THE MORNING OF THE COCK

Wild hillside, moss-grown and ferny, overlooking a valley with scattered villages and winding river. Ruined wall, fragment of some vanished terrace. Gigantic chestnut tree, rank hollies and foxgloves. Litter suggesting neglected corner of a park: gardening implements lying on the ground, fagots, broken flower-pots.

SCENE FIRST

The NIGHT-BIRDS, of all sorts and sizes, form a great circle, perching in tiers on the branches, the briers, the stones; the CAT crouches in the grass; the BLACKBIRD hops hither and thither on a fagot.

At the rise of the curtain the NIGHT-BIRDS are discovered, motionless, black shapes with closed eyes. The GRAND DUKE is perched upon a tree branch above the rest. The SCREECH-OWL’S phosphorescent eyes alone are wide open. He proceeds with the roll-call, and at every name two great round eyes brighten in the dark.

THE SCREECH-OWL [Calling.] Strix! [Two eyes light up.] Scops! [Two more eyes light up.] Grand-Duke! [Two more eyes.] Metascops! [Two more eyes.] Minor! [Two more eyes.]

ONE NIGHT-BIRD
[To the other.] The Great Bubo presides.

THE SCREECH-OWL
[Calling.] Owl of the Wall! Of the Belfry! Of the Cloister! Of the
Yew! [At every name two more eyes have opened wide.]

A NIGHT-BIRD
[To another just arriving.] The roll is called!

THE OTHER
I know. All there is to do is to open our eyes.

THE SCREECH-OWL
Asio! Nictea! Nyctalis! [Three more pairs of eyes have opened.]
Brachyotus! [No eye opening at the name, he repeats.] Brachyotus!

ONE OF THE NIGHT-BIRDS
He will be here directly. He stopped to eat a linnet.

BRACHYOTUS
[Arriving.] Present!

THE SCREECH-OWL
Not one of them would miss, when the meeting relates to the Cock!

BRACHYOTUS
Not one!

THE SCREECH-OWL
Carine! [Two eyes open.] Caparacoch! [No eye opening, he repeats
emphatically.] Ca-pa-ra-coch! Well? Well?

CAPARACOCH [Arriving out of breath, opens his eyes, faltering an excuse. ] I live a long way off!

THE SCREECH-OWL [Dryly.] You should have started the earlier! [Looking around.] We are all present, I believe. [Calling.] Flammeolus! And Flammeoline! [All the eyes are now open.]

THE GRAND-DUKE [Solemnly.] Before beginning, let us give, but not too loud, the cry which makes us all as one!

ALL
Long live the Night!

And in a weird, savage, hurried chorus, interspersed with hoots and flapping of wings, all talking together and rocking themselves in hideous glee.

THE GRAND-DUKE
Praise the Night, discreet, propitious,
When with wadded wing and muted
O’er the sleeping world we fly,
And the partridge in the bracken
Ne’er suspects the hovering presence
Till we pounce without a cry.

THE SCREECH-OWL
Praise the Night, convenient, secret,
When in slaughtering baby rabbits
We can do it at our ease,
Daub the grass with blood in comfort,
Spare the pains to look like heroes,
Be ourselves where no one sees!

AN OLD HORNED-OWL
Praise the density of darkness!

A WOOD-OWL
The intensity of stillness
Letting crunching bones be heard!

A BARN-OWL
Freshness pleasantly contrasting
With the genial warmth of blood drops
Spurting from a strangled bird!

THE WOOD-OWL
Praise the black rock oozing terror!

THE SCREECH-OWL
And the cross-roads where our screeches,
Furrowing the startled air,
Our demoniac yelling, hooting,
Make the hardened unbeliever
Cross himself and fall to prayer!

THE GRAND-DUKE
Praise the snares of the great Weaver,
Night, whose only fault or weakness
Is her tolerance of stars!

THE SCREECH-OWL
For spectators are not wanted
At the work of plucking fledglings
Be they Jupiter and Mars!

THE GRAND-DUKE
Praise the Night, when we take vengeance
On the goldfinch for his beauty,
On the titmouse for his grace!
When the darkness takes possession
Let them tremble, those confiding
Hostages of Day’s!

THE WOOD-OWL
For there is a choice in murder!

THE GRAND-DUKE
And the inkier the blackness
All the clearer do we see
To select the whitest pigeon
In the dove-cote, and the bluest
Blue jay on the shuddering tree!

THE BARN-OWL
Praise the hour and taste and relish
Of the eggs we suck, destroying
Hopes of many a haughty line!

THE SCREECH-OWL
And the councils where in whispers
We prepare what shall resemble
Accidents by every sign!

THE GRAND-DUKE
Praise the shadow’s grim suggestions!
The advantage over others
We inherit through their fright!

THE SCREECH-OWL
For our grisly cachinnations
Give the very eagle goose-flesh

ALL TOGETHER
Praise our patroness, the Night!

THE GRAND-DUKE
And now let the Screech-Owl in his russet robe take the floor.

SEVERAL VOICES
Silence!

THE BLACKBIRD
[On his fagot.] What an awf’ly lovely evening party!

THE SCREECH-OWL
[Oratorically.] Brethren of the Night

THE GRAND-DUKE [To the OWL next to him.] The meeting-place seems to me particularly well chosen. The blackest spot, the moldiest tree. To the right, old postherds. To the left, in the dark between the hollies the view!

THE SCREECH-OWL
Brethren of the Night!

AN OWL
There comes the Mole!

SEVERAL VOICES
Silence!

THE OWL
She must have taken, to come here, a route below the roots of the
daisies

THE BLACKBIRD
The subway, what else?

THE GRAND-DUKE
[To his neighbor.] Is that the Blackbird?

THE BLACKBIRD [Coming forward.] Yes, your Grace. And the two agate balls over there are the Cat.

THE GRAND-DUKE
I can hear him licking his paws.

THE SCREECH-OWL [Resuming.] Brethren of the Night! Inasmuch as everybody here and we plume ourselves upon it! is possessed of the evil eye

ALL THE BIRDS [Chuckling and rocking in their peculiarly disgusting and characteristic fashion.] Ha, ha!

THE GRAND-DUKE [Spreading his wings to demand silence.] Hush! [All return to their appalling stillness.]

THE BLACKBIRD
My eye is merely roguish. I am here to look on, you know, without taking
sides, in the artist spirit, that’s all.

AN OWL
If you are not taking sides, then you are siding with us!

THE BLACKBIRD
Oh, I say, what a primitive notion!

THE SCREECH-OWL [Completing his sentence.] Let us express ourselves with simple and direct malevolence: the Cock is a robber!

ALL
A robber! He robs us!

THE BLACKBIRD
Now, what the Robs you of what?

THE GRAND-DUKE
Of health! Gladness!

THE BLACKBIRD
How is that?

THE SCREECH-OWL
By his crowing!

THE GRAND-DUKE
His crowing brings on enlargement of the spleen and pericarditis! For it
heralds

THE BLACKBIRD
[Hopping about.] Oh, I see The light!

[All make a violent motion in his direction; the BLACKBIRD frightened, hides among the fagots.]

