT-HEN Forbidden by the game-laws of 44.

CHANTECLER [Laughing.] Do you know that?

THE PHEASANT-HEN You seem to forget that the object of your affections comes under the head of game.

CHANTECLER [With a touch of sadness.] It is true that we are of different kinds.

THE PHEASANT-HEN [Returning to his side with a hop.] I want you to love me more than her. Say it's me you love most. Say it's me!

THE WOODPECKER [Reappearing.] I!

CHANTECLER [Looking up.] Not in a love-scene.

THE PHEASANT-HEN [To the WOODPECKER.] See here,—you! Be so kind another time as to knock!

WOODPECKER [Disappearing.] Certainly. Certainly.

THE PHEASANT-HEN [To CHANTECLER.] He has a bad habit of thrusting his bill between the bark and the tree, but he is a rare scholar, exceptionally well informed—

CHANTECLER [Absent-mindedly.] On what subjects?

THE PHEASANT-HEN The language of birds.

CHANTECLER Indeed?

THE PHEASANT-HEN For, you know, the birds when they say their prayers speak the common language, but when they chat together in private they use a twittering dialect, wholly onomatopoetic.

CHANTECLER They talk Japanese. [The WOODPECKER knocks three times with his bill on the tree: Rat-tat-tat!] Come in!

THE WOODPECKER [Appearing, indignant.] Japanese, did you say?

CHANTECLER Yes. Some of them say, Tio! Tio! and others say Tzoui! Tzoui!

THE WOODPECKER Birds have talked Greek ever since Aristophanes!

CHANTECLER [Rushing to the PHEASANT-HEN.] Oh, for the love of Greek! [They bill.]

THE WOODPECKER Know, profane youth, that the Black-chat's cry Ouis-ouis-tra-tra, is a corruption of the word Lysistrata! [Disappears.]

THE PHEASANT-HEN [To CHANTECLER.] Will you never love anyone but me?

[THE WOODPECKER'S knock is heard: Rat-tat-tat.]

CHANTECLER Come in!

THE PHEASANT-HEN [To CHANTECLER.] Do you promise?

THE WOODPECKER [Appears, soberly nodding his red cap.] Tiri-para! sings the small sedge-warbler to the reeds. Incontrovertibly from the Greek. Para, along, and the word water is understood. [Disappears.]

CHANTECLER He has Greek on the brain!

THE PHEASANT-HEN [Reverting to her idea.] Am I the whole, whole world to you?

CHANTECLER Of course you are, only—

THE PHEASANT-HEN In my green-sleeved Oriental robe, I look to you—how do I look?

CHANTECLER Like a living commandment ever to worship that which comes from the East.

THE PHEASANT-HEN [Exasperated.] Will you stop thinking of the light of day, and think only of the light in my eyes?

CHANTECLER I shall never forget, however, that there was a morning when we believed equally in my Destiny, and that in the radiant hour of dawning love you forgot, and allowed me to forget, your gold for the gold of the Dawn!

THE PHEASANT-HEN The Dawn! Always the Dawn! Be careful, Chantecler I shall do something rash! [Going toward the Back.]

CHANTECLER You will infallibly do as you like.

THE PHEASANT-HEN In the glade not long ago I met the—[She catches herself and stops short, intentionally.]

CHANTECLER [Looks at her, and in an angry cry.] The Pheasant? [With sudden violence.] Promise me that you will never again go to the glade!

THE PHEASANT-HEN [Assured of her power over him, with a bound returns to his side.] And you, promise that you will love me more than the Light!

CHANTECLER [Sorrowfully.] Oh!

THE PHEASANT-HEN That you will not sing—

CHANTECLER More than one song, we have settled that point. [Rat-tat-tat, from the WOODPECKER.] Come in!

THE WOODPECKER [Appearing and pointing with his bill at the net.] The snare! The farmer placed it there. He declared he would capture the Pheasant-hen.

THE PHEASANT-HEN He flatters himself!

THE WOODPECKER And that he would keep you on his farm.

THE PHEASANT-HEN [Indignant.] Alive? [To CHANTECLER, in a tone of reproach.] Your farm!

CHANTECLER [Seeing a RABBIT who has returned to the edge of his hole.] Ah, there comes a Rabbit!

