THE EVENING OF THE PHEASANT-HEN

A farmyard such as the sounds from behind the curtain have described. At the right, a house over-clambered with wistaria. At the left, the farmyard gate, letting on to the road. A dog-kennel. At the back, a low wall, beyond which distant country landscape. The details of the setting define themselves in the course of the act.

The whole barnyard company, HENS, CHICKENS, CHICKS, DUCKS, TURKEYS, etc.; THE BLACKBIRD in his cage, THE CAT asleep on the wall, later A BUTTERFLY on the flowers.

THE WHITE HEN
[Pecking.] Ah! Delicious!

ANOTHER HEN
What are you eating?

ALL THE HENS
[Rushing to the spot.] What’s she eating?

THE WHITE HEN
A small green beetle, crisp and nice, tasting of the rose-leaves he had
lived on.

THE BLACK HEN [Standing before the BLACKBIRD’S cage.] Really, the Blackbird whistles amazingly!

THE WHITE HEN
Any little street urchin can do as much!

THE TURKEY
[Solemnly.] An urchin who had learned of a shepherd in Sicily!

THE DUCK
He never whistles his tune to the end

THE TURKEY That’s too easy, carrying it to the end! [He hums the tune the BLACKBIRD has been whistling.] “How sweet to fare afield, and cull and cull ” You should know, Duck, that the thing in art is to leave off before the end! “And cull and cull ” Bravo, Blackbird!

[The BLACKBIRD comes out on the little platform in front of his cage and bows.]

A CHICK
[Astonished.] Can he get out?

BLACKBIRD
Applause is salt on my tail!

THE CHICK
But his cage?

THE TURKEY He can come out, and he can go in again. His cage has that sort of spring. “And cull and cull ” The whole point is missed if you tell them what you cull!

THE BLACK HEN [Catching sight of a BUTTERFLY alighting on the flowers above the wall at the back.] Oh, what a gorgeous butterfly!

THE WHITE HEN
Where?

THE BLACK HEN
On the honey-suckle.

THE TURKEY
That kind is called an Admiral.

THE CHICK
[Looking after the BUTTERFLY.] Now he has settled on a pink.

THE WHITE HEN
[To the TURKEY.] An Admiral, wherefore?

THE BLACKBIRD
Obviously because he is neither a seaman nor a soldier.

THE WHITE HEN
Our Blackbird has a pretty wit!

THE TURKEY [Nodding and swinging his red stalactite.] He has better than wit, my dear!

ANOTHER HEN
[Watching the BUTTERFLY.] It’s sweet a butterfly!

THE BLACKBIRD
Easy as possible to make! You take a W and set it on top of a Y!

A HEN [Delighted.] A flourish of his bill, and there you have your caricature!

THE TURKEY
He does better than execute caricatures! Hen, our Blackbird forces you
to think while obliging you to laugh. He is a Teacher in wit’s clothing.

A CHICK
[To a HEN.] Mother, why does the Cat hate the Dog?

THE BLACKBIRD
Because he appropriates his seat at the theatre.

THE CHICK
[Surprised.] They have a theatre?

THE BLACKBIRD
Where dumb-shows are given.

THE CHICK
Eh?

THE BLACKBIRD
The hearthstone from whence both alike wish to watch the play of the
Fire among the Logs.

THE TURKEY [Delighted.] How aptly he conveys that the hatred of peoples is at bottom a question of wanting the other’s territory. There’s a brain for you!

THE SPECKLED HEN
[To the WHITE HEN, who is pecking.] Do you peck peppers?

THE WHITE HEN
Constantly.

THE SPECKLED HEN
How can you stand the sting?

THE WHITE HEN
It imparts to the feathers a delicate rosy tint.

THE SPECKLED HEN
Oh, does it!

A VOICE IN THE DISTANCE
Cuckoo!

THE WHITE HEN
Listen!

THE VOICE
[From a greater distance.] Cuckoo!

THE WHITE HEN
The Cuckoo!

A GREY HEN [Comes running excitedly.] Which Cuckoo? The one who lives in the woods, or the one who lives in the clock?

THE VOICE
[Still further off.] Cuckoo!

THE WHITE HEN
The one of the woods.

THE GREY HEN [With a sigh of relief.] Oh, I was so afraid of having missed the other!

THE WHITE HEN [Going near enough to her to speak in an undertone.] Do you mean to say you love him?

THE GREY HEN [Sadly.] Without ever having set eyes on him. He lives in a chalet hanging on the kitchen wall, above the farmer’s great-coat and fowling-piece. The moment he sings, I rush to the spot, but I never get there in time to see anything but his little wicket closing. This evening I mean to stay right here beside the door [She takes up her position on the threshold.]

A VOICE
White Hen!

THE SAME, a PIGEON on the roof, later CHANTECLER.

THE WHITE HEN
[Looking about with quick jerks of her head.] Who called me?

THE VOICE
A pigeon.

THE WHITE HEN
[Looking for him.] Where?

THE PIGEON
On the sloping roof.

THE WHITE HEN
[Lifting her head and seeing him.] Ah!

THE PIGEON
Though I am the bearer of an important missive, I would not miss the
opportunity Good evening, Hen!

THE WHITE HEN
Postman, howdedo?

THE PIGEON
My duty on the Postal Service of the Air obliging me this summer evening
to pass your habitations, I should be most happy if

THE WHITE HEN
[Spying a crumb of some sort.] One moment, please.

ANOTHER HEN
[Running eagerly towards her.] What are you eating?

ALL THE HENS
[Arriving at a run.] What’s she eating?

THE WHITE HEN
A simple grain of wheat.

THE GREY HEN [Taking up her conversation with the WHITE HEN.] As I was telling you, I mean to stay right on the door-step there [Showing the door of the house.]

THE WHITE HEN
[Looking at the door.] The door is shut.

THE GREY HEN
Yes, but I shall hear the hour striking, and I will catch a look at my
Cuckoo by stretching my neck,

THE PIGEON
[Calling, slightly out of patience.] White Hen!

THE WHITE HEN
One moment, please! [To the GREY HEN.] Catch a look at your Cuckoo,
by stretching your neck where? Where?

THE GREY HEN [Pointing with her beak at the small, round opening at the foot of the door.] Through the cat-hole!

THE PIGEON [Raising his voice to a shout.] Am I to be kept here cooling my feet on your rain-pipe? Hi, there, whitest of Hens!

THE WHITE HEN
[Hopping towards him.] You were saying?

THE PIGEON
I was about to say

THE WHITE HEN
What, bluest of Pigeons?

THE PIGEON That I should consider myself past expression fortunate if But no! I am abashed at my own boldness! if I might be so favoured as to be permitted to get a glimpse

THE WHITE HEN
Of what?

THE PIGEON
Oh, just a glimpse, the very least glimpse of

ALL THE HENS
[Impatiently.] Of what? What?

THE PIGEON
Of his comb!

THE WHITE HEN
[Laughing, to the others.] Ha! ha! he wishes to see

THE PIGEON
[In great excitement.] Thats it! Just to see

THE WHITE HEN
There, there, cool down!

THE PIGEON
I am shaking with excitement!

THE WHITE HEN
You are shaking down the roof!

THE PIGEON
You can’t think how we admire him!

THE WHITE HEN
Oh, everyone admires him!

THE PIGEON
And I promised my missis to tell her what he is like!

THE WHITE HEN [Quietly pecking.] Oh, he’s a fine fellow, no doubt of that!

THE PIGEON We can hear him crowing from our dove-cote. The One he is whose song is more an ornament to the landscape than the white hamlet to the hill! The One he is whose cry pierces the blue horizon like a gold-threaded needle stitching the hill-tops to the sky! The Cock he is! When you would praise him, call him the Cock!

THE BLACKBIRD [Hopping up and down in his cage.] Tick-tock! who sets all hearts a-beating, tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock!

A HEN
Our Cock!

THE BLACKBIRD [Thrusting his head between the bars of his cage.] My, thy, his, her, our, your, and their Cock!

THE TURKEY [To the PIGEON.] He will soon be coming in from his usual round in the fields.

THE PIGEON
You have the honour of his acquaintance, sir?

THE TURKEY [Importantly.] I have known him from a baby. This chick for to me he is still a chick! used to come to me for his bugle lesson.

THE PIGEON
Ah, indeed? You give lessons in

THE TURKEY
Certainly. A bird who can gobble is qualified to teach crowing.

THE PIGEON
Where was he born?

THE TURKEY [Indicating an old covered basket, badly battered and broken.] In that old basket.

THE PIGEON
And is the hen who brooded him still living?

THE TURKEY
[Again indicating the basket.] She is there.

THE PIGEON
Where?

THE TURKEY
In that old basket.

THE PIGEON
[More and more interested.] Of what breed is she?

THE TURKEY
She is just a good old-fashioned Gascon hen, born in the neighbourhood
of Pau.