THE GRAND-DUKE [Emphatically.] Never speak that word! When that word is spoken, Night at the horizon feels a crawling discomfort, a titillation underneath her wing.

THE BLACKBIRD [Cautiously correcting himself.] The brightness of [General start of dismay repeated; the BLACKBIRD again dodges behind the fagots.]

AN OWL [Hurriedly.] Never utter that horrible grating word, which so hatefully suggests the scratching of a match!

THE SCREECH-OWL You should express yourself: The Cock heralds the folding back of the pall

THE BLACKBIRD
But the day [Start and threatening gesture from all.]

ALL
[In voices of unspeakable anguish.] Not that word!

THE GRAND-DUKE
You must refer to it as “that which will be!”

THE BLACKBIRD
What difference does it make whether or not he heralds the

ALL
[Stopping him.] Ha!

THE BLACKBIRD
the folding back of the pall, since that which will be will be!

THE GRAND-DUKE [In tones of despair.] Simple torture it is to hear a brazen throat forever reminding you of what you know to be only too true!

ALL
[Writhing in pain.] Too true! Too true!

THE GRAND-DUKE
He begins while the night is still pleasant and cool

CRIES ON ALL SIDES
He is a robber, a thief!

THE GRAND-DUKE
He cheats us!

ALL THE OWLS
He cheats us! Cheats us!

THE GRAND-DUKE
Of the good bit of night there still is left.

AN OWLET
He compels us to leave our posts beside the warrens

THE SCREECH-OWL
Our feasts of steaming flesh!

THE WOOD-OWL
The witches’ routs where we ride perched on the fist of a hag!

THE GRAND-DUKE
After cock-crow an Owl is no longer in his normal state

THE SCREECH-OWL
He does evil in a hurry!

THE GRAND-DUKE
And bungles it in consequence!

THE OLD HORNED-OWL
As soon as the Cock has crowed all becomes temporary provisional

THE BARN-OWL
Though the Night be still black, we are painfully aware of it growing
less and less black!

THE SCREECH-OWL
When his metallic voice has cleft the night, we squirm like a worm in a
fruit that is cut in two.

THE BLACKBIRD
[On his fagot, mystified.] The other Cocks, however

THE GRAND-DUKE
Their song creates no uneasiness. It is his song which must be silenced.

ALL THE NIGHT-BIRDS
[Flapping their wings, in a long lament.] Silenced! Silenced!

AN OWL
How can it be accomplished?

THE SCREECH-OWL
The Blackbird here has worked in our cause.

THE BLACKBIRD
Who I?

THE SCREECH-OWL
Yes, you laughed at him.

ALL
[Cackling.] Ha, ha!

THE GRAND-DUKE
[Spreading his wings.] Hush! [They resume their sinister stillness.]

THE SCREECH-OWL But his song has not acted any the less directly on our gall-bladders for the fun that has been made of him. He has grown stronger than ever since he was found ridiculous.

ALL
What shall we do?

THE SCREECH-OWL
The Peacock, that great booby

ALL
[Cackling and rocking.] Ha, ha!

THE GRAND-DUKE
[Opening his wings.] Hush! [All instantly motionless.]

THE SCREECH-OWL
Through the Peacock, likewise working in our cause, the Cock came out of
fashion. But his song is just as inconvenient, in fashion or out of it.
He is all the more proudly uncompromising for no longer being in style.

ALL
What shall we do?

AN OWL
Cut his throat!

CRIES
Death to the Cock!

AN OWL
Death to that aristocrat posing as a democrat and socialist!

ANOTHER
With spurs on his heels, but a liberty cap on his head!

THE GRAND-DUKE
Night-birds all, arise!

[ALL, arising with outspread wings and glaring eyes, increase enormously in size. The night appears doubly dark.]

THE BLACKBIRD
[With unabated lightness.] Midnight to the fore!

THE SCREECH-OWL
Kill him! But how can we, when our eyes cease to see the moment he comes
out?

ALL
[Wailing like an ancient chorus.] Woe!

THE OLD HORNED-OWL
[Craftily.] How kill from afar?

THE GRAND-DUKE
By means of what secret spring?

A VOICE
[From the tree.] Duke, may I lay a plan before the assembly?

THE GRAND-DUKE
Scops! Let us hear!

ALL [At sight of a small OWL dropping from a bough, and coming forward with tiny hops.] Scops, dear little Scops!

SCOPS [Bowing before the GRAND-DUKE.] You are aware, mighty Blind-by-day-and-seer-by-night, that in pleasant gardens up yonder hill a breeder of birds termed aviculturist, raises for exhibitions termed agricultural, the most magnificent Cocks of the most extraordinary varieties. Now, that great discoverer of rare birds, the Peacock, who, possessing a voice which pierces the ear-drum cannot abide a voice which pierces the darkness the Peacock, whose specialty it is to confer celebrity upon every strange beast

THE GRAND-DUKE
[To his neighbour.] From every strange region!

SCOPS
Cherishes the dream of presenting these same Cocks to-morrow, in the
kitchen garden, at the

ALL TOGETHER
[Laughing.] Guinea-hen’s!

SCOPS
And launching among her set these Birds whose glory will be the
finishing blow to the glory of Chantecler.

THE BLACKBIRD
Flatten him out like a pan cake!

THE SCREECH OWL
But those Cocks are always locked in!

SCOPS I am coming to that. This evening, when a maid, having entered their wire-netted close, was scattering corn in a golden shower, I started up suddenly from the hollow of a pollard willow, and the girl

AN OWL
[To his neighbour.] What a bright mind, our little Scops!

SCOPS
At sight of the ill-omened bird

ALL
[Cackling and rocking.] Ha, ha!

THE GRAND-DUKE
[Spreading his wings.] Hush! [All suddenly still.]

SCOPS
Fled, with one arm across her eyes! The cage was left open, and the
whole fantastic host will meet Chantecler to-morrow at the

ALL
[With peals of laughter.] Guinea-hen’s!

THE BLACKBIRD
He is not going. He has refused.

SCOPS
The devil!

THE CAT
[Quietly.] Go on, Scops. He will be there.

THE BLACKBIRD [Looking at him from a distance.] What do you know about it, pocket panther?

THE CAT
I saw a Pheasant-hen exciting his admiration, and I saw that he would
go.

THE BLACKBIRD
It’s when you’re sound asleep that you see everything!

THE GRAND-DUKE
[To SCOPS.] Very well, then, let us suppose him going.

SCOPS
Chantecler, for all his fame, has retained his bluff country squire’s
frankness. When he sees this

THE BLACKBIRD
[Prompting.] Tea-fight

SCOPS
And the contortions of those

THE BLACKBIRD
[Same business.] Snobs

SCOPS
In the presence of those

THE BLACKBIRD
[Same business.] Big guns

SCOPS
He is sure to say things which they are equally sure to take up.

THE GRAND-DUKE
[Thrilled.] And do you believe that a cock-fight ?

SCOPS
Such is my fond hope.

THE CAT
But listen, Scops. Suppose Chantecler should win?

SCOPS
Know, Angora, that there will be among those fancy cocks a genuine
game-cock, lean, with tawny wing, the same who

THE BLACKBIRD [Seeing the OWLS puff out their feathers for joy.] Sensation among the audience!