THE RABBIT [Showing the snare to the PHEASANT-HEN.] You know if you put your foot on that spring—

THE PHEASANT-HEN [In a tone of superiority.] I know all about snares, my little man. If you put your foot on that spring, the thing shuts. I am afraid of nothing but dogs. [To CHANTECLER.] On your farm, which you secretly yearn for.

CHANTECLER [In a voice of injured innocence.] I?

THE PHEASANT-HEN [To the RABBIT, giving him a light tap with her wing to send him home.] Afraid of nothing but dogs. And since you put me in mind of it, I think I must go and perplex their noses, by tangling my tracks all among the grass and underwoods.

CHANTECLER That's it, you go and fool the dogs!

THE PHEASANT-HEN [Starts of, then returns.] You are homesick for that wretched old farm of yours?

CHANTECLER I? I? [She goes off. He repeats indignantly.] I? [Watching her out of sight, then, dropping his voice, to the WOODPECKER.] She is not coming back, is she?

THE WOODPECKER [Who from his high window in the tree can look off.] No.



SCENE THIRD

CHANTECLER, THE WOODPECKER.

CHANTECLER [Eagerly.] Keep watch! They are going to talk with me from home.

THE WOODPECKER [Interested.] Who?

CHANTECLER The Blackbird.

THE WOODPECKER I thought he hated you.

CHANTECLER He came near it, but the Blackbird cast of mind admits of compromise, and it amuses him to keep me informed.

THE WOODPECKER Is he coming?

CHANTECLER [Who is a different bird since the PHEASANT-HEN'S exit, light-hearted, boyishly cheerful.] No, but the blue morning-glory opening in his cage amid the wistaria, communicates by subterranean filaments with this white convolvulus trembling above the pool. [Going to the convolvulus.] So that by talking into its chalice—[He plunges his bill into one of the trembling milky trumpets.] Hello!

THE WOODPECKER [Nodding to himself.] From the Greek, allos, another. He talks with another.

CHANTECLER Hello! The Blackbird, please!

THE WOODPECKER [Keeping watch.] Most imprudent, this is! To choose among the convolvuli exactly the one which—

CHANTECLER [Lighter and lighter of mood, returning to the WOODPECKER.] But it's the only one open all night! When the Blackbird answers, the Bee who sleeps in the flower wakes up and we—

THE BEE [Inside the convolvulus.] Vrrrrrrrrr!

CHANTECLER [Briskly running to the flower and listening at the horn-shaped receiver.] Ah? This morning, did you say?

THE WOODPECKER [Filled with curiosity.] What is it?

CHANTECLER [In a voice of sudden emotion.] Thirty chicks have been born! [Listening again.] Briffaut, the hunting-dog, is ill? [As if something interfered with his hearing.] I believe it is the Dragon-flies, deafening us with the crackling of their wings—[Shouting.] Will you be so kind, young ladies, as not to cut us off? [Listening.] And big Julius obliges Patou to go with him on his hunting expeditions? [To the WOODPECKER.] Ah, you ought to know my friend Patou! [Burying his bill again in the flower.] So? Without me everything goes wrong? Yes! [With satisfaction.] Yes! Waste and carelessness naturally!

THE WOODPECKER [Who has been keeping watch, warns him suddenly under breath.] Here she comes!

CHANTECLER [With his bill in the flower.] Indeed?

THE WOODPECKER [Fluttering desperately.] Hush!

CHANTECLER The Ducks spent the night under the cart, did they?

THE WOODPECKER Pst!



SCENE FOURTH THE SAME, THE PHEASANT-HEN

THE PHEASANT-HEN [Who has come upon the scene, with a threatening gesture at the WOODPECKER.] Go inside! [The WOOD PECKER precipitately disappears. She stands listening to CHANTECLER.]

CHANTECLER [In the convolvulus, more and more deeply interested.] You don't mean it! What, all of them?—Yes?—No—Oh!—Well, well!—Is that so?

THE WOODPECKER [Who has timidly come back, aside.] Oh, that an ant of the heaviest might weigh down his tongue!

CHANTECLER [Talking into the flower.] So soon? The Peacock out of fashion?

THE WOODPECKER [Trying to get CHANTECLER'S attention behind the PHEASANT-HEN'S back.] Pst!

THE PHEASANT-HEN [Turning around, furious.] You!—You had better! [The WOODPECKER alertly retires, bumping his head.]