THE BLACKBIRD [Thrusting out his head.] She is the one Henry the Fourth wished to see cooking in every Frenchman’s pot!

THE PIGEON
How proud she must be of having hatched such a Cock!

THE TURKEY Yes, proud with a lowly foster-mother’s pride. Her beloved chick is coming to his inches, that is all she seems to understand or care about. And when you tell her this, her clouded reason gives a momentary gleam [Calling towards the basket.] Hey, old lady, he is growing!

ALL THE HENS
He is growing!

[The lid of the basket is suddenly lifted, and a bristling aged hen’s head appears.]

THE PIGEON [To the OLD HEN, gently and feelingly.] Does it make you happy, mother, to think of him grown to a big fine Cock?

THE OLD HEN [Nodding, sententiously.] Happy? Wednesday’s crops do credit to Tuesday! [She disappears, the lid drops.]

THE TURKEY She opens now and then, like that, and ping! shoots at us some such pearl of homely lore

THE PIGEON
[To the WHITE HEN.] White Hen!

THE TURKEY
not always wholly without point!

THE OLD HEN [Reappearing for an instant.] In the Peacock’s absence, the Turkey spreads his tail!

[The TURKEY turns quickly around, the lid has already dropped.]

THE PIGEON [To the WHITE HEN.] Is it a fact that Chantecler is never hoarse, never the very least husky?

THE WHITE HEN
[Keeping on with her pecking.] Perfectly true.

THE PIGEON [With growing enthusiasm.] Ah, you must be proud Cock who will be numbered among Illustrious Animals and his name remembered five, ten, fifteen years!

THE TURKEY
Very proud. Very proud. [To a CHICK.] Who are the Illustrious Animals?
Tell them off!

THE CHICK [Reciting a lesson.] Noah’s Dove Saint Rocco’s Poodle The the Horse of Cali

THE TURKEY
Cali ?

THE CHICK
[Trying to remember.] Cali

THE PIGEON
This Cock, now this Cock of yours Is it true that his song attunes,
inspires, encourages, makes labour light, and keeps off birds of prey?

THE WHITE HEN
[Pecking.] Perfectly true.

THE CHICK
[Still hunting for his word.] Cali Cali

THE PIGEON
White Hen, is it true that by his song, defender of the warm and sacred
egg, he has frequently kept the lissome weasel from

THE BLACKBIRD
[Looking out between the bars.] messing his shirtfront with omelette?

THE WHITE HEN
Perfectly true.

THE CHICK
Cali

THE TURKEY
[Helping him.] Gu?

THE CHICK
Gu

THE PIGEON
Is it true ?

THE CHICK
[Jumping for joy at having found.] Gula!

THE PIGEON true that, as report says, he has a secret for his amazing singing, a secret whereby his crow becomes the brilliant burst of red which makes the poppies of the field feel themselves contemptible imitations?

THE WHITE HEN
[Weary of this questioning.] Perfectly true.

THE PIGEON
That secret, that great secret, is it known to anyone?

THE WHITE HEN
No.

THE PIGEON
He has not even told his Hen?

THE WHITE HEN
[Correcting him.] His Hens.

THE PIGEON
[Slightly shocked.] Ah, he has more than one?

THE BLACKBIRD
He crows, remember, you only coo.

THE PIGEON
Well, then, he has not even told his favourite?

THE TUFTED HEN
[Promptly.] No, he has not!

THE WHITE HEN
[As promptly.] No, he has not!

THE BLACK HEN
[As promptly.] No, he has not!

THE BLACKBIRD [Thrusting out his head.] Hush! An arial drama! The Butterfly, absorbed in his head of blossom, banquets, all oblivious of

[A great green gauze butterfly-net appears above the wall, softly coming towards the BUTTERFLY settled on one of the flowers.]

A HEN
What is that?

THE TURKEY
[Solemnly.] Fate!

THE BLACKBIRD
In a thin disguise of gauze!

THE WHITE HEN
Oh, a net at the end of a cane!

THE BLACKBIRD No harm in the cane it’s the kid at the other end of the cane! [Half aloud, watching the BUTTERFLY.] You neat little fop, sailing from rose to rose, to-night you’ll be neat as a pin can make you!

ALL
[Watching the cautious approach of the net beyond the wall.]
Nearer Nearer Hush! He’ll catch it! No he won’t! Yes, he will!

SUDDENLY OUTSIDE
Cock-a-doodle-doo!

[At the sound, the BUTTERFLY flies off. The NET wavers a moment, with an effect of disappointment, then disappears.]

SEVERAL HENS
What? Eh? What was it?

A HEN
[Who having hopped up on a wheelbarrow can follow the flight of the
BUTTERFLY.] He is off and away, over the meadow.

THE BLACKBIRD
[With ironical emphasis.] It’s Chantecler, practicing knight-errantry!

THE PIGEON
[With emotion.] Chantecler!

A HEN
He is coming!

ANOTHER HEN
He is just outside

THE WHITE HEN
[To the PIGEON.] Now you will see. He’s a very fine bird indeed.

THE BLACKBIRD
[Thrusting his head between the bars.] Easy as possible to make, a
Cock!

THE TURKEY
[Admiringly.] Admirable amenity!

THE BLACKBIRD You take a melon a fine specimen, I will grant, for the trunk. For the legs, two sticks of asparagus, prize sticks, of course. For the head, a red pepper, as handsome as you may find. For the eye, a currant, exceptionally clear and light. For the tail, a sheaf of leeks, with luxuriant blue-green flags. For the ear, a dainty kidney-bean, extra, superfine! And there you have him, there’s your Cock!

THE PIGEON
[Gently.] One thing you have omitted His heavenly clarion call!

THE BLACKBIRD [Indicating CHANTECLER, who now appears upon the wall.] Yes, but with the exception of that slight detail, you must own my portrait is a likeness.

THE PIGEON Not at all. Not in the very least. [Contemplating CHANTECLER with a very different eye from the BLACKBIRD’S.] What I see, beneath that quivering hemlet, is Summer’s glorious and favoured knight, who, from a groaning wain at evening borrowing its golden harvest-robe has arrayed himself in this, and lifts it from the dust with a gleaming sickle!

CHANTECLER
[On the wall, in a long guttural sigh.] Coa

THE BLACKBIRD
When he makes that noise in his throat, he either is in love, or
preparing some poetic outburst.

CHANTECLER [Motionless on the wall, with head high.] Blaze forth in glory! Dazzle

THE BLACKBIRD
He’s letting off hot air!

CHANTECLER
Irradiate the world!

A HEN
Now he pauses one claw lifted

CHANTECLER
[In a sort of groan of excessive tenderness.] Coa

THE BLACKBIRD
That, if you please, is ecstasy!

CHANTECLER
Thy gold is of all gold alone beneficent! I worship thee!

THE PIGEON
[Under breath.] To whom is he talking?

THE BLACKBIRD
[Sneering.] To the sun, sonny, the sun!

CHANTECLER
O thou that driest the tears of the meanest among weeds
And dost of a dead flower make a living butterfly
Thy miracle, wherever almond-trees
Shower down the wind their scented shreds,
Dead petals dancing in a living swarm
I worship thee, O Sun! whose ample light,
Blessing every forehead, ripening every fruit,
Entering every flower and every hovel,
Pours itself forth and yet is never less,
Still spending and unspent like mother’s love!

I sing of thee, and will be thy high priest,
Who disdainest not to glass thy shining face
In the humble basin of blue suds,
Or see the lightning of thy last farewell
Reflected in an humble cottage pane!

THE BLACKBIRD [Thrusting out his head.] Can’t call it off now, boys, he’s started on an ode!

THE TURKEY [Watching CHANTECLER as by a series of stately hops he comes down a pile of hay.] Here he comes, prouder than

A HEN [Stopping in front of a small tin cone.] See there! The new-fangled drinking-trough! [She drinks.] Handy!

THE BLACKBIRD
Prouder than a drum major chanting as he marches:
“My country, ’tis of thee!”

CHANTECLER
[Beginning to walk about the yard.]
Thou smilest on the

ALL THE HENS [Rushing to the WHITE HEN who is eating something.] What’s she eating?

THE WHITE HEN
Corn. Nothing but corn.

CHANTECLER
Thou smilest on the sunflower craning after thee,
And burnishest my brother of the vane,
And softly sifting through the linden-trees
Strewest the ground with dappled gold,
So fine there’s no more walking where it lies.

Through thee the earthen pot is an enamelled urn,
The clout hung out to dry a noble banner,
The hay-rick by thy favour boasts a golden cape,
And the rick’s little sister, the thatched hive,
Wears, by thy grace, a hood of gold!

Glory to thee in the vineyards! Glory to thee in the fields!
Glory among the grass and on the roofs,
In eyes of lizards and on wings of swans,
Artist who making splendid the great things
Forgets not to make exquisite the small!

’Tis thou that, cutting out a silhouette,
To all thou beamest on dost fasten this dark twin,
Doubling the number of delightful shapes,
Appointing to each thing its shadow,
More charming often than itself.