SCOPS The same who has defeated the most famous champions the White Pile. And as this victor in Flemish and English encounters wears at his heels, for the defter dispatching of his enemy, two razors fastened there by the ingenuity of man, by tomorrow night Chantecler will be dead, and his eyes picked out of their sockets.

THE SCREECH-OWL
[Enthusiastically.] We will go and gloat over his corpse!

THE GRAND-DUKE [Risen to his full height, formidable.] And his comb, which looked above his forehead like an incarnate bit of scarlet dawn, we will take his comb, our dearest dream at length fulfilled! and we will eat it!

ALL [With a yell, which ends in their ferocious cackling and rocking.] And we will eat it, eat it, ha, ha!

THE GRAND-DUKE
[Spreading his wings.] Hush! [Dead silence.]

SCOPS
And after that

THE BLACKBIRD
[Hopping.] Its quite a tidy proposition as it stands

SCOPS
What?

THE BLACKBIRD Your scheme! By Jingo, if I were the sort of bird to take things solemnly, I would go straight to the Cock and tell him. But I will do nothing of the sort. [He concludes, with four little hops.] For I know that all this will turn out beautifully!

SCOPS [Ironically.] Beautifully indeed! [He continues in growing excitement.] And after that, if those absurd Cocks of far-fetched breeds have not by to-morrow evening gone back to their cages, we will eat them all, no longer good for anything!

THE GRAND-DUKE [In his neighbour’s ear.] And after that we will eat the Blackbird for dessert.

THE BLACKBIRD
[Who has not caught the last sentence.] What did he say?

SCOPS [Quickly.] Nothing! [In a still increasing frenzy of glee.] And after that

[In the distance: Cock-a-doodle-doo! Instant silence. SCOPS_ stops short and collapses, as if mown down. All the puffed OWLS appear suddenly to have grown thin._]

ALL [Looking at one another and blinking.] What is it? What was that? [They hastily spread their wings and call to one another for flight.] Grand-Duke! Minor! Minimus!

THE BLACKBIRD [Hopping from one to the other.] Going? So soon? Why, what’s your hurry?

VOICE
[Of one of the NIGHT-BIRDS calling to another.] Nyctalis!

THE BLACKBIRD
It’s hours before daybreak. Oceans of time, you have!

AN OWL
Asio, are you coming?

ANOTHER OWL
[Calling.] Nictea!

ANOTHER [Fluttering up to him.] Yes, my dear! [They all stagger and trip over their wings.]

THE BLACKBIRD
What makes them stumble?

THE NIGHT-BIRDS [Winking and blinking with marked evidences of pain.] Oh, how it hurts! Ow! Ow!

THE BLACKBIRD
Lightning opthalmia, I declare! [One by one the OWLS fly off.]

THE GRAND-DUKE [The last to go, spins on himself with a cry of pain and rage.] How does he contrive, that pernicious Cock, to have a voice that fairly puts out your eyes! [He heavily flaps off.]

VOICES OF THE NIGHT-BIRDS
[In the distance.] Strix!

THE BLACKBIRD [Looking after them among the branches, and later in the blue space over the valley.] They are calling one another!

VOICE IN THE DISTANCE
Scops!

THE BLACKBIRD [Bending over the valley, where the dark wings are dwindling and fading.] They wheel waver dip

VOICES
[Dying in the distance.] Owl of the Wall! Of the Belfry! Of the Yew!

THE BLACKBIRD Gone! [He looks about, gives a hop, and with an immediate return to levity.] But it’s supper-time. Now for a bite of cold grasshopper! [The PHEASANT-HEN suddenly flies over the brushwood tangle, dropping beside him.] You!

SCENE SECOND

THE BLACKBIRD, THE PHEASANT-HEN, later CHANTECLER

THE PHEASANT-HEN [Panting, tragically earnest.] I ran all the way. You were there. Oh, I am half dead with terror! Well you must have overheard their dreadful secret! You, his friend!

THE BLACKBIRD [Cheerfully rummaging among the moss.] Or the thigh of a katydid will do.

THE PHEASANT-HEN I was watching from a distance. I crouched in a ditch [In an anguished voice.] Well?

THE BLACKBIRD
[In genuine surprise.] Well, what?

THE PHEASANT-HEN
Their conspiracy

THE BLACKBIRD
[Calmly.] It all went off very nicely.

THE PHEASANT-HEN
What do you mean?

THE BLACKBIRD
The shadow was a correct and appropriate blue, and the Owls said
perfectly characteristic things.

THE PHEASANT-HEN
[In wild alarm.] Heavens, they plotted his death?

THE BLACKBIRD
His decease, which is not nearly so bad.

THE PHEASANT-HEN
But

THE BLACKBIRD Don’t smite your brow! In spite of the Screech-Owl’s grave and self-important tone, I shouldn’t wonder if it all amounted to very little.

THE PHEASANT-HEN
Those Owls

THE BLACKBIRD
Are good enough in their various parts, but it’s the old excessive style
of acting.

THE PHEASANT-HEN
I beg your pardon?

THE BLACKBIRD
Back numbers!

THE PHEASANT-HEN
Oh?

THE BLACKBIRD They have eyelashes, fancy, all the way round their eyes! It’s too much of a good thing, really. And that black plot, those desperately dark designs, all that belongs to the year one; you can see moss growing on its back!

THE PHEASANT-HEN [Fluttering hither and thither feverishly.] I am never quite sure of understanding when a person is talking in fun.

THE BLACKBIRD
[Winking at her.] No flies on your acting!

THE PHEASANT-HEN
Surely you wouldn’t be laughing if he were in danger? Those ruffians ?

THE BLACKBIRD
Prattlers! Wooden Swords! Knights of Hot Air!

THE PHEASANT-HEN
But Scops ?

THE BLACKBIRD
A stuffed Owl!

THE PHEASANT-HEN
And the Great Bubo ?

THE BLACKBIRD
Just two ten-candle-power lamps, to be turned on and off with a
switch, crick-crack! And Flammeolus, two lamps likewise but acetylene!

THE PHEASANT-HEN
[Bewildered by his imagery.] And so ?

THE BLACKBIRD
No, trembling Gypsy, there’s not enough in this great plot to choke a
flea withal!

THE PHEASANT-HEN
Truly? I have been so horribly afraid

THE BLACKBIRD Fear, I warn you, lovely Zingara, leads to dyspepsia! It’s because he keeps his eye closed and buried in the sand that the ostrich has preserved his famous digestion!

THE PHEASANT-HEN
So it might seem.

THE BLACKBIRD
We have in these latter days bowed Tragedy respectfully out of the
house!

THE PHEASANT-HEN
But had we not best warn Chantecler, so that

THE BLACKBIRD
He would go instantly and challenge them. And then such a whetting of
steel!

THE PHEASANT-HEN
You are right. So he would.

THE BLACKBIRD
On your principle, mad Gitana, an oak-gall could be made into a world.

THE PHEASANT-HEN
You have much good sense.

THE BLACKBIRD
Daughter of the forest, I have.

CHANTECLER’S VOICE
[Outside.] Coa

THE PHEASANT-HEN
Chantecler!