CHANTECLER [In the flower.] An elderly Cock?—I hope that the Hens—? [With intonations more and more expressive of relief.] Ah, that's right! that's right! that's right! [He ends, with evident lightening of the heart.] A father! [As if answering a question.] Do I sing? Yes, but far away from here, at the water-side.

THE PHEASANT-HEN Oh!

CHANTECLER [With a tinge of bitterness.] Golden Pheasants will not long allow one to purchase glory by too strenuous an effort, and so I go off by myself, and work at the Dawn in secret.

THE PHEASANT-HEN [Approaching from behind with threatening countenance.] Oh!

CHANTECLER As soon as the beauteous eye which enthralls me—

THE PHEASANT-HEN [Pausing.] Oh!

CHANTECLER —closes, and in her surpassing loveliness she sleeps—

THE PHEASANT-HEN [Delighted.] Ah!

CHANTECLER I make my escape.

THE PHEASANT-HEN [Furious.] Oh!

CHANTECLER I speed through the dew to a distant place, to sing there the necessary number of times, and when I feel the darkness wavering, when only one song more is needed, I return and noiselessly getting back to roost, wake the Pheasant-hen by singing it at her side.—Betrayed by the dew? Oh, no! [Laughing.] For with a whisk of my wing I brush my feet clear of the tell-tale silveriness!

THE PHEASANT-HEN [Close behind him.] You brush your—?

CHANTECLER [Turning.] Ouch! [Into the convolvulus.] No nothing! I—Later!—Ouch!

THE PHEASANT-HEN [Violently.] So! So! Not only you keep up an interest in the fidelity of your old flames—

CHANTECLER [Evasively.] Oh!

THE PHEASANT-HEN You furthermore—

CHANTECLER I—

THE BEE [Inside the morning-glory.] Vrrrrrrr!

CHANTECLER [Placing his wing over the flower.] I—

THE PHEASANT-HEN You deceive me to the point of remembering to brush off your feet!

CHANTECLER But—

THE PHEASANT-HEN This clodhopper, see now, whom I picked up off his haystack—and to rule alone in his soul is apparently quite beyond my power!

CHANTECLER [Collecting himself and straightening up.] When one dwells in a soul, it is better, believe me, to meet with the Dawn there, than with nothing.

THE PHEASANT-HEN [Angrily.] No! the Dawn defrauds me of a great and undivided love!

CHANTECLER There is no great love outside the shadow of a great dream! How should there not flow more love from a soul whose very business it is to open wide every day?

THE PHEASANT-HEN [Coming and going stormily.] I will sweep everything aside with my golden russet wing!

CHANTECLER And who are you, bent upon such tremendous sweeping [They stand rigid and erect in front of each other, looking defiance into each other's eyes.]

THE PHEASANT-HEN The Pheasant-hen I am, who have assumed the golden plumage of the arrogant male!

CHANTECLER Remaining in spite of all a female, whose eternal rival is the Idea!

THE PHEASANT-HEN [In a great cry.] Hold me to your heart and be still!

CHANTECLER [Crushing her brutally to him.] Yes, I strain you to my Cock's heart—[With infinite regret.] Better it were I had folded you to my Awakener's soul!

THE PHEASANT-HEN To deceive me for the Dawn's sake! Very well, however much you may abhor it, you shall for my sake deceive the Dawn.

CHANTECLER I? How?

THE PHEASANT-HEN [Stamping her foot; in a capricious tone.] It is my formal and explicit wish—

CHANTECLER But listen, dear—

THE PHEASANT-HEN My formal and explicit wish that you should for one whole day refrain altogether from singing.

CHANTECLER That I—

THE PHEASANT-HEN I desire you to remain one whole day without singing.

CHANTECLER But, heavens and earth, am I to leave the valley in total darkness?

THE PHEASANT-HEN [Pouting.] What harm will it do to the valley?

CHANTECLER Whatever lies too long in darkness and sleep becomes used to falsehood and consents to death.

THE PHEASANT-HEN Leave singing for one day—[In a tone of evil insinuation.] It will free my mind of certain suspicions troubling it.

CHANTECLER [With a start.] I can see what you are trying to do!

THE PHEASANT-HEN And I can see what you are afraid of!

CHANTECLER [Earnestly.] I will never give up singing.

THE PHEASANT-HEN And what if you were mistaken? What if the truth were that Dawn comes without help from you?

CHANTECLER [With fierce resolution.] I shall not know it.