I praise thee, Sun! Thou sheddest roses on the air,
Diamonds on the stream, enchantment on the hill;
A poor dull tree thou takest and turnest to green rapture,
O Sun, without whose golden magic things
Would be no more than what they are!

THE PIGEON Bravo! I shall have something to tell my mate. We shall long talk of this!

CHANTECLER [Seeing him, with noble courtesy.] Young blue-winged stranger, with new-fledged bill, thanks! Pray lay my duty at her coral feet!

[The PIGEON flies off.]

THE BLACKBIRD
Jolly your admirers, it pays!

CHANTECLER [In a cordial voice, to the whole barnyard.] To work now, all of you, with a will!

[A FLY darts past, buzzing.]

CHANTECLER
Busy and resonant Fly, I love thee! Behold her! What is her flight but
the heart-whole gift of herself?

THE TURKEY [Loftily.] Yes. She has dropped considerably in my esteem, however, since that matter of the

CHANTECLER
Of the what?

THE TURKEY
Of the Fly and the

CHANTECLER I never thought much of that story. Who knows whether the coach would have reached the top of the hill without the Fly? Do you believe that rude shouts “Gee up! Ge’ lang!” were more effective than the hymn to the Sun buzzed by the little Fly? Do you believe in the virtue of a blustering oath? Really believe it was the Coachman who made the coach to go? No, I tell you, no! She did much more than the big whip’s noisy cracking, did the little Fly, with the music straight from her buzzing heart!

THE TURKEY
Yes, but all the same

CHANTECLER [Turning his back on him.] Come, let us make of labour a delight! Come, all of you! High time, Ganders my worthies, you escorted your geese to the pond.

A GANDER
[Lazily.] Is it quite necessary, do you think?

CHANTECLER [Going briskly towards him, with a look that forbids discussion.] Quite! And let there be no idle quacking and paltering! [The GANDERS go off in haste.] You, Chicken, your task, as you know, is to pick off slugs, your full number before evening being thirty-two. You, Cockerel, go practise your crow. Four hundred times cry Cock-a-doodle-doo in hearing of the echo!

THE COCKEREL
[Slightly mortified.] The echo ?

CHANTECLER
That is what I was doing to limber up my glottis before I was rid of the
egg-shell sticking to my tail!

A HEN
[Airily.] None of this is particularly interesting!

CHANTECLER Everything is interesting! Pray go and sit on the eggs you have been entrusted with! [To another HEN.] You, walk among the roses and verbenas, and gobble every creature threatening them. Ha, ha! If the caterpillar thinks we will make him a gift of our flowers he can stroke his belly with his back! [To another.] You, hie to the rescue of cabbages in old neglected corners, where the grasshopper lays siege to them with his vigorous battering-ram! [To the remaining HENS.] You [Catching sight of the OLD HEN, whose shaking, senile head has lifted the basket-lid.] Ah, there you are, Nursie! Good day! [She gazes at him admiringly.] Well, have I grown?

THE OLD HEN
Sooner or later, tadpole becomes toad!

CHANTECLER
True! [To the HENS,_ resuming his tone of command._] Ladies, stand in
line! Your orders are to peck in the fields. Off at a quick-step, go!

THE WHITE HEN
[To the GREY HEN.] Are you coming?

THE GREY HEN
Not a word! I intend to stay behind, to see the Cuckoo. [She hides
behind the basket.]

CHANTECLER
You, little tufted hen, was it just my fancy that you looked sulky
falling into line?

THE TUFTED HEN
[Going up to him.] Cock

CHANTECLER
What is it?

THE TUFTED HEN
I, who am nearest to your heart

CHANTECLER
[Quickly.] Hush!

THE TUFTED HEN
It annoys me not to be told

THE WHITE HEN
[Who has drawn near on the other side.] Cock

CHANTECLER
Well?

THE WHITE HEN
[Coaxingly.] I who am your favourite

CHANTECLER
[Quickly.] Hush!

THE WHITE HEN
[Caressingly.] I want to know

THE BLACK HEN
[Who has softly drawn near.] Cock

CHANTECLER
What?

THE BLACK HEN
Your special and tender regard for me

CHANTECLER
[Quickly.] Hush!

THE BLACK HEN
Tell me, do

THE WHITE HEN
the secret

THE TUFTED HEN of your song? [Going still closer to him, in a voice thrilled with curiosity.] I do believe that you have in your throat a little copper contrivance

CHANTECLER
That’s it, that’s what I have, very carefully concealed!

THE WHITE HEN [Same business.] Most likely, like great tenors one has heard of, you gulp raw eggs

CHANTECLER
You have guessed! A second Ugolino!

THE BLACK HEN [Same business.] My idea is that taking snails out of their shells, you pound them to a paste

CHANTECLER
And make them into troches! Exactly!

ALL THREE HENS
Cock !

CHANTECLER Off with you all! Be off! [The HENS hastily start, he calls them back.] A word before you go. When your blood-bright combs now in, now out of sight, now in again shall flash among the sage and borage yonder, like poppies playing at hide-and-seek, to the real poppies, I enjoin you, do no injury! Shepherdesses, counting the stitches of their knitting, trample the grass all unaware that it’s a crime to crush a flower even with a woman! But you, my Spouses, show considerate and touching thought for the flowers whose only offence is growing wild. The field-carrot has her right to bloom in beauty. Should you spy, as he strolls across some flowery umbel, a scarlet beetle peppered with black dots, the stroller take, but spare his strolling-ground. The flowers of one same meadow are sisters, as I hold, and should together fall beneath the scythe! Now you may go. [They are leaving, he again calls them back.] And remember, when chickens go to the

A HEN
fields

CHANTECLER
the foremost

THE HENS ALL TOGETHER
walks ahead!

CHANTECLER You may go! [They are again starting, he peremptorily calls them back.] A word! [In a stern voice.] Never when crossing the road stop to peck! [The HENS bow in obedience.] Now let me see you cross!

A HORN
[In the distance.] Honk! Honk! Honk!

CHANTECLER
[Rushing in front of the HENS and spreading his wings before them.]
Not yet!

THE HORN
[Very near, accompanied by a terrific snorting.] Honk! Honk! Honk!

CHANTECLER
[Barring the HENS’ passage, while everything shakes.] Wait!

THE HORN
[Far away.] Honk! Honk! Honk!

CHANTECLER
[Standing aside for them to pass.] You can safely go!

THE GREY HEN
[From her hiding-place.] He has not seen me!

THE TUFTED HEN
You may think this is fun! Now everything we eat will taste of gasoline!

CHANTECLER, the BLACKBIRD in his cage, the CAT still asleep on the wall, the GREY HEN behind the OLD HEN’S basket.

CHANTECLER [To himself, after a pause.] No, I will not trust a frivolous soul with such a weighty secret. Let me try rather to cast off the burden of it myself forget and [Shaking his feathers.] just rejoice in being a rooster! [He struts up and down.] I am beautiful. I am proud. I walk then I stand still. I give a skip or two, I tread a measure. I shock the cart sometimes by my boldness with the fair, so that it raises scandalised shafts in horror to the sky! Hang care! A barleycorn Eat and be merry. The gear upon my head and under my eye is a far more gorgeous red, when I puff out my chest and strut, than any robin’s waistcoat or finch’s tie. A fine day. All is well. I curvet I blow my horn. Conscious of having done my duty, I may quite properly assume the swagger of a musketeer, and the calm commanding bearing of a cardinal. I can

A VOICE
[Loud and gruff.] Beware, Chantecler!

CHANTECLER
What silly beast is bidding me beware?

THE SAME, PATOU.

PATOU
[Barking inside his kennel.] I! I! I!

CHANTECLER [Retreating.] Is it you, Patou, good shaggy head starting out of the dark, with straws caught among your eyelashes?

PATOU
Which do not prevent my seeing what is plain as that hen-house rrrroof!

CHANTECLER
Cross?

PATOU
Grrrrrrr

CHANTECLER
When he rolls his r’s like that he is very cross indeed.

PATOU It’s my devotion to you, Cock, makes me roll my r’s. Guardian of the house, the orchard and the fields, more than all else I am bound to protect your song. And I growl at the dangers I suspect lurking. Such is my humour.

CHANTECLER
Your humour? Your dogma, suspicion is! Call it your dogma!

PATOU
You can stoop to a pun? From bad to worse! I’m enough of a psychologist
to feel the evil spreading, and I’ve the scent of a rat-terrier.

CHANTECLER
But you are no rat-terrier!

PATOU
[Shaking his head.] Chantecler, how do we know?

CHANTECLER [Considering him.] Your appearance is in fact peculiar What actually is your breed?

PATOU I am a horrible mixture, issue of every passer-by! I can feel barking within me the voice of every blood. Retriever, mastiff, pointer, poodle, hound my soul is a whole pack, sitting in circle, musing. Cock, I am all dogs, I have been every dog!