CHANTECLER [Approaching on the left, between the hollies, calls from afar.] Who is there?

THE PHEASANT-HEN
It is I!

CHANTECLER
[Still from a distance.] Alone?

THE PHEASANT-HEN
[With a significant look at the BLACKBIRD.] Yes, alone.

THE BLACKBIRD
[Understanding.] I vanish I am off to supper.

THE PHEASANT-HEN
[Low to the BLACKBIRD.] And so ?

THE BLACKBIRD [Motioning her to be silent.] Keep it dark! [As he is leaving, by the right, in the manner of one giving an order to a waiter.] Earwigs for one!

THE PHEASANT-HEN
[Low.] It is wiser, you think, not to tell him?

THE BLACKBIRD
[Before disappearing among the flower-pots.] Well, rather!

SCENE THIRD

THE PHEASANT-HEN, CHANTECLER.

CHANTECLER
[Who has reached the PHEASANT-HEN’S side.] Out so early?

THE PHEASANT-HEN
To see the daybreak.

CHANTECLER
[With repressed emotion.] Ah ?

THE PHEASANT-HEN
[Teasingly.] What troubles you?

CHANTECLER
I have had a wretched night.

THE PHEASANT-HEN
So sorry! [A pause.]

CHANTECLER
Are you going to the Guinea-hen’s?

THE PHEASANT-HEN
I stayed over solely for that purpose.

CHANTECLER
Ah, yes, I know. [A pause.] I dislike her extremely.

THE PHEASANT-HEN
Come to her party.

CHANTECLER
No.

THE PHEASANT-HEN
As you please. Then we may as well say good-bye.

CHANTECLER
No.

THE PHEASANT-HEN
Come to the Guinea-hen’s. We shall have a chance to see something of
each other there.

CHANTECLER
No.

THE PHEASANT-HEN
You are determined not to come?

CHANTECLER
I am coming but I hate it.

THE PHEASANT-HEN
Why?

CHANTECLER
It is weak.

THE PHEASANT-HEN
No, no! That is no great sign of weakness!

CHANTECLER
Ah ?

THE PHEASANT-HEN [Softly, coming closer to him.] What would be showing a sweet, delightful, and fully masculine weakness

CHANTECLER
[In alarm at her approach.] What?

THE PHEASANT-HEN
Would be to tell me your secret. Oh, just a wee bit!

CHANTECLER
[With a start.] The secret of my song?

THE PHEASANT-HEN
Yes.

CHANTECLER
Golden Hen, my secret

THE PHEASANT-HEN [Coaxingly.] Often from the edge of the woods I hear you in the first golden glimmer of day

CHANTECLER
[Flattered.] My song has reached your shapely little ear?

THE PHEASANT-HEN
It has!

CHANTECLER
[Abruptly, moving away from her.] My secret Never!

THE PHEASANT-HEN
You are not very gallant!

CHANTECLER
No I am full of conflict and misery.

THE PHEASANT-HEN
[Languidly reciting.] The Cock and the Pheasant-hen a Fable

CHANTECLER
[Half aloud.] A Cock loved a Pheasant-hen

THE PHEASANT-HEN
And would not tell her anything

CHANTECLER
Moral

THE PHEASANT-HEN
It was horrid of him!

CHANTECLER [Pressing close to her.] Moral: Your dress has the fascinating rustle of silk!

THE PHEASANT-HEN
Moral: I dislike familiarity! [Withdrawing from him.] Go home to your
Hen of the plebeian petticoat!

CHANTECLER
[Stamping.] I shall be angry!

THE PHEASANT-HEN
No, no, don’t be angry Say “Coa ” [They stand bill to bill.]

CHANTECLER
[Angrily.] Coa

THE PHEASANT-HEN
No, no! Say it nicely

CHANTECLER
[In a long, tender coo.] Coa

THE PHEASANT-HEN
Look at me without laughing. Your secret

CHANTECLER
Well?

THE PHEASANT-HEN
You are dying to tell it to me!

CHANTECLER Yes, I feel that I shall tell, and I know I shall do ill in telling. And it’s all because of the gold on her dainty little head! [Going brusquely nearer to her.] Shall you prove worthy, at least, of having been chosen? Is your breast true red to the core?

THE PHEASANT-HEN
Now tell me!

CHANTECLER Look at me, Pheasant-hen, and try, if indeed it be possible, try to recognise, by yourself, sign by sign, the vocation of which my body is the symbol. Guess, to begin with, at my destiny from my shape, and see how, curved like a sort of living hunting-horn, I am as much formed for sound to turn and gain volume within me, as the wild duck is formed to swim! Wait! Mark the fact that, impatient and proud, scratching up the earth with my claws, I appear always to be seeking something in the soil

THE PHEASANT-HEN
You are seeking for grains of corn, seeds, I suppose.

CHANTECLER
Never! I have never looked for such things. I find them occasionally,
into the bargain, but disdainfully I give them to my Hens.

THE PHEASANT-HEN
Well, then, in your perpetual scratching, what is it you are looking
for?

CHANTECLER
The right spot! For always before singing I carefully choose my stand.
Pray, observe

THE PHEASANT-HEN
True, and then you ruffle your feathers.

CHANTECLER I never start to sing until my eight claws, after clearing a space of weeds and stones, have found the soft, dark turf underneath. Then, placed in direct contact with the good earth, I sing! And that is already half the mystery, Pheasant-hen, half the mystery of my song, which is not of those songs one sings after composing them, but is received straight from the native soil, like sap! And the time above all when that sap arises in me, the hour, briefly, in which I have genius, in which I can never doubt I have! is the hour when dawn falters on the boundaries of the dark sky. Then, filled with the same quivering as leaves and grass, thrilled to the very tips of my wing quills, I feel myself a chosen instrument. I accentuate my curve of a hunting-horn, Earth speaks in me as in a conch, and ceasing to be an ordinary bird, I become the mouthpiece, in some sort official, through which the cry of the earth escapes toward the sky!

THE PHEASANT-HEN
Chantecler!

CHANTECLER And that cry which rises from the earth, that cry is such a cry of love for the light, is such a deep and frenzied cry of love for the golden thing we call the Day, and that all thirst to feel again: the pine on its bark, the tortuous roots in woodland paths on their mosses, the feather-grass on each delicate spray, the tiniest pebble in its tiniest mica flake; it is so wonderfully the cry of all that misses and mourns its colour, its reflection, its flame, its coronet, its pearl; the beseeching cry of the dew-washed meadow begging for a wee rainbow at every grass-tip, of the forest begging a burst of fire at the end of each gloomy avenue; that cry which mounts to the sky through me is so greatly the cry of all that feels itself in disgrace, plunged in a sunless pit, deprived of light without knowing for what offence; is the cry of cold, the cry of fear, the cry of weariness, of all that night disables or disarms; the rose shivering alone in the dark, the hay wanting to be dried and go to the mow, the sickle forgotten out of doors by the reaper and fearing it will rust in the grass, the white things dismayed at not looking white; is so greatly the cry of the innocent among beasts, who have nothing to conceal, of the brook fain to show its crystal clearness; and even for thy very works, O Night, disown thee! of the puddle longing to glisten, the mud longing to become earth again, by drying; it is so greatly the magnificent cry of the field impatient to feel its wheat and barley growing, of the blossoming tree mad for still more blossoms of the green grapes craving a purple side; of the bridge waiting for footsteps, for shadows of birds among shadows of branches; the voice of all that yearns to sing, to drop the garb of mourning, live again, serve again, be a brink, be a bourn, a sun-warm seat, a stone glad to comfort with warmth the hand touching, or the insect overcrawling it; finally, it is so greatly the cry toward the light of all Beauty, all Health, all which wishes, in sunshine and joy, to see its work while doing it, and do it to be seen And when I feel that vast call to the Day arising within me, I so expand my soul to make it more sonorous, by making it more spacious, that the great cry may still be increased in greatness; before giving it, I withold it in my soul a moment so piously; then, when, to expel it, I contract my soul, I am so convinced of accomplishing a great act, I have such faith that my song will make night crumble like the walls of Jericho

THE PHEASANT-HEN
[Frightened.] Chantecler!

