Scene Second
The Same,aPigeonon the roof, laterChantecler.
The White Hen[Looking about with quick jerks of her head.] Who called me?
The VoiceA pigeon.
The White Hen[_Looking for him._] Where?
The PigeonOn the sloping roof.
The White Hen[Lifting her head and seeing him.] Ah!
The PigeonThough I am the bearer of an important missive, I would not miss the opportunity—Good evening, Hen!
The White HenPostman, howdedo?
The PigeonMy 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 HenA simple grain of wheat.
The Grey Hen[Taking up her conversation with theWhite 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 HenYes, 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 HenOne moment, please! [To theGrey 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 PigeonI was about to say—
The White HenWhat, bluest of Pigeons?
The PigeonThat 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 HenOf what?
The PigeonOh, just a glimpse, the very least glimpse of—
All the Hens[Impatiently.] Of what?—What?
The PigeonOf his comb!
The White Hen[Laughing, to the others.] Ha! ha! he wishes to see—
The Pigeon[In great excitement.] That’s it! Just to see—
The White HenThere, there, cool down!
The PigeonI am shaking with excitement!
The White HenYou are shaking down the roof!
The PigeonYou can’t think how we admire him!
The White HenOh, everyone admires him!
The PigeonAnd 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 PigeonWe 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 HenOur Cock!
The Blackbird[Thrusting his head between the bars of his cage.] My, thy, his, her, our, your, and their Cock!
The Turkey[To thePigeon.] He will soon be coming in from his usual round in the fields.
THEPigeonYou 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 PigeonAh, indeed? You give lessons in—
The TurkeyCertainly. A bird who can gobble is qualified to teach crowing.
The PigeonWhere was he born?
The Turkey[Indicating an old covered basket, badly battered and broken.] In that old basket.
The PigeonAnd is the hen who brooded him still living?
The Turkey[Again indicating the basket.] She is there.
The PigeonWhere?
The TurkeyIn that old basket.
The Pigeon[More and more interested.] Of what breed is she?
The TurkeyShe 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 PigeonHow proud she must be of having hatched such a Cock!
The TurkeyYes, 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 HensHe is growing!
[The lid of the basket is suddenly lifted, and a bristling aged hen’s head appears.]
The Pigeon[To theOld 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 TurkeyShe opens now and then, like that, and ping! shoots at us some such pearl of homely lore—
The Pigeon[To theWhite 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!
[TheTurkeyturns quickly around, the lid has already dropped.]
The Pigeon[To theWhite 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 TurkeyVery proud. Very proud. [To aChick.] 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 TurkeyCali—?
The Chick[Trying to remember.] Cali—
The PigeonThis 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 PigeonWhite 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 HenPerfectly true.
The ChickCali—
The Turkey[Helping him.] Gu?
The ChickGu—
The PigeonIs 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 PigeonThat secret, that great secret, is it known to anyone?
The White HenNo.
The PigeonHe has not even told his Hen?
The White Hen[Correcting him.] His Hens.
The Pigeon[Slightly shocked.] Ah, he has more than one?
The BlackbirdHe crows, remember, you only coo.
The PigeonWell, 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 aÎrial 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 theButterflysettled on one of the flowers.]
A HenWhat is that?
The Turkey[Solemnly.] Fate!
The BlackbirdIn a thin disguise of gauze!
The White HenOh, a net—at the end of a cane!
The BlackbirdNo harm in the cane—it’s the kid at the other end of the cane! [Half aloud, watching theButterfly.] 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 OutsideCock-a-doodle-doo!
[At the sound, theButterflyflies off. TheNetwavers a moment, with an effect of disappointment, then disappears.]
Several HensWhat?—Eh?—What was it?
A Hen[Who having hopped up on a wheelbarrow can follow the flight of theButterfly.] 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 HenHe is coming!
Another HenHe is just outside—
The White Hen[To thePigeon.] 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 BlackbirdYou 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[IndicatingChantecler,who now appears upon the wall.] Yes, but with the exception of that—slight detail, you must own my portrait is a likeness.
The PigeonNot at all. Not in the very least. [ContemplatingChanteclerwith a very different eye from theBlackbird’s.] What I see, beneath that quivering helmet, 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 BlackbirdWhen 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 BlackbirdHe’s letting off hot air!
ChanteclerIrradiate the world!
A HenNow he pauses—one claw lifted—
Chantecler[In a sort of groan of excessive tenderness.] Coa—
The BlackbirdThat, if you please, is ecstasy!
ChanteclerThy 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!
ChanteclerO thou that driest the tears of the meanest among weedsAnd dost of a dead flower make a living butterfly—Thy miracle, wherever almond-treesShower 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 faceIn the humble basin of blue suds,Or see the lightning of thy last farewellReflected 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[WatchingChantecleras 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 BlackbirdProuder 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 theWhite Henwho is eating something.] What’s she eating?
The White HenCorn. Nothing but corn.
ChanteclerThou smilest on the sunflower craning after thee,And burnishest my brother of the vane,And softly sifting through the linden-treesStrewest 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 thingsForgets 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—thingsWould be no more than what they are!
The PigeonBravo! 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!
[ThePigeonflies off.]
The BlackbirdJolly your admirers, it pays!
Chantecler[In a cordial voice, to the whole barnyard.] To work now, all of you, with a will!
[AFlydarts past, buzzing.]
ChanteclerBusy 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—
ChanteclerOf the what?
The TurkeyOf the Fly and the—
ChanteclerI 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 TurkeyYes, 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! [TheGandersgo 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—?
ChanteclerThat 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!
ChanteclerEverything is interesting! Pray go and sit on the eggs you have been entrusted with! [To anotherHen.] 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 remainingHens.] You—[Catching sight of theOld 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 HenSooner or later, tadpole becomes toad!
ChanteclerTrue! [To theHens,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 theGrey Hen.] Are you coming?
The Grey HenNot a word! I intend to stay behind, to see the Cuckoo. [She hides behind the basket.]
ChanteclerYou, little tufted hen, was it just my fancy that you looked sulky falling into line?
The Tufted Hen[Going up to him.] Cock—
ChanteclerWhat is it?
The Tufted HenI who am nearest to your heart—
Chantecler[Quickly.] Hush!
The Tufted HenIt annoys me not to be told—
The White Hen[Who has drawn near on the other side.] Cock—
ChanteclerWell?
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—
ChanteclerWhat?
The Black HenYour special and tender regard for me—
Chantecler[Quickly.] Hush!
The Black HenTell 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—
ChanteclerThat’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—
ChanteclerYou 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—
ChanteclerAnd make them into troches! Exactly!
All Three HensCock—!
ChanteclerOff with you all! Be off! [TheHenshastily 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!
ChanteclerYou 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! [TheHensbow in obedience.] Now let me see you cross!
A Horn[In the distance.] Honk! Honk! Honk!
Chantecler[Rushing in front of theHensand spreading his wings before them.] Not yet!
The Horn[Very near, accompanied by a terrific snorting.] Honk! Honk! Honk!
Chantecler[Barring theHens’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 HenYou may think this is fun! Now everything we eat will taste of gasoline!