Breathe on our bright round eyes and over them
The triple curtain of the lids will close.
If Man, the unjust, pay us by casting stones,
For filling field and wood and eaves with song,
For battling with the weevil for his bread,
If he lime twigs for us, if he spread snares,
Call to our memory Thy gentle Saint,
Thy good Saint Francis, that we may forgive
The cruelty of men because a man
Once called us brothers, "My brothers, the birds!"
THE SECOND VOICE
Saint Francis of Assisi--
A THOUSAND VOICES
[_Among the leaves._] Pray for us!
THE VOICE
Confessor of the mavis--
ALL THE VOICES
Pray for us!
THE VOICE
Preacher to the swallows--
ALL THE VOICES
Pray for us!
THE VOICE
O tender dreamer of a generous dream,
Who didst believe so surely in our soul
That, ever since, our soul, and ever more,
Affirms, defines itself--
ALL THE VOICES
Remember us!
THE FIRST VOICE
And by the favour of thy prayers obtain
The needful daily sup and crumb! Amen.
THE SECOND VOICE
Amen!
ALL THE VOICES
[_In a murmur spreading to the uttermost ends of the forest._] Amen!
CHANTECLER
[_Who, having a moment before stepped from the hollow tree, has stood
listening._] Amen!
[_The shade has deepened and taken a bluer tinge. The spiderweb, touched
by a moonbeam, looks as if sifting silver dust. The_ PHEASANT-HEN _comes
from the tree and follows_ CHANTECLER _with little short
feminine steps._]
SCENE SECOND
CHANTECLER, _the_ PHEASANT-HEN, _from time to time the_ RABBITS, _now
and then the_ WOODPECKER.
CHANTECLER
How softly sleeps the moonlight on the ferns! Now is the time--
A LITTLE QUAVERING VOICE
Spider at night,
Bodeth delight!
THE PHEASANT-HEN
Thanks, kind Spider!
CHANTECLER
Now is the time--
THE PHEASANT-HEN
[_Close behind him._] Now is the time to kiss me.
CHANTECLER
All those Rabbits looking on make it a trifle--
THE PHEASANT-HEN
[_Suddenly flaps her wings; the frightened_ RABBITS _start, on all sides
white tails disappear into rabbit-holes. The_ PHEASANT-HEN _coming back
to_ CHANTECLER.] There! [_They bill._] Do you love my forest?
CHANTECLER
I love it, for no sooner had I crossed its verdant border than I got
back my song. Let us go to roost. I must sing very early to-morrow.
THE PHEASANT-HEN
[_Imperiously._] But one song only!
CHANTECLER
Yes.
THE PHEASANT-HEN
For a month I have only allowed you one song.
CHANTECLER
[_Resignedly._] Yes.
THE PHEASANT-HEN
And has the Sun not risen just the same?
CHANTECLER
[_In a tone of unwilling admission._] The Sun has risen.
THE PHEASANT-HEN
You see that one can have the Dawn at a smaller cost. Is the sky any
less red for your only crowing once?
CHANTECLER
No.
THE PHEASANT-HEN
Well then? [_Offering her bill._] A kiss! [_Finding his kiss
absent-minded._] You are thinking of something else. Please attend!
[_Reverting to her idea._] Why should you wear yourself out? You were
simply squandering the precious copper of your voice. Daylight is all
very well, but one must live! Oh! the male creature! If we were not
there, with what sad frequency he would be fooled!
CHANTECLER
[_With conviction._] Yes, but you are there, you see.
THE PHEASANT-HEN
It is barbarous anyhow to keep up a perpetual cockaduddling when I am
trying to sleep.
CHANTECLER
[_Gently correcting her._] Doodling, dearest.
THE PHEASANT-HEN
Duddling is correct.
CHANTECLER
Doodling.
THE PHEASANT-HEN
[_Raising her head toward the top of the tree and calling._] Mr.
Woodpecker! [_To_ CHANTECLER.] We will ask the learned gentleman in the
green coat. [_To the_ WOODPECKER _the upper half of whose figure appears
at a round hole high up in the tree trunk; his coat is green, his
waistcoat buff, and he wears a red skull-cap._] Do you say cockaduddling
or cockadoodling?
THE WOODPECKER
[_Bending a long professorial bill._] Both.
CHANTECLER _and the_ PHEASANT-HEN
[_Turning to each other, triumphantly._] Ah!
THE WOODPECKER
Duddling is more tender, doodling more poetic. [_He disappears._]
CHANTECLER
It is for you I cockaduddle!
THE PHEASANT-HEN
Yes, but you cockadoodle for the Dawn!
CHANTECLER
[_Going toward her._] I do believe you are jealous!
THE PHEASANT-HEN
[_Retreating coquettishly._] Do you love me more than her?
CHANTECLER
[_With a cry of warning._] Be careful, a snare!