CHANTECLER And sounding its victory beforehand, my song springs forth so clear, so proud, so peremptory, that the horizon, seized with a rosy trembling obeys!

THE PHEASANT-HEN
Chantecler!

CHANTECLER
I sing! Vainly Night offers to compromise, offers a dubious twilight I
sing again! And suddenly

THE PHEASANT-HEN
Chantecler!

CHANTECLER
I fall back, blinded by the red light bathing me, dazzled at having, I,
the Cock, made the Sun to rise!

THE PHEASANT-HEN
Then the whole secret of your song ?

CHANTECLER Is that I dare assume that the East without me must rest in idleness! I sing, not to hear the echo repeat, a shade fainter, my song! I think of light and not of glory! Singing is my fashion of waging war and bearing witness. And if my song is the proudest of songs, it is that I sing clearly to make the day rise clear!

THE PHEASANT-HEN
What he says sounds slightly mad! You are responsible for the rising
of

CHANTECLER That which opens flower, eye, soul, and window! Certainly! My voice dispenses light! And when the sky is grey, the reason is that I have sung badly.

THE PHEASANT-HEN
But when you sing by day?

CHANTECLER
I am practising, or else promising the ploughshare, the hoe, the harrow,
the scythe, not to neglect my duty of waking them.

THE PHEASANT-HEN
But what wakens you?

CHANTECLER
The fear of forgetting.

THE PHEASANT-HEN
And you believe that at the sound of your voice the whole world is
suffused ?

CHANTECLER
I have no clear idea of the whole world. But I sing for my own valley,
and desire that every Cock may do the same for his.

THE PHEASANT-HEN
Still

CHANTECLER
But here I stand, explaining, perorating, and forgetting altogether to
make my dawn.

THE PHEASANT-HEN
His dawn!

CHANTECLER Ah, what I say sounds mad? I will make the dawn before your very eyes! And the wish to please you adding its ardour to the ordinary forces of my soul, I shall rise in singing, as I feel, to unusual heights, and the dawn will rise more fair to-day than ever it rose before!

THE PHEASANT-HEN
More fair?

CHANTECLER Assuredly, in just the measure that strength is added to the song by the knowledge of listeners, boldness to the exploit by the consciousness of lovely watching eyes [Taking his stand upon a hillock at the back, overlooking the valley.] Now, Madam!

THE PHEASANT-HEN
[Gazing at his outline against the sky.] How beautiful he is!

CHANTECLER Look attentively at the sky. Already it has paled. The reason is that a short while back, with my earliest crow I ordered the sun to stand in readiness just below the horizon.

THE PHEASANT-HEN
He is so beautiful that what he says almost seems possible!

CHANTECLER [Talking toward the horizon.] Ha, Sun, I feel you just behind there, stirring and I laugh with pride and joy amidst my scarlet wattles [Rising on tiptoe suddenly, in a voice of startling loudness.] Cock-a-doodle-doo!

THE PHEASANT-HEN
What great breath lifts his breast-feathers?

CHANTECLER [Toward the east.] Obey! I am the Earth, and I am Labour! My comb is the pattern of a forge fire, and the voice of the furrow rises to my throat! [Whispering mysteriously.] Yes, yes, month of July

THE PHEASANT-HEN
To whom is he speaking?

CHANTECLER
You shall have it earlier than April! [Bending to right and left,
encouragingly.] Yes, Bramble! Yes, Brake!

THE PHEASANT-HEN
He is magnificent!

CHANTECLER [To the PHEASANT-HEN.] You see, I must at all times remember [Stroking the earth with his wing.] Yes, dear Grass! remember the humble prayers whose interpreter I become. [Talking to invisible things.] The golden ladder? I understand! that you may all dance on it together!

THE PHEASANT-HEN
To whom are you promising a ladder?

CHANTECLER
To the Motes Cock-a-doodle-doo!

THE PHEASANT-HEN [Watching the sky and landscape.] A shiver of blue runs across the thatched roofs. A star went out just then

CHANTECLER
No, it veiled itself. Even by daylight the stars are there.

THE PHEASANT-HEN
You do not extinguish them?

CHANTECLER
I extinguish nothing! But you shall see how great I am at kindling!

THE PHEASANT-HEN
Oh, I see a dawning of

CHANTECLER
What do you see?

THE PHEASANT-HEN
The blue is no longer blue!

CHANTECLER
I told you! It is already green!

THE PHEASANT-HEN
The green is turning to orange

CHANTECLER
You will have been the first this morning to see the transformation!

[The distant plain takes on velvety purplish hues.]

THE PHEASANT-HEN
It all seems to end in leagues of purple heather.

CHANTECLER
[Whose crow is beginning to tire.] Cock-a-doo

THE PHEASANT-HEN
Oh yellow among the pine trees!

CHANTECLER
Gold it ought to be, gold!

THE PHEASANT-HEN
And pearly grey

CHANTECLER
It shall be white! I haven’t done it yet! Cock-a-doodle-doo It’s very
bad so far, but I won’t give up!

THE PHEASANT-HEN
Every hollow in every tree is pink as a wild rose

CHANTECLER [With growing enthusiasm.] Since love lends me strength in addition to faith, I say the Day to-day shall be more beautiful that the Day! Do you see? Do you see the eastern sky at my voice dappling itself with light?

THE PHEASANT-HEN [Lured along and half persuaded by the madness of the COCK.] Such a thing might be, after all, since love is involved in the mystery!

CHANTECLER
Resume, horizon, at my command, your fringe of little poplars!

THE PHEASANT-HEN [Bending over the valley.] There emerges from the shadow, gradually, a world of your creation

CHANTECLER
Sacred things you are witnessing To sacred things I am initiating
you! Define your outlines, distant hills! Pheasant-hen, do you love me?

THE PHEASANT-HEN
We shall always love to be in the secret of the Makers of Dawn!

CHANTECLER
You help me to sing better. Come closer. Collaborate.

THE PHEASANT-HEN
[Springing to his side.] I love you!

CHANTECLER
Every word you whisper in my ear shall be translated into sunshine for
all the world to see!

THE PHEASANT-HEN
I love you!

CHANTECLER
Say it again, and I will gild that mountain suddenly!