THE PHEASANT-HEN [In a sudden burst of tears.] Could you not forget the time, for once, if you saw me weeping?

CHANTECLER No, I could not.

THE PHEASANT-HEN Nothing, ever, can make you forget the time?

CHANTECLER Nothing. I am conscious of darkness as too heavy a weight.

THE PHEASANT-HEN You are conscious of darkness as—Shall I tell you the truth? You think you sing for the Dawn, but you sing in reality to be admired, you—songster, you! [With contemptuous pity.] Is it possible you are not aware that your poor notes raise a smile right through the forest, accustomed to the fluting of the thrush?

CHANTECLER I know, you are trying now to reach me through my pride, but—

THE PHEASANT-HEN I doubt if you can get so many as three toadstools and a couple of sassafras stalks to listen to you, when the ardent oriole flings across the leafy gloom his melodious pir-piriol!

THE WOODPECKER [Reappearing.] From the Greek: Pure, puros.

CHANTECLER No more from you, please! [The WOODPECKER hurriedly withdraws.]

THE PHEASANT-HEN [Insisting.] The echo must make some rather interesting mental reservations, one fancies, when he hears you sing after hearing the great Nightingale!

CHANTECLER [Turning to leave.] My nerves, my dear girl, are not of the very steadiest to-night.

THE PHEASANT-HEN [Following.] Did you ever hear him?

CHANTECLER Never.

THE PHEASANT-HEN His song is so wonderful that the first time—[She stops short, struck by an idea.] Oh!

CHANTECLER What is it?

THE PHEASANT-HEN [Aside.] Ah, you feel the weight of the darkness—

CHANTECLER [Coming forward again.] What?

THE PHEASANT-HEN [With an ironical curtsey.] Nothing! [Carelessly.] Let us go to roost! [CHANTECLER goes to the back and is preparing to rise to a branch. The PHEASANT-HEN aside.] He does not know that when the Nightingale sings one listens, supposing it to be a minute, and lo! the whole night has been spent listening, even as happens in the enchanted forest of a German legend.

CHANTECLER [As she does not join him, returns to her.] What are you saying?

THE PHEASANT-HEN [Laughing in his face.] Nothing!

A VOICE [Outside.] The illustrious Cock?

CHANTECLER [Looking around him.] I am wanted?

THE PHEASANT-HEN [Who has gone in the direction from whence came the voice.] There, in the grass! [Jumping back.] Mercy upon us! They are the—[With a movement of insuperable disgust.] They are the—[With a spring she conceals herself in the hollow tree, calling back to CHANTECLER.] Be civil to them!



SCENE FIFTH

CHANTECLER, the PHEASANT-HEN, hidden in the tree, and the TOADS.

A BIG TOAD [Rearing himself in the grass.] We have come—[Other TOADS become visible behind him.]

CHANTECLER Ye gods, how ugly they are!

THE BIG TOAD [Obsequiously.]—in behalf of all the thinking contingency of the Forest, to the author of so many songs—[He places his hand on his heart.]

CHANTECLER [With disgust.] Oh, that hand spread over his paunch!

THE BIG TOAD [With a hop toward CHANTECLER.]—at once novel,—

ANOTHER TOAD [Same business.] Pellucid!

ANOTHER [Same business.] Succinct!

ANOTHER [Same business.] Vital!

ANOTHER [Same business.] Pure!

ANOTHER [Same business.] Great!

CHANTECLER Gentlemen, pray be seated. [They seat themselves around a large toadstool.]

THE BIG TOAD True, we are ugly—

CHANTECLER [Politely.] You have fine eyes.

THE BIG TOAD [Raising himself by bearing with both hands upon the rim of the toadstool.] But, Knights of this fungoid Round Table, we desire to do homage to the Parsifal who has given to the world a sublime song—

SECOND TOAD A true song!

THE BIG TOAD And a celestial!

THIRD TOAD And a no less terrestrial!

THE BIG TOAD [With authority.] A song by comparison with which the song of the Nightingale sinks into insignificance!

CHANTECLER [Astonished.] The Nightingale's song?

SECOND TOAD [In a tone of finality.] Is not a circumstance to yours!

THE BIG TOAD [With a hop.] It was high time that a new singer—

ANOTHER [Same business.] And a new song—

FIFTH TOAD [Quickly, to his neighbour.] And a song by a stranger—

THE BIG TOAD Came to change conditions here.

