Scene Fourth
The Same, the Pheasant-hen
The Pheasant-hen[Who has come upon the scene, with a threatening gesture at theWoodpecker.] Go inside! [TheWood Peckerprecipitately disappears. She stands listening toChantecler.]
Chantecler[In the convolvulus, more and more deeply interested.] You don’t mean it! What, all of them?—Yes?—No—Oh!—Well, well!—Is that so?
The Woodpecker[Who has timidly come back, aside.] Oh, that an ant of the heaviest might weigh down his tongue!
Chantecler[Talking into the flower.] So soon? The Peacock out of fashion?
The Woodpecker[Trying to getChantecler’sattention behind thePheasant-hen’sback.] Pst!
The Pheasant-hen[Turning around, furious.] You!—You had better! [TheWoodpeckeralertly retires, bumping his head.]
Chantecler[In the flower.] An elderly Cock?—I hope that the Hens—? [With intonations more and more expressive of relief.] Ah, that’s right! that’s right! that’s right! [He ends, with evident lightening of the heart.] A father! [As if answering a question.] Do I sing? Yes, but far away from here, at the water-side.
The Pheasant-henOh!
Chantecler[With a tinge of bitterness.] Golden Pheasants will not long allow one to purchase glory by too strenuous an effort, and so I go off by myself, and work at the Dawn in secret.
The Pheasant-hen[Approaching from behind with threatening countenance.] Oh!
ChanteclerAs soon as the beauteous eye which enthralls me—
The Pheasant-hen[Pausing.] Oh!
Chantecler—closes, and in her surpassing loveliness she sleeps—
The Pheasant-hen[Delighted.] Ah!
ChanteclerI make my escape.
The Pheasant-hen[Furious.] Oh!
ChanteclerI speed through the dew to a distant place, to sing there the necessary number of times, and when I feel the darkness wavering, when only one song more is needed, I return and noiselessly getting back to roost, wake the Pheasant-hen by singing it at her side.—Betrayed by the dew? Oh, no! [Laughing.] For with a whisk of my wing I brush my feet clear of the tell-tale silveriness!
The Pheasant-hen[Close behind him.] You brush your—?
Chantecler[Turning.] Ouch! [Into the convolvulus.] No nothing! I Later!—Ouch!
The Pheasant-hen[Violently.] So! So! Not only you keep up an interest in the fidelity of your old flames—
Chantecler[Evasively.] Oh!
The Pheasant-henYou furthermore—
ChanteclerI —
The Bee[Inside the morning-glory.] Vrrrrrrr!
Chantecler[Placing his wing over the flower.] I —
The Pheasant-henYou deceive me to the point of remembering to brush off your feet!
ChanteclerBut—
The Pheasant-henThis clodhopper, see now, whom I picked up off his haystack—and to rule alone in his soul is apparently quite beyond my power!
Chantecler[Collecting himself and straightening up.] When one dwells in a soul, it is better, believe me, to meet with the Dawn there, than with nothing.
The Pheasant-hen[Angrily.] No! the Dawn defrauds me of a great and undivided love!
ChanteclerThere is no great love outside the shadow of a great dream! How should there not flow more love from a soul whose very business it is to open wide every day?
The Pheasant-hen[Coming and going stormily.] I will sweep everything aside with my golden russet wing!
ChanteclerAnd who are you, bent upon such tremendous sweeping [They stand rigid and erect in front of each other, looking defiance into each other’s eyes.]
The Pheasant-henThe Pheasant-hen I am, who have assumed the golden plumage of the arrogant male!
ChanteclerRemaining in spite of all a female, whose eternal rival is the Idea!
The Pheasant-hen[In a great cry.] Hold me to your heart and be still!
Chantecler[Crushing her brutally to him.] Yes, I strain you to my Cock’s heart—[With infinite regret.] Better it were I had folded you to my Awakener’s soul!
The Pheasant-henTo deceive me for the Dawn’s sake! Very well, however much you may abhor it, you shall for my sake deceive the Dawn.
ChanteclerI How?
The Pheasant-hen[Stamping her foot; in a capricious tone.] It is my formal and explicit wish—
ChanteclerBut listen, dear—
The Pheasant-henMy formal and explicit wish that you should for one whole day refrain altogether from singing.
ChanteclerThat I —
The Pheasant-henI desire you to remain one whole day without singing.
ChanteclerBut, heavens and earth, am I to leave the valley in total darkness?
The Pheasant-hen[Pouting.] What harm will it do to the valley?
ChanteclerWhatever lies too long in darkness and sleep becomes used to falsehood and consents to death.
The Pheasant-henLeave singing for one day—[In a tone of evil insinuation.] It will free my mind of certain suspicions troubling it.
Chantecler[With a start.] I can see what you are trying to do!
The Pheasant-henAnd I can see what you are afraid of!
Chantecler[Earnestly.] I will never give up singing.
The Pheasant-henAnd what if you were mistaken? What if the truth were that Dawn comes without help from you?
Chantecler[With fierce resolution.] I shall not know it.
The Pheasant-hen[In a sudden burst of tears.] Could you not forget the time, for once, if you saw me weeping?
ChanteclerNo, I could not.
The Pheasant-henNothing, ever, can make you forget the time?
ChanteclerNothing. I am conscious of darkness as too heavy a weight.
The Pheasant-henYou are conscious of darkness as—Shall I tell you the truth? You think you sing for the Dawn, but you sing in reality to be admired, you—songster, you! [With contemptuous pity.] Is it possible you are not aware that your poor notes raise a smile right through the forest, accustomed to the fluting of the thrush?
ChanteclerI know, you are trying now to reach me through my pride, but—
The Pheasant-henI doubt if you can get so many as three toadstools and a couple of sassafras stalks to listen to you, when the ardent oriole flings across the leafy gloom his melodious pir-piriol!
The Woodpecker[Reappearing.] From the Greek: Pure,puros.
ChanteclerNo more from you, please! [TheWoodpeckerhurriedly withdraws.]
The Pheasant-hen[Insisting.] The echo must make some rather interesting mental reservations, one fancies, when he hears you sing after hearing the great Nightingale!
Chantecler[Turning to leave.] My nerves, my dear girl, are not of the very steadiest to-night.
The Pheasant-hen[Following.] Did you ever hear him?
ChanteclerNever.
The Pheasant-henHis song is so wonderful that the first time—[She stops short, struck by an idea.] Oh!
ChanteclerWhat is it?
The Pheasant-hen[Aside.] Ah, you feel the weight of the darkness—
Chantecler[Coming forward again.] What?
The Pheasant-hen[With an ironical curtsey.] Nothing! [Carelessly.] Let us go to roost! [Chanteclergoes to the back and is preparing to rise to a branch. ThePheasant-henaside.] He does not know that when the Nightingale sings one listens, supposing it to be a minute, and lo! the whole night has been spent listening, even as happens in the enchanted forest of a German legend.
Chantecler[As she does not join him, returns to her.] What are you saying?
The Pheasant-hen[Laughing in his face.] Nothing!
A Voice[Outside.] The illustrious Cock?
Chantecler[Looking around him.] I am wanted?
The Pheasant-hen[Who has gone in the direction from whence came the voice.] There, in the grass! [Jumping back.] Mercy upon us! They are the—[With a movement of insuperable disgust.] They are the—[With a spring she conceals herself in the hollow tree, calling back toChantecler.] Be civil to them!