THE PHEASANT-HEN
[Wildly.] I love you! Let me see you gild it!

CHANTECLER [In his greatest, most splendid manner.] Cock-a-doodle-doo! [The mountain turns golden.]

THE PHEASANT-HEN
[Pointing to the lower ranges, still purple.] But the hills?

CHANTECLER
Each in its turn. To the highest peaks belong the earliest rays!
Cock-a-doodle-doo!

THE PHEASANT-HEN
Ah! across yonder drowsing slope a stealing gleam

CHANTECLER
[Joyously.] I dedicate it to you!

THE PHEASANT-HEN
The distant villages are coming into view.

CHANTECLER
Cock-a [His voice breaks.]

THE PHEASANT-HEN
You are weary!

CHANTECLER
[Stiffening himself.] I refuse to be! [Wildly.] Cock-a-doodle-doo!

THE PHEASANT-HEN
Exhausted!

CHANTECLER
Do you see those tatters of mist still clinging? Cock-a-doodle-doo!

THE PHEASANT-HEN
You will kill yourself!

CHANTECLER
I only live, dear, when I am killing myself giving great splendid cries!

THE PHEASANT-HEN
[Pressing close to his side.] I am proud of you!

CHANTECLER
[With emotion.] Your head bows

THE PHEASANT-HEN
I listen to the Day arising in your breast! I delight to hear first in
your lungs what by-and-by will be purple and gold on the mountain sides!

CHANTECLER [While the little distant houses begin to smoke in the dawn.] I dedicate to you moreover those reawakened farmsteads. Man offers trinkets, I wreaths and plumes of smoke!

THE PHEASANT-HEN
[Looking off.] I can see your work growing, growing in the distance.

CHANTECLER
[Looking at her.] I can see it in your eyes!

THE PHEASANT-HEN
Over the meadows

CHANTECLER
On your throat [In a smothered voice.] Oh, it is exquisite!

THE PHEASANT-HEN
What?

CHANTECLER I am at once doing my duty, and making you more fair. I am gilding my valley, while brightening your wing. [Tearing himself from love, and dashing toward the right.] But the shadow still fights all along the line of retreat. There is much to be done over there! Cock-a-doodle-doo!

THE PHEASANT-HEN
[Looking up at the sky.] Oh, look!

CHANTECLER [Looking too, sadly.] How can I prevent it? The morning star is fading out!

THE PHEASANT-HEN [In a tone of regret for the little bright spark which the growing light must necessarily quench.] It is fading out

CHANTECLER Alas! But shall we therefore despond? [And tearing himself from melancholy, he springs toward the left.] There is still much to do over here. Cock-a [At this point the crowing of other COCKS ascends from the valley. CHANTECLER listens, then softly.] Hark! Do you hear them now?

THE PHEASANT-HEN
Who dare ?

CHANTECLER
The other Cocks.

THE PHEASANT-HEN
[Bending above the plain.] They are singing in the rosy light

CHANTECLER
Yes, they believe in the light as soon as they see it.

THE PHEASANT-HEN
They sing all in a haze of blue

CHANTECLER I sang in total blackness. My song rose from the cheerless shade, and was the first to rise. It is when Night prevails that it’s fine to believe in the Light!

THE PHEASANT-HEN
How dare they sing when you are singing?

CHANTECLER Let them sing! Their songs acquire significance from mingling with mine, and their tardy but numerous cries unconsciously hasten the flight of the dark. [Straightening upon his hillock, he calls to the distant COCKS.] Now, all together!

CHANTECLER AND ALL THE COCKS
Cock-a-doodle-doo!

CHANTECLER
[Alone, with familiar cordiality.] Forward, forward, boldly, Day!

THE PHEASANT-HEN
[Beside him, stamping her feet.] Boldly, Day!

CHANTECLER [Crying encouragements to the Light.] Yes, there, there before you, is a roof for you to gild! Come, come, a touch of green on that patch of waving hemp!

THE PHEASANT-HEN
[Beside herself with excitement.] A glimmer of white on that road!

CHANTECLER
A wash of blue on the river!

THE PHEASANT-HEN
[In a great cry.] The Sun! Look, the Sun!

CHANTECLER There he is, I can see him, but we must hale him from that grove! [And both of them, moving backward together, appear to be drawing something after them. CHANTECLER prolonging his crow as if to drag up the SUN by it.] Cooooooo

THE PHEASANT-HEN
[Shouting above CHANTECLER’S crow.] There he comes

CHANTECLER
oock-a

THE PHEASANT-HEN
climbing

CHANTECLER
doodle

THE PHEASANT-HEN
above

CHANTECLER
doooooo!

THE PHEASANT-HEN
the poplars!

CHANTECLER [In a last, dry-throated, desperate crow.] Cock-a-doodle-doo [Both stagger, suddenly flooded with light.] It is done! [He adds, in a tone of satisfaction.] A proper Sun, a giant! [He totters toward a mossy rise and drops against it.]

THE PHEASANT-HEN [Running to him, while all grows brighter and brighter.] One song now to greet the beautiful rising Sun!

CHANTECLER [Very low.] I have no voice left. I spent it all. [Hearing the other COCKS crowing in the valley, he adds gently.] It matters not. He has the songs and praises of the others.

THE PHEASANT-HEN
[Surprised.] What? After he appears, he hears no more from you?

CHANTECLER
No more.

THE PHEASANT-HEN
[Indignant.] But in that case, perhaps the Sun believes the other
Cocks have made him rise?

CHANTECLER
It matters not.

THE PHEASANT-HEN
But

CHANTECLER
Hush! Come to my heart and let me thank you. Never has there been a
lovelier dawn.

THE PHEASANT-HEN
But what will repay you for all your pains?

CHANTECLER Echoes of awakening life down in the valley! [Confused living noises are beginning to mount from below.] Tell me of them. I have not the strength to listen for myself.

THE PHEASANT-HEN [Runs to the top of the rise, and listens.] I hear a finger knocking against the rim of a brazen sky

CHANTECLER
[With closed eyes.] The Angelus.

THE PHEASANT-HEN
Other strokes, which sound like a human Angelus after the divine

CHANTECLER
The forge-hammer.

THE PHEASANT-HEN
Lowing, then a song

CHANTECLER
The plow.

THE PHEASANT-HEN [Continuing to listen.] Sounds as of a birds nest fallen into the little street

CHANTECLER
[With growing emotion.] The school!

THE PHEASANT-HEN
Imps of whom I catch no glimpse buffet one another in the water

CHANTECLER
Women washing linen.

THE PHEASANT-HEN
And suddenly, on all sides, what are they iron locusts rubbing their
wings together?

CHANTECLER [Half rising, in the fullness of pride.] Ah, if scythes are whetting, the reapers will soon be harvesting the golden grain! [The sounds increase and mingle: bells, hammers, washer-women’s wooden spades, laughter, singing, grinding of steel, cracking of whips.] All at work! And I have done that! Oh, impossible! Pheasant-hen, help me! This is the dreadful moment! [He looks wildly about him.] I made the sunrise! I did! Wherefore And how? And where? No sooner does my reason return than I go mad! For I who believe I have power to rekindle the celestial gold I well oh, it is dreadful

THE PHEASANT-HEN
What is?