THE PHEASANT-HEN
[_Jumping aside._] Ready to spring! [_Dimly visible against a tree, is,
in fact, a spread bird-net._]
CHANTECLER
[_Examining it._] A dangerous contrivance.
THE PHEASANT-HEN
Forbidden by the game-laws of 44.
CHANTECLER
[_Laughing._] Do you know that?
THE PHEASANT-HEN
You seem to forget that the object of your affections comes under the
head of game.
CHANTECLER
[_With a touch of sadness._] It is true that we are of different kinds.
THE PHEASANT-HEN
[_Returning to his side with a hop._] I want you to love me more than
her. Say it's me you love most. Say it's me!
THE WOODPECKER
[_Reappearing._] I!
CHANTECLER
[_Looking up._] Not in a love-scene.
THE PHEASANT-HEN
[_To the_ WOODPECKER.] See here,--you! Be so kind another time as to knock!
WOODPECKER
[_Disappearing._] Certainly. Certainly.
THE PHEASANT-HEN
[_To_ CHANTECLER.] He has a bad habit of thrusting his bill between the
bark and the tree, but he is a rare scholar, exceptionally well
informed--
CHANTECLER
[_Absent-mindedly._] On what subjects?
THE PHEASANT-HEN
The language of birds.
CHANTECLER
Indeed?
THE PHEASANT-HEN
For, you know, the birds when they say their prayers speak the common
language, but when they chat together in private they use a twittering
dialect, wholly onomatopoetic.
CHANTECLER
They talk Japanese. [_The_ WOODPECKER _knocks three times with his bill
on the tree: Rat-tat-tat!_] Come in!
THE WOODPECKER
[_Appearing, indignant._] Japanese, did you say?
CHANTECLER
Yes. Some of them say, Tio! Tio! and others say Tzoui! Tzoui!
; THE WOODPECKER
Birds have talked Greek ever since Aristophanes!
CHANTECLER
[_Rushing to the_ PHEASANT-HEN.] Oh, for the love of Greek! [_They bill._]
THE WOODPECKER
Know, profane youth, that the Black-chat's cry Ouis-ouis-tra-tra, is a
corruption of the word Lysistrata! [_Disappears._]
THE PHEASANT-HEN
[_To_ CHANTECLER.] Will you never love anyone but me?
[THE WOODPECKER'S _knock is heard: Rat-tat-tat._]
CHANTECLER
Come in!
THE PHEASANT-HEN
[_To_ CHANTECLER.] Do you promise?
THE WOODPECKER
[_Appears, soberly nodding his red cap._] Tiri-para! sings the small
sedge-warbler to the reeds. Incontrovertibly from the Greek. _Para,_
along, and the word water is understood. [_Disappears._]
CHANTECLER
He has Greek on the brain!
THE PHEASANT-HEN
[_Reverting to her idea._] Am I the whole, whole world to you?
CHANTECLER
Of course you are, only--
THE PHEASANT-HEN
In my green-sleeved Oriental robe, I look to you--how do I look?
CHANTECLER
Like a living commandment ever to worship that which comes from the East.
THE PHEASANT-HEN
[_Exasperated._] Will you stop thinking of the light of day, and think
only of the light in my eyes?
CHANTECLER
I shall never forget, however, that there was a morning when we believed
equally in my Destiny, and that in the radiant hour of dawning love you
forgot, and allowed me to forget, your gold for the gold of the Dawn!
THE PHEASANT-HEN
The Dawn! Always the Dawn! Be careful, Chantecler I shall do something
rash! [_Going toward the Back._]
CHANTECLER
You will infallibly do as you like.
THE PHEASANT-HEN
In the glade not long ago I met the--[_She catches herself and stops
short, intentionally._]
CHANTECLER
[_Looks at her, and in an angry cry._] The Pheasant? [_With sudden
violence._] Promise me that you will never again go to the glade!
THE PHEASANT-HEN
[_Assured of her power over him, with a bound returns to his side._] And
you, promise that you will love me more than the Light!
CHANTECLER
[_Sorrowfully._] Oh!
THE PHEASANT-HEN
That you will not sing--
CHANTECLER
More than one song, we have settled that point. [_Rat-tat-tat, from the_
WOODPECKER.] Come in!
THE WOODPECKER
[_Appearing and pointing with his bill at the net._] The snare! The
farmer placed it there. He declared he would capture the Pheasant-hen.
THE PHEASANT-HEN
He flatters himself!
THE WOODPECKER
And that he would keep you on his farm.
THE PHEASANT-HEN
[_Indignant._] Alive? [_To_ CHANTECLER, _in a tone of reproach._] Your
farm!
CHANTECLER
[_Seeing a_ RABBIT _who has returned to the edge of his hole._] Ah,
there comes a Rabbit!
THE RABBIT
[_Showing the snare to the_ PHEASANT-HEN.] You know if you put your foot
on that spring--
THE PHEASANT-HEN
[_In a tone of superiority._] I know all about snares, my little man. If
you put your foot on that spring, the thing shuts. I am afraid of
nothing but dogs. [_To_ CHANTECLER.] On your farm, which you secretly
yearn for.