CHANTECLER Ah, I shall change conditions?

ALL Glory to the Cock!

CHANTECLER I do not see that the forest thinks so poorly of me after all!

THE BIG TOAD Played out, the Nightingale!

CHANTECLER [More and more surprised.] Really?

SECOND TOAD More and more his song confesses itself effete—

THE BIG TOAD Mawkish!

THIRD TOAD Null!

FOURTH [Contemptuously.] And his old-fashioned pretense of inspiration!

FIFTH TOAD And the name he has adopted: Bul-bul!

ALL THE TOADS [Puffing with laughter.] Bul-bul!

THE BIG TOAD This is the way he goes on: [Parodying the song of the NIGHTINGALE.] Tio! Tio!

SECOND TOAD His solitary idea is an old silver trill copied from the bubbling spring. [He imitates in grotesque fashion the singing of the NIGHTINGALE.] Tio! Tio!

CHANTECLER But—

THE BIG TOAD [Quickly.] Do not attempt, you, the Renovator of Art, to defend that ancient high authority on sentimental gargling!

SECOND TOAD That superannuated tenor quavering out his cavatinas to the glory of minor poetry and the edification of fogydom!

THIRD TOAD The Harp that twanged through Tara's hall, and insists on twanging still!

CHANTECLER [Indulgently.] But why should he not, after all, if he enjoys it?

THE BIG TOAD Endeavouring to impose on a suffering and surfeited public the musty old fashion of ingenious fioritura!

CHANTECLER Audiences nowadays, of course, look for a different sort of thing.

THIRD TOAD Your song has exposed the artificiality of his.

ALL [In an explosion.] Down with Bul-bul!

CHANTECLER [Whom the TOADS have gradually surrounded.] Gentlemen and honored Batrachians, my voice, it is true, gives forth natural notes—

THE BIG TOAD Yes, notes which lend us wings—

CHANTECLER [Modestly.] Oh!

ALL [Waggling their bodies as if about to fly.] Wings!

THE BIG TOAD Their secret being that they sing Life!

CHANTECLER That is true.

SECOND TOAD Yes, my dear fellow, Life!

CHANTECLER [With careless complacency.] My crest for that reason is flesh and blood!

ALL THE TOADS [Clapping their little hands.] Good, very good!

THE BIG TOAD That formula is a programme.

SECOND TOAD Since we are assembled around a table, why should we not offer to the Chief—

CHANTECLER [Modestly, hanging back from the suggested honour.]Gentlemen—

SECOND TOAD —to the Chief of whom we stood in notable need, a banquet?

ALL [Beating enthusiastically upon the toadstool.] A banquet!

THE PHEASANT-HEN [Looking out from the tree.] What is the matter?

CHANTECLER [In spite of all, rather flattered.] A banquet!

THE PHEASANT-HEN [Slightly ironical.] Shall you accept?

CHANTECLER You see, my dear—the new tendencies—Art,—the thinking contingency of the Forest—[Indicating the TOADS.] Yes, I have lent wings to—[In a light and careless tone.] It's all up with the Nightingale, you see. Musty old method! Antiquated trill! This is the way he goes on—[To the TOADS.] How was it you said he went on?

ALL THE TOADS [Comically.] Tio! Tio!

CHANTECLER [To the PHEASANT-HEN, with pitying indulgence.] He goes on like this: Tio! Tio! And I believe I need not scruple to accept—

A VOICE [In the tree above him breaks forth in a long note, limpid, and heart-moving.] Tio! [Silence.]

CHANTECLER [Startled, raising his head.] What was that?

THE BIG TOAD [Quickly, visibly embarrassed.] Nothing! It is he!

THE VOICE [Slowly and wonderfully, with the sigh of a soul in every note.] Tio! Tio! Tio! Tio!

CHANTECLER [Turning upon the TOADS.] Scum of the earth!

THE TOADS [Backing away from him.] What—?



SCENE SIXTH

THE SAME, the NIGHTINGALE unseen, and little by little all the FOREST CREATURES.

THE NIGHTINGALE [From the tree, in his emotionally throbbing voice.] Tiny bird, lost in the darkness of the tree, I feel myself turning into the heart-beat of the infinite night!

CHANTECLER [To the TOADS.] And you have dared—

THE NIGHTINGALE Hushed lies the ravine beneath the magic of the moon—

CHANTECLER —to compare my rude singing with that divine voice? Scum of the earth! Toads! And I never divined that they were doing to him here what was done to me over yonder!