CHANTECLER
Then what a sum of goodness must be stored in you!

PATOU Brother, we are framed to understand each other. You sing to the sun and scratch up the earth. I, when I wish to do myself a good and a pleasure

CHANTECLER
You lie on the earth and sleep in the sun!

PATOU
[With a pleased yap.] Aye!

CHANTECLER
We have ever had in common our love for those two things.

PATOU
I am so fond of the sun that I howl at the moon. And so fond of the
earth that I dig great holes and shove my nose in it!

CHANTECLER
I know! The gardener’s wife has her opinion of those holes. But what
are the dangers you discern? All lies quiet beneath the quiet sky.
Nothing appears to be threatening my humble sunlit dominions.

THE OLD HEN [Lifting the basket-lid with her head.] The egg looks like marble until it gets smashed! [The lid drops.]

CHANTECLER
[To PATOU.] What dangers, friend?

PATOU
There are two. First, in yonder cage

CHANTECLER
Well?

PATOU
That satirical whistling.

CHANTECLER
What about it?

PATOU
Pernicious.

CHANTECLER
In what way?

PATOU
In every way!

CHANTECLER [Ironical.] Bad as all that, is it? [The PEACOCK’S squall is heard in the distance: “Ee yong!"]

PATOU
And then that cry, the Peacock’s!

[The PEACOCK, further off: “Ee yong!"]

PATOU
More out of tune all by itself than a whole village singing society!

CHANTECLER
Come, what have they done to you, that whistler and that posturer?

PATOU [Grumbling.] They have done to me that I know not what they may do to you! They have done to me that among us simple, kindly folk they have introduced new fashions, the Blackbird of being funny, the Peacock of putting on airs! Fashions which the latter in his grotesque bad taste picked up parading on the marble terraces of the vulgar rich, and the former Heaven knows where! along with his cynicism and his slang. Now the one, travelling salesman of blighting corrosive laughter, and the other, brainless ambassador of Fashion, their mission to kill among us love and labour, the first by persiflage, the second by display, they have brought to us, even here in our peaceful sunny corner, the two pests, the saddest in the world, the jest which insists on being funny at any cost, and the cry which insists on being the latest scream! [The BLACKBIRD is heard tentatively whistling, “How sweet to fare afield".] You, Cock, who had the sense to prefer the grain of true wheat to the pearl, how can you allow yourself to be taken in by that villainous Blackbird! A bird who practises a tune!

CHANTECLER
[Indulgently.] Come, he whistles his tune like many another!

PATOU [Unwillingly agreeing, in a drawling growl.] Ye-e-es, but he never whistles it to the end!

CHANTECLER
[Watching the BLACKBIRD hopping about.] A light-hearted fellow!

PATOU [Same business.] Ye-e-es, but he lies heavy on our hearts. A bird who takes his exercise indoors!

CHANTECLER
You must own he is intelligent!

PATOU [In a longer, more hesitant growl.] Ye-e-e-es! But not so very! For his eye never brightens with wonder and admiration. He preserves before the flower of whose stalk he sees more than of its chalice the glance which deflowers, the tone which depreciates!

CHANTECLER
Taste, my dear fellow, he unmistakably has!

PATOU
Ye-e-e-es! But not much taste! To wear black is too easy a way of having
taste! One should have the courage of colours on his wing.

CHANTECLER
You will admit at least that he has an original fancy. No denying that
he is amusing.

PATOU Ye-e-es No! Why is it amusing to adopt a few stock phrases and make them do service at every turn? Why amusing to miscall, exaggerate, and vulgarise?

CHANTECLER
His mind has a diverting, unexpected turn

PATOU Ready but cheap! I cannot think it particularly brilliant to remark, with a knowing wink, at sight of an innocent cow at pasture, “The simple cow knows her way to the hay!” Nor do I regard it as evidence of notable mental gifts to answer the greeting of the inoffensive duck, “The quack shoots off his mouth!” No, the extravagances of that Blackbird, who makes me bristle, no more constitute wit than his slang achieves style!

CHANTECLER
He is not altogether to blame. He wears the modern garb. See him there
in correct evening dress. He looks, in his neat black coat

PATOU
Like a beastly little undertaker who, after burying Faith, hops with
relief and glee!

CHANTECLER
There, there! You make him blacker than he is!

PATOU
I do believe a blackbird is just a misfit crow!

CHANTECLER
His diminutive size, however

PATOU [Vigorously shaking his ears.] Oh, be not deceived by his size! Evil makes his models first on a tiny scale. The soul of a cutlass dwells in the pocket-knife; blackbird and crow are of the selfsame crape, and the striped wasp is a tiger in miniature!

CHANTECLER [Amused at PATOU’S violence.] The blackbird in short is wicked, stupid, ugly

PATOU
The chief thing about the Blackbird is that you can’t tell what he is!
Is there thought in that head? feeling in that breast? Hear him!
“Tew-tew-tew-tew tew

CHANTECLER
But what harm does he do?

PATOU He tew-tew-tews! And nothing is so mortal to thought and sentiment as that same derisive tew-tewing, disingenuous and non-committal! Day by day, and that is why I roll my rs, I must witness this debasing of language and ideals. It’s enough to produce rabies!

CHANTECLER
Come, Patou!

PATOU In their objectionable jargon, they have the ha-ha on all of us! I am no fastidious King Charles, but I dislike, I tell you, being referred to as His Whiskers! Oh, to be gone, escape, follow the heels of some poor shepherd without a crust in his wallet, but at least, at evening drinking from the glassy pond, to have oh, better than all marrow-bones! the fresh illusion of lapping up the stars!

CHANTECLER [Surprised at PATOU’S having lowered his voice to utter the last words.] Why do you drop your voice?

PATOU You see? If we speak of stars nowadays we must do it in a whisper! [He lays his head on his paws in deep dejection.]

CHANTECLER
[Comforting him.] Be not downcast!

PATOU [Lifting his head again.] No, it is too silly and too weak! I’ll shout it if I please! [He howls with the whole power of his lungs.] Stars! [Then in a tone of relief.] There, I feel better!

CHICKENS [Passing at the back, mocking.] Stars! Ho! Stars for ours! Stars! [They go off, fooling and giggling.]

PATOU
Hear them! Our pullets will be whistling soon like blackbirds!

CHANTECLER [Proudly strutting up and down.] What care I? I sing, and have on my side the Hens.

PATOU Trust not to the hearts of Hens or of crowds. You are too willing to take the price of your singing in lip-service.

CHANTECLER
But love love is glory awarded in kisses!

PATOU Ah! I, too, was young once, I had my wilding devil’s beauty, an inflammatory eye, an inflammable heart. Well, I was deceived. For a handsomer dog? No, they deceived me for a miserable cur! [Roaring in sudden wrath.] For whom? For whom, do you suppose?

CHANTECLER
[Retreating.] You alarm me!

PATOU
For a low-down dachshund who trod on his own ears!

THE BLACKBIRD [Who has overheard PATOU’S last words, sticking his head between the bars of his cage.] Still harping on the dachshund, is he? What’s the odds, old chappie? You were the goat! How does being the goat matter?

PATOU
But you up there, scoffing at everything, who are you, may one ask?

BLACKBIRD
I’m the pet of the poultry yard!

PATOU
Bad luck is what you’ll bring them!

BLACKBIRD
A prophecy-sharp? Say, wisteria, we are twisted up with laughter! [He
comes out of his cage and hops to the ground.]

PATOU
[As he approaches] Grrrrrrr

CHANTECLER
Hush! He’s a friend!

PATOU
A false one.

CHANTECLER
[To BLACKBIRD.] Fine things we learn when the talk is of you!

THE OLD HEN [Her head protruding from the basket.] Strike rotten wood, and see the wood-lice scatter! [The basket-lid drops.]

PATOU
[To CHANTECLER.] He laughs at you behind your back!

BLACKBIRD
[To PATOU.] Ha, retriever, you retrieve?

PATOU When you pour forth your heart in your ardent cry, giving it over and over, he calls it the same old saw that your jag-toothed red crest stands for!

CHANTECLER
So that’s what you say?

BLACKBIRD
[Affecting simplicity.] You surely don’t mind? How can it affect you?
And a joke about you is always so sure of success!

PATOU
[To the BLACKBIRD.] Point-blank, do you admire or despise the Cock?

BLACKBIRD
I make fun of him in spots, but admire him in lump!

PATOU
You always peck two kinds of seed.

THE BLACKBIRD
My cage has two seed-cups, you see.

PATOU
I am single-minded and downright!

THE BLACKBIRD
You are an old poodle of the year 48! I am an up-to-date bird!

PATOU [Gruffly.] Out of my way! lest I give your black coat red tails! [The BLACKBIRD nimbly gets out of the way, PATOU goes into his kennel grumbling.] I’ll show him some up-to-date jaws!

CHANTECLER
Be quiet! It’s his way. The truth is that if once he stood in the
presence of beauty, this very Blackbird would applaud!