CHANTECLER
I am humble-minded, modest! You will never tell?

THE PHEASANT-HEN
No, no!

CHANTECLER
You promise? Ah! let my enemies never know!

THE PHEASANT-HEN
[Moved.] Chantecler!

CHANTECLER I feel myself unworthy of my glory. Why was I chosen, even I, to drive out black night? No sooner have I brought the heavens to a white glow, than the pride which lifted me aloft drops dead. I fall to earth. What, I, so small, I made the immeasurable dawn? And having done this, I must do it again? Nay, but I cannot! Nay, it would be vain! Never need I attempt it! Despair overtakes me Comfort me, love!

THE PHEASANT-HEN
[Tenderly.] My own!

CHANTECLER Such a burden of responsibility resting upon me! That inspiring breath which I await when I scratch in the sand, will it come again? I feel the whole future depending upon an incomprehensible something which might perchance fail me! Do you understand now the anguish gnawing me? Ah, the swan is certain, by bending his neck, to find under water the grasses he delights in; the eagle, when he swoops from the blue, sure of falling upon his prey; and you are ever sure of finding in the earth the well supplied nests of the ants, but I, for whom my own work remains a mystery, I, possessed ever by the fear of the morrow, am I sure of finding my song in my heart?

THE PHEASANT-HEN
[Clasping him with her wings.] Surely, you will find it, surely!

CHANTECLER
Yes, talk to me like that. I listen, I heed you. You must believe me
when I believe, and not when I doubt. Tell me again

THE PHEASANT-HEN
You are beautiful!

CHANTECLER
About that I care very little.

THE PHEASANT-HEN
And you sang beautifully!

CHANTECLER
Say that I sang badly, but tell me that it is I who make

THE PHEASANT-HEN
Indeed, indeed, I admire you beyond all bounds and measure!

CHANTECLER
No, tell me that what I told you is true

THE PHEASANT-HEN
What?

CHANTECLER
That it is I who make

THE PHEASANT-HEN
Yes, my glorious Beloved, yes, it is you who make the dawn appear!

THE BLACKBIRD
[Suddenly appearing.] Well, well, old man!

SCENE FOURTH

THE SAME, THE BLACKBIRD

CHANTECLER
The Blackbird! My secret!

THE BLACKBIRD
[Bowing with every sign of admiration.] Allow me to

CHANTECLER
That inveterate mocker! [To the PHEASANT-HEN.] Leave us not alone! My
soul is still open his mockery would enter in!

THE BLACKBIRD
Ripping!

CHANTECLER
Where have you come from?

THE BLACKBIRD
[Indicating an empty overturned flower-pot.] From that flower-pot.

CHANTECLER
But how ?

THE BLACKBIRD I was having my early snack cozily in the earthenware retreat you see, when suddenly oh, allow me to express at once the amazement, the admiration

CHANTECLER
Eavesdropping inside a pot! How can you stoop to

THE BLACKBIRD Hang the pot! I’ve had a sensation! I tell you I was wild! My feet were doing such a horn-pipe I had trouble to keep my eye steady at the peep-hole.

THE PHEASANT-HEN
You could see us?

THE BLACKBIRD [Showing the hole at the bottom of the flower-pot.] Could I see you! Yonder stump of red cone has exactly the black hole to let through my yellow bill. Apologies, but it was too tempting! A bird of taste, I am.

THE PHEASANT-HEN
For the sake of this sincere tribute, I forgive you all the rest!

CHANTECLER
But

THE BLACKBIRD [Coming and going in excitement.] Oh, wonderful, and again wonderful, and then again wonderful! Hear me rant!

CHANTECLER
[Amazed.] What, is it possible that you ?

THE BLACKBIRD
Am I given to gush? This time, old man, it’s the genuine article,
Enthusiasm with a capital E!

CHANTECLER
Are you in earnest?

THE BLACKBIRD
Must I send you a blankety carrier-pigeon with the news? That Cock and
that crow, oh, my soul! And then the day breaking, oh, my stars!

THE PHEASANT-HEN [To CHANTECLER.] There seems to be no reason, dear, why I should not leave you alone together.

CHANTECLER
But where are you going?

THE PHEASANT-HEN
[Slightly ashamed of her own frivolity.] I am going to the

THE BLACKBIRD
The Guinea-hen’s Day he’s just given the finishing touches to!

CHANTECLER
[To the PHEASANT-HEN.] Must I go too?

THE PHEASANT-HEN [Tenderly.] No, after rising to such heights, I think you may be excused from the Guinea-hen’s at home!

CHANTECLER
[With a touch of sadness.] You, however, are going?

THE PHEASANT-HEN [Gaily.] I want to show off your sunshine on my dress! I will be back directly. Wait for me here.

THE BLACKBIRD
Yes, much better keep out of the way.

CHANTECLER
[Looking at him.] Wherefore?

THE BLACKBIRD
[Quickly.] Nothing! [Falling into fresh ecstasies.] Oh, this blessed
Cock of ours!

CHANTECLER
[To the PHEASANT-HEN.] You will not be long?

THE PHEASANT-HEN
The merest moment. [Low to him before leaving.] You see, even the
Blackbird is impressed! [She flies off.]

SCENE FIFTH

CHANTECLER, THE BLACKBIRD

CHANTECLER [Coming back to the BLACKBIRD.] And so that habitual skeptical sneer ?

THE BLACKBIRD
Wiped out! My satirical whistling, as the Dog called it, now expresses
pure admiration. Listen, like this: [He whistles admiringly.]
Tew! How is that? Tew-tew [Nodding soberly.] That’s all right!

CHANTECLER [Innocently.] You are not such a bad fellow, after all. I said so to the Dog.

THE BLACKBIRD
[With profound conviction.] You’re a wonderful old boy!

CHANTECLER
[Modestly.] Oh!

THE BLACKBIRD To come it over the Hens [He again whistles Admiringly.] make them believe that he engineers the dawn! [CHANTECLER starts.] A simple idea, but it took you to get on to it! Brother, I believe you were hatched in Columbus’ egg!

CHANTECLER
But

THE BLACKBIRD
All other Don Juans are donkeys beside you! Says he to himself: Make the
daybreak to impress little pheasant-hens! And does it, too succeeds!

CHANTECLER
[In a smothered voice.] Be still!

THE BLACKBIRD
Neat, the little roof which must be gilded! Complete, the ladder for the
Motes!

CHANTECLER
[In a spasm of pain.] Be still!

THE BLACKBIRD
And the access of modesty, a sweet little final touch! I kiss my hand to
you! Oh, he knows how no mistake he knows

CHANTECLER [Constraining himself, in a curt voice.] The Dawn? Certainly, I know her. I think I may claim that honor!

THE BLACKBIRD
You precious fakir! Don’t you consider you have succeeded?

CHANTECLER
In bringing on the day? Yes, certainly, I have succeeded admirably, in
this case.

THE BLACKBIRD
Oh, you do it so well! How awfully well he does it!

CHANTECLER
Making the light? Of course, I have done it so often! I am used to it.
The Sun obeys me.

THE BLACKBIRD
So, worthy Joshua! You feel the dawn coming, and then you crow! For
lightness of touch and richness of invention, give us a lyric poet!

