Scene Sixth
Chantecler, the Blackbird, Patou, the Pheasant-hen
Chantecler[After a moment, to theBlackbirdwho from his cage, which he has returned, can see off over the wall.] Is he gone?
The BlackbirdHe is nearly out of sight!
Chantecler[Going towardPatou’skennel.] 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 BlackbirdWhew! We hate ourself, don’t we!
The Pheasant-henIn the forest where I live there comes a-poaching—
ChanteclerThat madman who would have given to vile lead a jewel for setting!
The Pheasant-henBeneath 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!
PatouYou?
The Pheasant-henThe Pheasant!
Patou[Politely correcting her.] Pheasant-hen.
The Pheasant-henI 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!
ChanteclerShe is distractingly lovely, so much is certain!
PatouHe 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.]
ChanteclerSo you come to us from the East, like the Dawn?
The Pheasant-henMy 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[ToChantecler,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 Dawn’s 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-henWild 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 thePheasant-hen,in the manner of theBlackbirdaping him, with a very gentle, throaty.] Coa—[ThePheasant-henlooks at him. Believing himself encouraged, he takes up again louder, while circling about her.] Coa—
The Pheasant-henMy 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-henThe eye—the peculiar gait—the drooping wing—the “Coa—”
ChanteclerBut I —
The Pheasant-henYou do it all very nicely, I admit; only, it has not the very slightest effect upon me!
Chantecler[Slightly abashed.] Madam—
The Pheasant-henOh, 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 moment’s 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—
ChanteclerBut—
The Pheasant-henI do not bestow my affections quite so lightly. For my taste, anyhow, you are altogether too frankly Cock of the Walk!
ChanteclerToo—?
The Pheasant-henSpoiled! The only Cock to my fancy would be a plain inglorious Cock to whom I should be all in all.
ChanteclerBut—
The Pheasant-henLove a celebrated Cock? I am not such a very woman!
ChanteclerBut—well—still—We might, however, Madam, take a little stroll together!
The Pheasant-henYes, like two friends.
ChanteclerTwo friends.
The Pheasant-henTwo chickens.
ChanteclerVery 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-henYou shall show me the sights.
Chantecler[Stopping before theChickens’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[ToChantecler,looking about her.] And so you live here untroubled, and have nothing to fear?
ChanteclerNothing 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 BlackbirdThe showman’s on the job!
The Pheasant-hen[Indicating theBlackbird.] And that?
ChanteclerOur humorist.
The Pheasant-henWhat does he do?
ChanteclerOh, he keeps busy!
The Pheasant-henDoing what?
ChanteclerTrying never to appear a fool, and that’s hard work.
The Pheasant-henPossibly—but most unattractive! [They move towards the back.]
The Blackbird[With a glance at thePheasant-hen’sscarlet 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-henYour song then is a matter of importance?
Chantecler[Seriously.] The greatest.
The Pheasant-henWhy?
ChanteclerThat is my secret.
The Pheasant-henIf 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-henStolen from my forest!—So what they say is true?—you have a secret?
Chantecler[Dryly.] Yes, Madam.
The Pheasant-henI 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-henWhat?—This is all?
ChanteclerThis is all.
The Pheasant-henAnd do you imagine the world ends at your vegetable-patch?
ChanteclerNo.
The Pheasant-henDo you never, as you watch, far overhead, the wedge of the south-flying birds, dream of vaster horizons?
ChanteclerNo.
Pheasant-henBut all these things about you are dreary and poor and flat!
ChanteclerAnd I can never become used to the richness and wonder of these things!
The Pheasant-henIt is always the same, you must agree!
ChanteclerNothing is ever the same,—nothing,—ever,—under the sun! And that because of the sun!—ForShechanges everything!
The Pheasant-henShe—Who?
ChanteclerLight, 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?
ChanteclerWith power to see, capacity to suffer, one may come to 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 thePheasant-henbefore 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-henHe is a Cock, moreover, for whom that fact is not the only thing in the world!
Chantecler[Who has gone towardPatou.] There, my dear boy, is a Hen with whom one can have a bit of solid conversation.