THE BIG TOAD [Suddenly swelling to a great size.] Toads! Yes, as it happens, we are Toads!

THE NIGHTINGALE Vapour of pearl wreathes the summits in an ethereal veil—

THE BIG TOAD [Self-appreciatively.] We are Toads, certainly, magnificently embossed with warts! [All rear themselves up, swollen, standing between CHANTECLER and the tree.]

CHANTECLER And I perceived not, I who have never known envy, to what venomous feast I was bidden!

THE NIGHTINGALE What matter? Sooner or later, you, the strong, and I, the tender, we were fated, despite all the Toads in the world, to understand each other!

CHANTECLER [With religious fervour.] Sing!

A TOAD [Who has hastily dragged himself to the tree in which the NIGHTINGALE is singing.] Let us clasp the bark with our slimy little arms, and slaver upon the foot of the tree! [All crawl toward the tree.]

CHANTECLER [Trying to stop one of them who is clumsily hopping.] But are you not yourself gifted with a singing voice of exceptional purity?

THE TOAD [In a tone of sincerest suffering.] I am, but when I hear somebody else singing, I can't help it,—I see green! [He joins his companions.]

THE BIG TOAD [Working his jaws as if chewing something which foamed.] There foam up beneath our tongues I know not what strange soapsuds, and—[To his neighbour.] Are you frothing?

THE OTHER I am frothing.

ANOTHER He is frothing.

ALL We are frothing.

A TOAD [Tenderly laying his arm about the neck of a dilatory TOAD.] Come and froth!

CHANTECLER [To the NIGHTINGALE.] But will they not trouble and prevent your mellifluent song?

THE NIGHTINGALE In no wise. I will take their refrain into my song—

THE BIG TOAD [Patting a little TOAD on the head to encourage him.] Don't be afraid, go ahead,—froth!

THE TOADS [All together, at the base of the tree to which they form a crawling, writhing girdle.] The Toads, croak! croak! the Toads are we!

THE NIGHTINGALE —And make of both a Villanelle!

THE TOADS We welter in malignity!

THE NIGHTINGALE The while they fume beneath my tree I fill with song the enchanted dell—

THE TOADS The Toads, croak! croak! the Toads are we! [And the Villanelle proceeds, sung by the alternate voices, one of which, ever higher and more enraptured, carries the song proper, and the others, ever angrier and lower, the burden of the song.]

THE NIGHTINGALE and THE TOADS, alternately I sing! for Wind, that harper free, And music bubbling from the well— —We welter in malignity!—

And fragrance floating from the lea, Of meadow-sweet and pimpernel— —The Toads, croak! croak! the Toads are we!—

And Luna showering ecstasy, All weave so wonderful a spell— —We welter in malignity!—

Its melting magic moveth me The secret of my heart to tell! —The Toads, croak! croak! the Toads are we!—

Within my heart all sympathy, Within mine eye all visions dwell— —We welter in malignity!—

Life, Death, I turn to rhapsody, Who am the deathless Philomel! —The Toads, croak! croak! the Toads are we, Who welter in malignity!

CHANTECLER Beside those heavenly pipes, ah, me! my voice is Punchinello's squeak! Sing on! Sing on! The Croakers are in retreat.

THE TOADS [Retreating, overcome by the conquering song.] Croak! croak!

CHANTECLER Their fate to seethe in the cauldron of a witch! But you, the creatures of the forest come to slake the thirst of their hearts at your song. See them creeping to the lure—

THE TOADS [From the underbrush.] Croak! croak!

CHANTECLER A doe, look! tiptoeing on delicate hoofs, followed by a wolf who has forgotten to be a wolf—

THE TOADS [Lost among the grass.] Croak!

CHANTECLER The squirrel steals down from the lofty tree-tops. The whole vast forest is stirred by a thrill of brotherliness.

THE TOADS [Out of sight.]—roak!

CHANTECLER The echo alone now repeats—

FAINT DISTANT VOICE —oak!

CHANTECLER Gone! Gone are the Toads!

[Music holds the night: a song without words, delicate volleys of rapturous notes.]