CHANTECLER
[Bursting forth.] Wretch!

THE BLACKBIRD [Surprised.] Are you keeping it up with me? [Winking.] Oh, we know how the thing is done!

CHANTECLER
You may know, not I! I just open my heart and sing!

THE BLACKBIRD
[Hopping about.] That’s the idea!

CHANTECLER
Blackbird, laugh at everything besides, but not at that, if you love me!

THE BLACKBIRD
I love you!

CHANTECLER
[Bitterly.] With half a heart!

THE BLACKBIRD
Can’t say a word about his Fiat Lux?

CHANTECLER
Not that! Not that!

THE BLACKBIRD
Old man, it’s not my fault that I’m no gull.

CHANTECLER [Looking after him as he hops about.] He cannot keep still long enough, I suppose, to let the sacred truth sink in. [Trying to stop him in his hopping.] You behold the agony of emotion shaking me. No more baffle and keep me off with words!

THE BLACKBIRD
[Hopping past him.] Catch, if you can, and convince me!

CHANTECLER [Imploring.] It’s a matter of life my profoundest life! Oh, convince you I must, if only for a second! I feel the holy impulse to struggle with your soul!

THE BLACKBIRD
[Hopping past him.] Do you!

CHANTECLER
In solemn earnest, at the bottom of your heart, you did did you
not? believe me?

THE BLACKBIRD
I believe you!

CHANTECLER [With pressing anguish.] You must in some manner be aware of the dreadful cost to me of that song? Come, use your reason. To sing as you heard me sing, you must realise that I needed

THE BLACKBIRD
A whopping muscle and a tolerable nerve!

CHANTECLER
No, let us not make light of serious things, responsible winged
creatures that we are!

THE BLACKBIRD
Let us go in for heavy-weight truths, by all means!

CHANTECLER
But can’t you see that to look straight at the sun, rising before his
eyes by the exertions of his larynx, one must have at the same time

THE BLACKBIRD
Stentorian lungs and the eyes of a lynx! [He hops out of the way.]

CHANTECLER [Controlling himself.] No, I cannot give up the hope of winning this soul to the truth! [With desperate patience.] Come, now, have you any conception, unhappy bird, of what dawn actually is?

THE BLACKBIRD
I should say so! It’s the time of day when fluffy Aurora gets busy, as
it were, and plays ball!

CHANTECLER
But what do you say when you see the dawn shining upon the mountains?

THE BLACKBIRD
Mountains, I say, what on earth are you blushing about?

CHANTECLER
And what do you say when you hear me singing in the furrow long before
the cricket is awake?

THE BLACKBIRD
Cricket, I say, you scandalous slug-a-bed! [He hops out of the way.]

CHANTECLER [Beside himself.] Are you conscious of no impulse to exclaim, cry out, when I have made a dawn so fine and fiery-red that the heron, flying in the early glow, looks from afar like a flamingo?

THE BLACKBIRD
Sure, brother, sure! I feel like shouting, “Bully, do it again!” [He
hops out of the way.]

CHANTECLER [Exhausted.] That soul! I am more spent with chasing it than with a whole day’s grasshopper hunting! [Violently.] Did you not see the sky?

THE BLACKBIRD [Simply.] How could I? The ground is all you can see through that little black hole. [Pointing at the flower-pot.]

CHANTECLER
Did you see the mountain-tops tremble and turn crimson?

THE BLACKBIRD
While you were crowing, I had my eye on your feet.

CHANTECLER
[Sorrowfully.] Ah!

THE BLACKBIRD
They were performing on the soft sod something choice in the line of
fancy dances!

CHANTECLER
[Giving up.] I pity you! Back to your darkness, obscure Blackbird!

THE BLACKBIRD
Your obedient servant, illustrious Cock!

CHANTECLER
My course is toward the sun!

THE BLACKBIRD
Take along smoked glasses!

CHANTECLER
Blackbird, do you know the one thing upon earth worthy that one should
live wholly for its sake?

THE BLACKBIRD
There I draw the line. I won’t enter the debate!

CHANTECLER That thing is effort, Blackbird effort, which uplifts and ennobles the lowest! For which reason, you, contemner of every sublime aspiration, I contemn! And that fragile roseate snail, struggling unaided to silver over a whole fagot, I honour!

THE BLACKBIRD
[Snapping up the snail.] I’ll make him look silly!

CHANTECLER [With a cry of horror.] Abominable! To point a joke put out a little flame! An end. Here we part. You have no more heart than soul. [Going.]

THE BLACKBIRD
[Hopping up on the fagot.] I have mind, however!

CHANTECLER
[Turning, disdainfully.] That is open to discussion.

THE BLACKBIRD [Acidly.] Oh, very well! I was administering, in my merry little characteristic way, a grain of antidote against lunacy. But I wash my claws of you. Go ahead, justify the report of your enemies.

CHANTECLER
[Returning.] Who? What?

THE BLACKBIRD
Strut about with your bill-board: “I’m the whole show!”

CHANTECLER
You associate with those who hate me?

THE BLACKBIRD
Do you object?

CHANTECLER No, you pitiful jester! The habit has grown so strong, you can no more be in earnest about friendship now than anything else. [Going nearer to him.] Who are my enemies?

THE BLACKBIRD
The Owls.

CHANTECLER
You sorry fool! Can’t you see that to believe in my destiny becomes all
too easy if the Owls are against me?

THE BLACKBIRD
Rest happy, then. They have a deal on your lighting of the world being
a trifle flashy for their taste a deal on for cutting your throat.

CHANTECLER
Through whom?

THE BLACKBIRD
A brother bird.

CHANTECLER
A Cock?

THE BLACKBIRD
A Saint George of a Cock, who is to meet you

CHANTECLER
Where?

THE BLACKBIRD
At the Guinea-hen’s.

CHANTECLER
What a farce!

THE BLACKBIRD Wait! It’s one of those Cocks bred and trained for fighting, who would make just two bites of either you or me. [As CHANTECLER abruptly starts toward the back.] Where are you going?

CHANTECLER
To the Guinea-hen’s.

THE BLACKBIRD
Ha! I forgot our knightly spurs and helmet! [He makes a feint of
preventing him.] Take my advice, don’t go!

CHANTECLER
But I will go!

THE BLACKBIRD
Hold on!

CHANTECLER
[Stopping beside the flower-pot, as if amazed.] How singular!

THE BLACKBIRD
What?

CHANTECLER
Did I understand you to say you came out of that flower-pot?

THE BLACKBIRD
You did.

CHANTECLER
[Incredulous.] But how could you possibly have got into it?

THE BLACKBIRD [Getting into the pot.] I told you, and tell you again! Through that little black hole I was looking at the [He thrusts his bill through the hole at the bottom.]

CHANTECLER The earth! And now through a little blue hole you shall look at the sky! [With a vigorous blow of his wing he turns the pot over the BLACKBIRD, who is heard fluttering beneath it, with smothered cries.] For you hate and shun the blue sky, you Dwellers in Pots! But one can force you to see at least as much as would cover a corn-flower, by overturning your pot, now and then with the sweep of a wing! [Off.]