PATOU Not with both wings! What can you expect of a bird who, with woodbine and juniper full in sight, prefers to go inside and peck at a musty biscuit?

BLACKBIRD
He never seems to suspect that the poacher is a blackguardly sort of
brute!

PATOU
What I know is that the underbrush is all a delicate golden gloom

THE BLACKBIRD
Yes, but leaden shot can cleave your delicate gold. The quail is such a
canny bird, that he lies low lest he make his last appearance on toast.
And so, in lack of quail

PATOU
Does the great stag delight any the less in his green forest for turning
over among the grass at evening some bit of a rusty cartridge?

THE BLACKBIRD
No, old chap but the stag, you see, is just another kind of a hat-rack!

PATOU
Oh, but freedom, freedom, with violets looking on! Love!

THE BLACKBIRD Antediluvian pastimes! not nearly such good fun as my nice new wooden trapeze. Oh, my cage, let us sign a joyful three-six-nine years’ lease! I live like a Duke, I have filtered drinking-water [At PATOU’S significant start and growl, he springs aside, finishing.] You can sling mud upon me, I have a porcelain bath!

CHANTECLER [Slightly out of patience.] Why not make a practice of talking simply and to the point?

THE BLACKBIRD
I like to make you sit up, and watch you blinking.

PATOU
Grrrrr in the plain interest of public decency, I say it behooves us

THE BLACKBIRD
Don’t say behooves, say it’s up to you, old chap!

CHANTECLER
What’s all this juggling with words?

THE BLACKBIRD
The thing, Chantecler, quite the thing! I knew a city sparrow once, and
it’s the way they talk in fashionable circles.

CHANTECLER
I was well acquainted with a little red-breast, who lived beneath a city
poet’s eaves; he did not talk like you.

THE BLACKBIRD
I belong to my time. Every chap that’s a bit of a swell nowadays must be
a bit of a tough. It’s smart, you know.

PATOU
I froth at the mouth! Smart, there’s the Peacock’s password!

CHANTECLER
Oh, the Peacock, by the way, what is he doing these days?

THE BLACKBIRD
Ogling with his tail-feathers!

PATOU
Baneful his example has been to many an humble heart.

CHANTECLER
What signs do you see of his influence?

PATOU
A thousand nothings.

THE OLD HEN [Appearing.] Bubbles floating down the stream tell of laundresses up stream! [The lid drops.]

CHANTECLER
I am sure I have not seen the smallest bubble from which

PATOU
[Indicating a GUINEA-PIG, who is passing.] See there, that
Guinea-pig

CHANTECLER
[Considering him.] What about him? He is just a yellow Guinea-pig!

GUINEA-PIG
[Snippily correcting.] Khaki, if you please!

CHANTECLER
[To PATOU.] Kha ?

PATOU
A bubble! And yonder waddling duck

CHANTECLER
[Looking at him.] He is going to take his bath

THE DUCK
[Drily.] My tub!

CHANTECLER
His ?

PATOU
A bubble!

[A long grating noise is heard within the house Crrrrrrr, then.]

THE CLOCK
Cuckoo!

THE GREY HEN [Leaving her hiding-place and running towards the cat-hole.] His voice! Now through the kitty’s little door I finally shall see him! [She thrusts her head into the hole. The CUCKOO’S call is not repeated.] Oh, deary, deary me! I am too late! [Calling.] Bis! Encore!

CHANTECLER
[Turning around at the noise.] Eh?

THE GREY HEN
[Desperately, with her head in the cat-hole.] He has stopped!

THE BLACKBIRD
It was the half-hour.

CHANTECLER [Close behind the GREY HEN, abruptly.] How does it happen, my love, that we are not in the fields?

THE GREY HEN
[Turning, scared.] Goodness gracious!

CHANTECLER
What are we doing, my love, in the cat-hole?

THE GREY HEN
[Upset.] I was just taking a peep

CHANTECLER
To see whom?

THE GREY HEN
[More and more upset.] Oh !

CHANTECLER
[Dramatically.] Who is it?

THE GREY HEN
Oh

CHANTECLER
Confess!

THE GREY HEN
[In the voice of a woman caught in guilt.] The Cuckoo!

CHANTECLER
[Amazed.] You love him? But wherefore?

THE GREY HEN
[Drops her eyes, then with emotion.] He is Swiss!

PATOU
A bubble!

THE GREY HEN
He is a thinker. He takes his airing

CHANTECLER
She loves a clock!

THE GREY HEN
always takes his airing at the same hour, like Kant.

CHANTECLER
Like what?

THE GREY HEN
Like Kant.

CHANTECLER
Did one ever ! Out of my sight!

THE BLACKBIRD
Trot, Kant you?

[THE GREY HEN hurries off.]

CHANTECLER
Here’s a pretty Wherever did she learn that Kant ?

PATOU
At the Guinea-hen’s.

CHANTECLER
That foolish old party of the crazy cries and the white-plastered beak?

PATOU
She has taken a day.

CHANTECLER
A day off, do you mean?

PATOU
No, a day at home.

CHANTECLER
A day at Where does she receive?

THE BLACKBIRD
In a corner of the kitchen-garden.

PATOU
Under the auspices of that strawman with the unsavoury old top-hat.

CHANTECLER
The scarecrow?

THE BLACKBIRD
Yes, his being there makes the affair select.

CHANTECLER
[Bewildered.] How is that?

THE BLACKBIRD
Don’t you see? He scares off all the puny fowl . Poor relations are not
wanted at a function.

CHANTECLER
So the Guinea-hen has a day!

PATOU
[Phlegmatically.] A bubble!

CHANTECLER
A balloon!

THE BLACKBIRD
[Imitating the GUINEA-HEN.] Mondays, my dear

CHANTECLER
And what do they do at that feather-brain’s parties?

PATOU
Cluck and cackle. The Turkey-cock airs his social gifts, the Chick gets
into society.

BLACKBIRD
[Imitating the GUINEA-HEN.] From five to six

CHANTECLER
Evening?

PATOU
No, morning.

CHANTECLER
What ?

THE BLACKBIRD You see, she must take advantage of the time when the garden is deserted, and yet have it a five-o’clock tea. So she chose the hour when the old gardener is at his early potations.

CHANTECLER
What nonsense!

THE BLACKBIRD
Quite so.

PATOU
You needn’t talk. You go to her teas.

CHANTECLER
He goes ?

THE BLACKBIRD
Yes, I am one of their ornaments.

PATOU
And I am not so sure but that some day

CHANTECLER
What are you mumbling to your brass-studded collar?

PATOU
some Hen may get you too to go!

CHANTECLER
Me?

PATOU
You!

CHANTECLER
Me?

PATOU
Led by the end of your beak.

CHANTECLER
[In high wrath.] Me?

PATOU
For when a new Hen heaves in sight, you can’t help yourself, you
know you lose your balance-wheel

THE BLACKBIRD
You slowly circumambulate the fair one [He imitates the COCK walking
around a HEN.] “Yes, it’s me. Here I am!” And you say, “Coa

CHANTECLER
I never knew a more idiotic bird!

THE BLACKBIRD [Continuing to mimic him.] You let your wing hang, sentimentally your foot performs a sort of stately jig [A shot is heard.] Ha! I don’t like that!

PATOU [Starts up quivering, and scents the air.] Poaching Julius is at his tricks again!

THE BLACKBIRD
Dog, it seems to stimulate you agreeably!

PATOU [With ears up-pricked and shining eyes.] Yes! [Suddenly, as if controlling himself, passionately.] No !

THE BLACKBIRD
What affects you so?

PATOU
Oh, horrible, horrible! A poor little partridge perhaps

THE BLACKBIRD
Is that streaming eye, my friend, a result of age or rheumatism?

PATOU Neither! But I have within me several dogs, and there is conflict amidst me. My hunter’s nostril twitches at a shot, but, directly, my house-dog’s memory raises before me a bleeding wing, the glazing eye of a doe, the pathos of a rabbit’s dying look and I feel the heart of a Saint Bernard waking in my breast! [Another shot.]

CHANTECLER
Again?

THE SAME, A GOLDEN PHEASANT, later BRIFFAUT.

A GOLDEN PHEASANT [Flying suddenly over the wall, and dropping in the yard, mad with fright.] Hide me!

CHANTECLER
Heavens!

PATOU
A golden pheasant!

GOLDEN PHEASANT
Is this great Chantecler?

THE BLACKBIRD
All over the shop, we’re famous!

GOLDEN PHEASANT
[Running hither and thither.] Save me, if you are he!

CHANTECLER
I am! Rely on me!

[Another shot.]

GOLDEN PHEASANT
[Jumping and casting himself on CHANTECLER.] Merciful powers!

CHANTECLER
But what a nervous bird it is a golden pheasant!

GOLDEN PHEASANT
I have no breath left! I ran too hard!-[Faints.]

THE BLACKBIRD
Puff! Out goes his light!