CHANTECLER The Glow-worms have lighted their small, green lamps. All that is good comes forth, while hate shrinks back to its lair. Now they that shall be eaten lay themselves down in the grass by the side of them that shall eat them. The Star of a sudden looks nearer to earth, and forsaking her web the Spider draws herself up toward your song, climbing by her own silken thread.

ALL THE FOREST [In a moan of ecstasy.] Ah!

[And the forest lies as if under a spell; the moonlight is softer, the tender green fire of the glow-worm shines blinking among the moss; on all sides, between the tree-boles creep, shadow-like, the charmed beasts; eyes shine, moist muzzles point toward the source of the music. The WOODPECKER stands at his bark window, dreamily nodding; all the RABBITS, with uppricked ears, sit at their earthen doors.]

CHANTECLER When he sings thus without words, what is he singing, Squirrel?

THE SQUIRREL [From a tree-top.] The joy of swift motion.

CHANTECLER And what say you, Hare?

THE HARE [In the coppice.] The thrill of fear!

CHANTECLER You, Rabbit?

ONE OF THE RABBITS The Dew!

CHANTECLER You, Doe?

THE DOE [From the depths of the woods.] Tears!

CHANTECLER Wolf?

THE WOLF [In a gentle distant howl.] The Moon!

CHANTECLER And you, Tree with the golden wound, singing Pine?

THE PINE-TREE [Softly beating time with one of its boughs.] He tells me that my drops of resin in the form of rosin will sing upon the bows of violins!

CHANTECLER And you, Woodpecker, what does he say to you?

THE WOODPECKER [In ecstasy.] He says that Aristophanes—

CHANTECLER [Promptly interrupting him.] Never mind! I know! You, Spider?

THE SPIDER [Swinging at the end of one of her threads.] He sings of the raindrop sparkling in my web like a royal gift.

CHANTECLER And you, Drop of Water, sparkling in her web?

A LITTLE VOICE [From the cobweb.] Of the Glow-worm!

CHANTECLER And you, Glow-worm?

A LITTLE VOICE [In the grass.]Of the Star!

CHANTECLER And you, if one may so far presume as to question you, of what does he sing to you, Star?

A VOICE [In the sky.] Of the Shepherd!

CHANTECLER Ah, what fountain is it—

THE PHEASANT-HEN [Who is watching the horizon between the trees.] The darkness is lightening.

CHANTECLER What fountain, in which each finds water for his thirst? [Listening with greater attention.] To me he speaks of the Day, which arises and shines at my song!

THE PHEASANT-HEN [Aside.] And speaks of it so eloquently that for once you will forget it!

CHANTECLER [Noticing a BIRD who having come a little way out of the thicket is beatifically listening.] And how do you, Snipe, translate his poem?

THE SNIPE I don't know. I only know I like it—It is sweet!

THE PHEASANT-HEN [Who is not lured—she!—into forgetting to watch the sky between the branches, aside.] The night is wearing away!

CHANTECLER [To the NIGHTINGALE, in a discouraged voice.] To sing! To sing! But how, after hearing the faultless crystal of your note, can I ever be satisfied again with the crude, brazen blare of mine?

THE NIGHTINGALE But you must!

CHANTECLER Shall I find it possible ever again to sing? My song, alas, must seem to me always after this too brutal and too red!

THE NIGHTINGALE I have sometimes thought that mine was too facile, perhaps, and too blue!

CHANTECLER Oh, how can you humble yourself to make such a confession to me?

THE NIGHTINGALE You fought for a friend of mine, the Rose! Learn, comrade, this sorrowful and reassuring fact, that no one, Cock of the morning or evening Nightingale, has quite the song of his dreams!

CHANTECLER [With passionate desire.] Oh, to be a sound that soothes and lulls!

THE NIGHTINGALE To be a splendid call to duty!

CHANTECLER I make nobody weep!

THE NIGHTINGALE I awaken nobody! [But after the expression of this regret, he continues in an ever higher and more lyrical voice.] What matter? One must sing on! Sing on, even while knowing that there are songs which he prefers to his own song. One must sing,—sing,—sing,—until—[A shot. A flash from the thicket. Brief silence, then a small, tawny body drops at CHANTECLER'S feet.]

CHANTECLER [Bending and looking.] The Nightingale!—The brutes! [And without noticing the vague, earliest tremour of daylight spreading through the air, he cries in a sob.] Killed! And he had sung such a little, little while! [One or two feathers slowly flutter down.]

THE PHEASANT-HEN His feathers!

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

THE END