CHANTECLER
[_In a voice of injured innocence._] I?
THE PHEASANT-HEN
[_To the_ RABBIT, _giving him a light tap with her wing to send him
home._] Afraid of nothing but dogs. And since you put me in mind of it,
I think I must go and perplex their noses, by tangling my tracks all
among the grass and underwoods.
CHANTECLER
That's it, you go and fool the dogs!
THE PHEASANT-HEN
[_Starts of, then returns._] You are homesick for that wretched old farm
of yours?
CHANTECLER
I? I? [_She goes off. He repeats indignantly._] I? [_Watching her out of
sight, then, dropping his voice, to the_ WOODPECKER.] She is not coming
back, is she?
THE WOODPECKER
[_Who from his high window in the tree can look off._] No.
SCENE THIRD
CHANTECLER, THE WOODPECKER.
CHANTECLER
[_Eagerly._] Keep watch! They are going to talk with me from home.
THE WOODPECKER
[_Interested._] Who?
CHANTECLER
The Blackbird.
THE WOODPECKER
I thought he hated you.
CHANTECLER
He came near it, but the Blackbird cast of mind admits of compromise,
and it amuses him to keep me informed.
THE WOODPECKER
Is he coming?
CHANTECLER
[_Who is a different bird since the_ PHEASANT-HEN'S _exit,
light-hearted, boyishly cheerful._] No, but the blue morning-glory
opening in his cage amid the wistaria, communicates by subterranean
filaments with this white convolvulus trembling above the pool. [_Going
to the convolvulus._] So that by talking into its chalice--[_He plunges
his bill into one of the trembling milky trumpets._] Hello!
THE WOODPECKER
[_Nodding to himself._] From the Greek, _allos_, another.
He talks with another.
CHANTECLER
Hello! The Blackbird, please!
THE WOODPECKER
[_Keeping watch._] Most imprudent, this is! To choose among the
convolvuli exactly the one which--
CHANTECLER
[_Lighter and lighter of mood, returning to the_ WOODPECKER.] But it's
the only one open all night! When the Blackbird answers, the Bee who
sleeps in the flower wakes up and we--
THE BEE
[_Inside the convolvulus._] Vrrrrrrrrr!
CHANTECLER
[_Briskly running to the flower and listening at the horn-shaped
receiver._] Ah? This morning, did you say?
THE WOODPECKER
[_Filled with curiosity._] What is it?
CHANTECLER
[_In a voice of sudden emotion._] Thirty chicks have been born!
[_Listening again._] Briffaut, the hunting-dog, is ill? [_As if
something interfered with his hearing._] I believe it is the
Dragon-flies, deafening us with the crackling of their wings--[_Shouting._]
Will you be so kind, young ladies, as not to cut us off? [_Listening._]
And big Julius obliges Patou to go with him on his hunting expeditions?
[_To the_ WOODPECKER.] Ah, you ought to know my friend Patou! [_Burying
his bill again in the flower._] So? Without me everything goes wrong? Yes!
[_With satisfaction._] Yes! Waste and carelessness naturally!
THE WOODPECKER
[_Who has been keeping watch, warns him suddenly under breath._] Here
she comes!
CHANTECLER
[_With his bill in the flower._] Indeed?
THE WOODPECKER
[_Fluttering desperately._] Hush!
CHANTECLER
The Ducks spent the night under the cart, did they?
THE WOODPECKER
Pst!
SCENE FOURTH
THE SAME, THE PHEASANT-HEN
THE
PHEASANT-HEN
[_Who has come upon the scene, with a threatening gesture at the_
WOODPECKER.] Go inside! [_The_ WOOD PECKER _precipitately disappears.
She stands listening to_ CHANTECLER.]
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 get_ CHANTECLER'S _attention behind the_ PHEASANT-HEN'S
_back._] Pst!
THE PHEASANT-HEN
[_Turning around, furious._] You!--You had better! [_The_ WOODPECKER
_alertly 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-HEN
Oh!
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!
CHANTECLER
As 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!
CHANTECLER
I make my escape.
THE PHEASANT-HEN
[_Furious._] Oh!
CHANTECLER
I 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-HEN
You furthermore--
CHANTECLER
I--
THE BEE
[_Inside the morning-glory._] Vrrrrrrr!
CHANTECLER
[_Placing his wing over the flower._] I--
THE PHEASANT-HEN
You deceive me to the point of remembering to brush off your feet!
CHANTECLER
But--
THE PHEASANT-HEN
This 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!
CHANTECLER
There 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!
CHANTECLER
And 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-HEN
The Pheasant-hen I am, who have assumed the golden plumage of the
arrogant male!
CHANTECLER
Remaining 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-HEN
To deceive me for the Dawn's sake! Very well, however much you may abhor