CHANTECLER [Upholding the PHEASANT with one wing.] How beautiful he is, with drooping neck and softly ruffled throat-feathers! [He runs to the drinking-trough.] Water! One almost hesitates to dim such beauty with a wetting [He splashes him vigorously with his other wing.]

THE GOLDEN PHEASANT
[Coming to.] I am pursued! Oh, hide me!

THE BLACKBIRD
“And the villain still ” Here’s melodrama!

[To the PHEASANT.] How the dickens did he manage to miss you?

THE PHEASANT Surprise! The huntsman was looking for a little grey lark. Seeing me rise, he cried, “Thunder!” He saw but a flash of gold, and I a flash of fire. But the dog is chasing me, a horrible dog [Seeing PATOU he quickly adds.] I am speaking of a hunting-dog! [To CHANTECLER.] Hide me!

CHANTECLER The trouble is he is so conspicuous. That increases our dilemma. Where can he lie concealed? Gentle sir, my lord, most noble stranger, where might we hope to hide the rainbow, supposing it in danger?

PATOU There by the bench with the beehives stands my green cottage, very much at your service. Go in, I pray! [The GOLDEN PHEASANT goes in, but his long tail projects.] There is too much of this golden vanity! The tip is still in sight. I shall have to sit on it.

[BRIFFAUT appears above the wall. Long hanging ears and quivering chops.]

PATOU
[To BRIFFAUT, affecting unconcern.] Good afternoon!

BRIFFAUT
[Snuffing.] Humph, what a good smell!

PATOU
[Pointing to his bowl.] My poor dinner! Soup with seasonable vegetables.

BRIFFAUT
[Hurriedly.] Have you seen a pheasant-hen go by?

PATOU
[In astonishment, reflecting.] A pheasant-hen, ?

CHANTECLER
[Walking about, with an assumption of gaiety.] Impressive, isn’t he,
Briffaut there? with his look of a thoroughbred old Englishman!

PATOU
No, but I saw a pheasant.

BRIFFAUT
That was she!

PATOU
A pheasant-hen wears dun. This was a golden pheasant He went off towards
the meadow.

BRIFFAUT
It is she!

CHANTECLER
[Going towards him, incredulous.] A pheasant-hen with golden plumage?

BRIFFAUT
Ah, you do not know what sometimes happens?

CHANTECLER and PATOU
No.

THE BLACKBIRD
We are in for a hunting yarn! Give me chloroform!

BRIFFAUT It sometimes happens the thing is exceptional, of course My master knows because he has read about it. It sometimes happens An extraordinary phenomenon to be sure! which is likewise observed among moor-fowl. It happens

PATOU
What happens?

BRIFFAUT
That the pheasant-hen Ah, my dear fellows !

CHANTECLER
[Stamping with impatience.] The pheasant-hen what? what?

BRIFFAUT Makes up her mind one day that the cock-pheasant goes altogether too fine. When the male in springtime puts on his holiday feathers, she sees that he is handsomer than she

THE BLACKBIRD
And it makes her sore!

BRIFFAUT She leaves off laying and hatching eggs. Nature then gives her back her purple and her gold, and the pheasant-hen proud and magnificent Amazon, preferring to put on her back blue, green, yellow, all the colours of the prism, rather than under a sober grey wing to shelter a brood of young pheasants, flies freely forth Light-mindedly she sheds the virtues of her sex, and having done it sees life! [He sketches with his paw a slightly disrespectful gesture.]

CHANTECLER
[Dryly.] Pray, what do you know about it?

BRIFFAUT
[Astonished.] Is he annoyed?

PATOU
[Aside.] Already!

CHANTECLER
In short, the pheasant your master missed

BRIFFAUT
Was a she! [He stops and scents the air.] Oh but!

PATOU
[Quickly, showing his dish.] You know, it’s my dinner you smell!

BRIFFAUT
It smells very unusually good.

CHANTECLER
[Aside.] I don’t like that way his nose has of twitching.

BRIFFAUT
[Starting upon another story.] Fancy such an instance as the following

THE BLACKBIRD
Holy Smoke! Here comes another! Oh, I say, hire a hall!

[A distant whistle is heard.]

CHANTECLER
[Quickly.] You are whistled for!

BRIFFAUT
The deuce! Good evening! [Disappears.]

PATOU
Good evening.

CHANTECLER
Gone, at last!

BLACKBIRD
[Calling.] Briffaut!

CHANTECLER
Great Glory, what are you doing?

THE BLACKBIRD
[Calling.] I have something to tell you!

BRIFFAUT
[His head reappears above the wall.] Well ?

THE BLACKBIRD
Look out, Briffaut!

CHANTECLER
[Low to the BLACKBIRD.] Do you make sport of our fears?

THE BLACKBIRD
You are losing something!

BRIFFAUT
What?

THE BLACKBIRD
Time!

BRIFFAUT
[Disappearing with a snort of fury.] Wow!

CHANTECLER, THE BLACKBIRD, PATOU, THE PHEASANT-HEN

CHANTECLER [After a moment, to the BLACKBIRD who from his cage, which he has returned, can see off over the wall.] Is he gone?

THE BLACKBIRD
He is nearly out of sight!

CHANTECLER
[Going toward PATOU’S kennel.] Madam, come forth!

THE PHEASANT-HEN [Appearing at the threshold of the kennel.] Well? A rebellious, self-freed slave I am even as that dog was saying! But of great lineage, and proud as I am free A pheasant of the woods!

THE BLACKBIRD
Whew! We hate ourself, don’t we!

THE PHEASANT-HEN
In the forest where I live there comes a-poaching

CHANTECLER
That madman who would have given to vile lead a jewel for setting!

THE PHEASANT-HEN Beneath foliage not so thick but a sunbeam may glide in! I make my home. I am descended, however, from elsewhere. From whence? From Persia? China? None can tell! But of one thing we may be certain: that I was meant to shimmer in the blue among the fragrant gum-trees of the East, and not to be chased through brambles by a hound! Am I the ancient Phoenix? or the sacred Chinese hen? Whence was I brought to this land? And how brought? And by whom? History is not explicit on the point, and leaves us a splendid choice. Wherefore I choose to have been born in Colchis, from whence I came on Jason’s fist. I am all gold. Perhaps I was the Fleece!

PATOU
You?

THE PHEASANT-HEN
The Pheasant!

PATOU
[Politely correcting her.] Pheasant-hen.

THE PHEASANT-HEN I refer to my race, for which I stand, by token of my crimson shield. Yes, my ancient fate of being a dead leaf beside a ruby, having appeared to me one day too distinctly dull a lot, I stole his dazzling plumage from the male. A good thing, too, for it becomes me so much better! The golden tippet, as I wear it, curves and shimmers. The emerald epaulette acquires a dainty grace. I have made of a mere uniform a miracle of style!

CHANTECLER
She is distractingly lovely, so much is certain!

PATOU
He is never going to fall in love with a woman dressed as a man!

THE BLACKBIRD
[Who has again hopped down from his cage.] I must go and tell the
Guinea-hen that a golden bird has blown into town. She’ll have a fit!
She will invite her! [Off.]

CHANTECLER
So you come to us from the East, like the Dawn?

THE PHEASANT-HEN
My life has the picturesque disorder of a poem. If I came from the East,
it was by way of Egypt.

PATOU
[Aside, heart-broken.] A gypsy, on top of the rest!

THE PHEASANT-HEN [To CHANTECLER, tossing and twisting her head so that the colours ripple at her throat.] Have you noticed these two shades? They are our own especial colours the Dawns and mine! Princess of the underbrush, queen of the glade, I am pleased to wear the yellow locks of an adventuress. Dreamy and homesick for my unknown home, I choose my palaces among the rustling flags and withered irises that fringe the pool. I dote upon the forest, and when it smells in autumn of dead leaves and decaying wood

PATOU
[In consternation.] She is mad!

THE PHEASANT-HEN
Wild as a tree-bough in a southerly gale, I tremble, flutter, spend
myself in motion, till a vast languor overtakes me

CHANTECLER [Who for a minute or so has been letting his wing hang, now begins slowly circling about the PHEASANT-HEN, in the manner of the BLACKBIRD aping him, with a very gentle, throaty.] Coa [The PHEASANT-HEN looks at him. Believing himself encouraged, he takes up again louder, while circling about her.] Coa

THE PHEASANT-HEN
My dear sir, I prefer to tell you at once that if it is for my benefit
you are doing that

CHANTECLER
[Stopping short.] What?

THE PHEASANT-HEN
The eye the peculiar gait the drooping wing the “Coa

CHANTECLER
But I

THE PHEASANT-HEN
You do it all very nicely, I admit; only, it has not the very slightest
effect upon me!

CHANTECLER
[Slightly abashed.] Madam

THE PHEASANT-HEN Oh, I understand, of course. We are the illustrious Cock! Not a Hen in the world but preens her feathers in the hope the very touching hope, certainly of offering us a moments distraction, some day, between two songs. We are so sure of ourself that we never hesitate, not even when the lady is a visitor, and not quite the ordinary short-kirtled Hen whom one can engage without further ceremony by such advances

CHANTECLER
But

THE PHEASANT-HEN
I do not bestow my affections quite so lightly. For my taste, anyhow,
you are altogether too frankly Cock of the Walk!

CHANTECLER
Too ?

THE PHEASANT-HEN
Spoiled! The only Cock to my fancy would be a plain inglorious Cock to
whom I should be all in all.

CHANTECLER
But

THE PHEASANT-HEN
Love a celebrated Cock? I am not such a very woman!

CHANTECLER
But well still We might, however, Madam, take a little stroll together!

THE PHEASANT-HEN
Yes, like two friends.

CHANTECLER
Two friends.

THE PHEASANT-HEN
Two chickens.

CHANTECLER
Very old!

THE PHEASANT-HEN
[Quickly.] No, no not old! Very ugly!

CHANTECLER [Quicker still.] Oh, no, not ugly! [Coming nearer to her.] Will you take a turn in the yard? Accept my wing!

THE PHEASANT-HEN
You shall show me the sights.

CHANTECLER [Stopping before the CHICKENS’ drinking-trough.]This, of course, is hideous. It is a model drinking-trough on the siphon principle, made of galvanised iron. But everything excepting that is charming, noble, time and weather worn, from the hen-house roof to the stable door

THE BLACKBIRD
[Returning.] The Guinea-hen is having a fit!

THE PHEASANT-HEN [To CHANTECLER, looking about her.] And so you live here untroubled, and have nothing to fear?

CHANTECLER Nothing whatever. Because the owner is a vegetarian An amazing man, a lover of animals. He calls them by names borrowed from the poets. The donkey there is Midas; the heifer, Io.

THE BLACKBIRD
The showman’s on the job!

THE PHEASANT-HEN
[Indicating the BLACKBIRD.] And that?

CHANTECLER
Our humorist.

THE PHEASANT-HEN
What does he do?

CHANTECLER
Oh, he keeps busy!

THE PHEASANT-HEN
Doing what?

CHANTECLER
Trying never to appear a fool, and that’s hard work.

THE PHEASANT-HEN
Possibly but most unattractive! [They move towards the back.]

THE BLACKBIRD [With a glance at the PHEASANT-HEN’S scarlet breast.] Size up the highfalutin’ dame! Get on to the waistcoat will you?

CHANTECLER [Continuing the round.] The hay-cock. The old wall. The wall, when I sing, is alive with lizards, the hay-cock bends to listen. I sing on the spot where you see the earth scratched up, and when I have sung, I drink in the bowl over there.

PHEASANT-HEN
Your song then is a matter of importance?

CHANTECLER
[Seriously.] The greatest.

THE PHEASANT-HEN
Why?

CHANTECLER
That is my secret.

THE PHEASANT-HEN
If I should ask you to tell me?

CHANTECLER [Turning the conversation, and showing a pile of brushwood tied in bundles.] My friends, the fagots.

THE PHEASANT-HEN
Stolen from my forest! So what they say is true? you have a secret?

CHANTECLER
[Dryly.] Yes, Madam.

THE PHEASANT-HEN
I suppose it would be useless to insist

CHANTECLER [Climbing on the wall at the back.] And from here you can see the remainder of the estate, to the edge of the kitchen-garden, where they ply at evening a serpent ending like a sprinkling can.

THE PHEASANT-HEN
What? This is all?

CHANTECLER
This is all.

THE PHEASANT-HEN
And do you imagine the world ends at your vegetable-patch?

CHANTECLER
No.

THE PHEASANT-HEN
Do you never, as you watch, far overhead, the wedge of the south-flying
birds, dream of vaster horizons?

CHANTECLER
No.

PHEASANT-HEN
But all these things about you are dreary and poor and flat!

CHANTECLER
And I can never become used to the richness and wonder of these things!

THE PHEASANT-HEN
It is always the same, you must agree!

CHANTECLER
Nothing is ever the same, nothing, ever, under the sun! And that
because of the sun! For She changes everything!

THE PHEASANT-HEN
She Who?

CHANTECLER Light, the universal goddess! That geranium planted by the farmer’s wife is never twice the same red! And that old wooden shoe, spurting straw, what a sight, what a beautiful sight! And the wooden comb hanging among the farmer’s smocks, with the green hair of the sward caught in its teeth! The pitchfork, stood in the corner, like a misbehaving child, dozing as he stands and dreaming of the hay-fields! And the bowl and skittles there, the trim-waisted skittles, shapely maids, whose orderly quadrilles Patou in his gambols clumsily upsets! The great worm-eaten bowl whose curved expanse some ant is always crossing, travelling with no less pride than famed explorers, around her ball in 80 seconds! Nothing, I tell you, is two instants quite the same! And I, sweet lady, have been so susceptible ever, that a garden-rake in a corner, a flower in a pot, cast me long since into a helpless ecstasy, and that from gazing at a morning-glory I fell into the startled admiration which has made my eye so round!

THE PHEASANT-HEN [Thoughtfully.] One feels that you have a soul. A soul then may find wherewithal to grow, so far from life and its drama, shut in by a farmyard wall with a cat asleep on it?

CHANTECLER With power to see, capacity to suffer, one may come Ito understand all things. In an insect’s death are hinted all disasters. Through a knot-hole can be seen the sky and marching stars!

THE OLD HEN
[Appearing.] None knows the heavens like the water in the well!

CHANTECLER [Presenting her to the PHEASANT-HEN_ before the basket-lid drops._] My foster-mother!

THE PHEASANT-HEN
[Politely approaching.] Delighted!

THE OLD HEN
[Slyly winking at her.] He’s a fine Cock!

THE PHEASANT-HEN
He is a Cock, moreover, for whom that fact is not the only thing in the
world!

CHANTECLER [Who has gone toward PATOU.] There, my dear boy, is a Hen with whom one can have a bit of solid conversation.

THE SAME, the GUINEA-HEN, and the whole POULTRY-YARD

Cries outside, nearer and nearer, “Ah! Enter all the HENS in tumult, preceded by the agitated GUINEA-HEN.

THE BLACKBIRD
[In his cage.] The next course will be Guinea-hen!

THE GUINEA-HEN [Running to the PHEASANT-HEN.] Ah, my dear, my dear, my dear! A beauty, a very beauty! We have come to make your acquaintance, my dear!

[General admiration, “Ah! The PHEASANT-HEN is surrounded. Conversation, cries, clucking.]

CHANTECLER [Watching the PHEASANT-HEN, aside.] How well she walks, with free and graceful gait! [He looks at the HENS.] So differently from my Hens! [Irritably, to the HENS.] Ladies, you walk as if you had blisters! You walk as if you trod on your own eggs!

PATOU
No mistaking the symptoms! He is very much in love.

THE GUINEA-HEN
[Presenting her son to the PHEASANT-HEN.] The Guinea-cock, my son.

THE YOUNG GUINEA-COCK
[Looking admiringly at the PHEASANT-HEN.] What a jolly shade of blond!

A HEN
[Disparagingly.] Like butter!

CHANTECLER
[Turning, dryly to the HENS.] It is time you went indoors.

THE PHEASANT-HEN
[Amiably.] So soon?

CHANTECLER
They retire early.

A HEN
[A little mortified.] Yes, we must turn in.

THE PHEASANT-HEN
They go in by a ladder!

THE GUINEA-HEN
[To the PHEASANT-HEN.] Let us be great friends, my dear, shall we?

CHANTECLER [Looking at the PHEASANT-HEN, aside.] Her sumptuous court-dress sets her apart from the rest, and removes her far above. My Hens are dowdies!

THE PHEASANT-HEN [To the GUINEA-HEN, excusing herself.] I return to my forest home to-night.

THE GUINEA-HEN
[In excessive grief.] So soon ? [A shot in the distance.]

PATOU
They are still after game.

THE GUINEA-HEN
You must stay.

CHANTECLER
[Eagerly.] That’s it! Let us keep her a prisoner among us till to-morrow.

PHEASANT-HEN
But where can I spend the night?

PATOU
[Indicating his kennel.] There, in my bachelor’s quarters.

PHEASANT-HEN
I? Sleep beneath a roof?

PATOU
[Insisting.] Go in, I pray.

THE PHEASANT-HEN
But you? What shall you do?

PATOU
I shall do very well!

THE PHEASANT-HEN
[Resigning herself.] I will stay then until to-morrow.

THE GUINEA-HEN
[With piercing cries.] Ah! Ah! But to-morrow, my dear! to-morrow

ALL
[In alarm.] What is it?

THE YOUNG GUINEA-COCK
To-morrow is my mother’s day!

THE GUINEA-HEN [Impetuously.] My dear, would you care to come to-morrow quite informally, and take a simple snail with us? The Peacock

CHANTECLER [Mounting the ladder, from whence he can inspect the scene.] Quiet, if you please! Evening has blown its smoke across the sky [In a tone of command.] Is every one in his accustomed place?

THE GUINEA-HEN [Lower, to the PHEASANT-HEN.] The Peacock is coming. We shall hold our little gathering among the currant-bushes.

CHANTECLER
Are the turkeys on their roost?

THE GUINEA-HEN
[Same business.] From five to six.

CHANTECLER
Are the ducks in their pointed house?

THE GUINEA-HEN
[Same business.] The Tortoise has kindly said we may expect her.

PHEASANT-HEN
Indeed?

CHANTECLER [On the last rung of the ladder.] Is every one under cover? Every chick under a wing?

THE GUINEA-HEN
[Still insisting with the PHEASANT-HEN that she come on the morrow.]
The Tufted Hen has promised to bring the Cock. [To CHANTECLER.]
Charmed, I am sure.

CHANTECLER
But

THE TUFTED HEN
[Looking out of the hen-house.] You will come, won’t you, dear?

CHANTECLER
No.

THE PHEASANT-HEN
[At the foot of the ladder, looking up at him.] Oh, but you will?

CHANTECLER
Why?

THE PHEASANT-HEN
Because you said “No!” to the other!

CHANTECLER
[Wavering.] Ah!

PATOU
Humph! I beseech you

CHANTECLER
[Still wavering.] I

PATOU
Humph! He is weakening. They will make him pay dear if he yields!

THE OLD HEN [Appearing.] Make a reed into a pipe and play a tune upon it! [The basket-lid drops.]

[Night is thickening.]

CHANTECLER
[Still hesitating.] I

A VOICE
Let us go to sleep

THE TURKEY
[On his roost, solemnly.] Quandoque dormitat

THE BLACKBIRD
[In his cage.] Dormittimus!

CHANTECLER
[Very firmly to the PHEASANT-HEN.] I will not go. Good night.

THE PHEASANT-HEN [Slightly offended.] Good night! [With a curt hop she enters the dog-kennel.]

PATOU [Falling asleep, stretched in front of his kennel.] Let us sleep until the sky grows pink pink as as a puppys tummy

THE GUINEA-HEN
[Dropping off.] From five to six

THE BLACKBIRD
[Likewise dropping off.] Tew tew [He nods.] tew

CHANTECLER [Still at the top of the ladder.] All sleeps. [He spies a CHICK stealing out.] Is that a chick I see? [Springing after him and driving him in.] Let me catch you! [In driving back the CHICK, he finds himself near the kennel. He calls very softly.] Pheasant-hen!

THE PHEASANT-HEN
[Lost among the straw, sleepily.] What do you want?

CHANTECLER [After a moment’s hesitation.] Nothing. Nothing! [He goes back to the top of his ladder.]

THE PHEASANT-HEN
Shall I be able to sleep, I wonder

PATOU
[Falling sound asleep.] A puppys tum

THE PHEASANT-HEN [Indistinctly, overcome by slumber.] To sleep under a roof? I, with my gypsy tastes?

CHANTECLER
I am going in. [He disappears in the hen-house. He is heard saying in a
dreamy voice.] It is time to shut my my

THE PHEASANT-HEN [In a last effort.] gyp sy tastes. [Her head nods and disappears among the straw.]

CHANTECLER [His voice, sleepier and fainter.] to shut my eyes [Silence. He sleeps. Two green eyes are seen suddenly kindling at the top of the wall.]

THE CAT And to open mine! [Immediately two more yellow eyes shine forth from the darkness above the hay-cock.]

A VOICE
And mine! [Two more yellow eyes on the wall.]

ANOTHER VOICE
And mine! [Two more yellow eyes.]

ANOTHER VOICE
And mine!

The POULTRY-YARD asleep. The CAT awake. Three SCREECH-OWLS, later the MOLE and the VOICE of the CUCKOO.

FIRST VOICE
Two green eyes?

THE CAT [Sitting up on the wall, and looking at the other phosphorescent eyes.] Six golden eyes?

FIRST VOICE
On the wall?

THE CAT
On the rick? [He calls.] Owls!

THE OWLS
Cat!

THE BLACKBIRD
[Waking up.] What’s this?

THE SCREECH-OWL
[To the CAT.] Great plot against him!

THE CAT
To-night?

THE THREE OWLS
To-night, too-whit!

THE CAT
Pfitt! Where?

THE OWLS
The hollies, too-whoo!

THE CAT
What o’clock?

THE OWLS
Eight, too-whit! too-whoo!

FIRST OWL
Bats weaving soft black snares of flight

THE CAT
Are they with us?

THE THREE OWLS
They are!

FIRST OWL
Mole, burrowing from nether to upper night

THE CAT
Is she with us?

THE THREE OWLS
She is!

THE CAT [Talking toward the house-door.] You, strike your eight strokes bravely, Cuckoo of the little clock!

THE SCREECH-OWL
Is he with us?

THE CAT
He is! And I am pleased to tell you, silent night-watchers that some of
the day-birds are likewise with us.

THE TURKEY [Coming forward surrounded by a number of the barnyard constituents, obsequiously.] So it is settled for this evening, dear Round Eyes? You will be there?

THE OWLS
We will be there! All the Round Eyes of the neighbourhood will be there!

THE BLACKBIRD
That’s a show I’d like to see!

PATOU
[In his sleep.] Grrrrrrr

THE CAT [To the startled NIGHT-BIRDS.] The dog is dreaming. He growls in his sleep.

CHANTECLER
[Inside the hen-house.] Coa

THE OWLS
[Frightened.] Himself!

THE TURKEY
Fly!

FIRST OWL No need. The night is dark. We can vanish by merely closing our eyes. [They shut their luminous eyes. Darkness. CHANTECLER appears at the top of the ladder.]

CHANTECLER
[To the BLACKBIRD.] Did you hear anything, Blackbird?

THE BLACKBIRD
I did, indeed, old chap.

THE OWLS
[Frightened.] What’s this?

THE BLACKBIRD
A black conspiracy

CHANTECLER
Ah?

THE BLACKBIRD
[With melodramatic emphasis.] Against you! Tremble!

CHANTECLER
[Going in again, unalarmed.] Joker!

THE OWLS
He has gone in.

THE BLACKBIRD
I have betrayed no one!

AN OWL
The Blackbird then is with us?

THE BLACKBIRD
No but may I come and look on?

AN OWL
A Night-bird never eats a black bird. You can come.

THE BLACKBIRD
The password?

THE OWL
Terror and Talons!

THE PHEASANT-HEN [Putting her head out of the dog-kennel.] I can’t breathe in that stifling, low-roofed little house, and [Catching sight of the NIGHT-BIRDS.] Oh! [She darts aside, behind the kennel, and watches.]

THE OWLS Hush! [They close their eyes. THE CAT does the same. After a time, hearing no further sound, they open them again.] It was nothing. Let us be off.

THE GROUP OF THE DISAFFECTED
[With fawning obsequiousness to the NIGHT-BIRDS.] Success to you,
Owls, success!

THE OWL
Thanks! But how is it that you are with us?

THE CAT
Ah, night brings out what daylight will not own to! I do not like the
Cock because the Dog does. There you have it!

THE TURKEY
I do not like him, for the reason that having known him as a Chick I
cannot admit him as a Cock!

A DUCK
I do not like the Cock because, not being web-footed, he marks his
passage by a track of stars!

A CHICKEN
I do not like the Cock because I’m such a homely bird!

ANOTHER CHICKEN
I do not like the Cock because he has his picture painted in purple on
all the plates!

ANOTHER CHICKEN
I do not like the Cock because on all the steeples he has his statue in
gilt-bronze!

AN OWL
[To a big overgrown CHICKEN.] Well, well! And you, Capon?

THE CAPON
[Dryly.] I do not like the Cock!

THE CUCKOO
[Beginning to strike eight inside the house.] Cuckoo!

FIRST OWL
The hour!

CUCKOO
Cuckoo!

SECOND OWL
Let us go!

THE CUCKOO
Cuckoo!

FIRST OWL
The moon!

THE CUCKOO
Cuckoo!

FIRST OWL
Silently cleave the blue air

THE CUCKOO
Cuckoo!

THE MOLE
[Suddenly pushing up through the ground.] the dark earth!

FIRST OWL
There comes the Mole!

THE CUCKOO
Cuckoo!

FIRST OWL
[To the MOLE.] And you, why do you hate him?

THE MOLE
I hate him because I have never seen him!

THE CUCKOO
Cuckoo!

FIRST OWL
And you, Cuckoo, do you know why you hate him?

THE CUCKOO
[On the last stroke.] Because he does not have to be wound up! Cuckoo!

FIRST OWL
And we do not love

SECOND OWL
[Hurriedly.] We are keeping the others waiting

ALL
the Cock, because [They fly off. Silence.]

THE PHEASANT-HEN
[Coming slowly from behind the kennel.] I am beginning to love him!