Read Chantecler Page 4


  CHANTECLER

  He goes--?

  THE BLACKBIRD

  Yes, I am one of their ornaments.

  PATOU

  And I am not so sure but that some day--

  CHANTECLER

  What are you mumbling to your brass-studded collar?

  PATOU

  --some Hen may get you too to go!

  CHANTECLER

  Me?

  PATOU

  You!

  CHANTECLER

  Me?--

  PATOU

  Led by the end of your beak.

  CHANTECLER

  [_In high wrath._] Me?--

  PATOU

  For when a new Hen heaves in sight, you can't help yourself, you

  know--you lose your balance-wheel--

  THE BLACKBIRD

  You slowly circumambulate the fair one--[_He imitates the_ COCK _walking

  around a_ HEN.] "Yes, it's me.--Here I am!" And you say, "Coa--"

  CHANTECLER

  I never knew a more idiotic bird!

  THE BLACKBIRD

  [_Continuing to mimic him._] You let your wing hang, sentimentally--your

  foot performs a sort of stately jig--[_A shot is heard._] Ha! I don't

  like that!

  PATOU

  [_Starts up quivering, and scents the air._] Poaching Julius is at his

  tricks again!

  THE BLACKBIRD

  Dog, it seems to stimulate you agreeably!

  PATOU

  [_With ears up-pricked and shining eyes._] Yes! [_Suddenly, as if

  controlling himself, passionately._] No--!

  THE BLACKBIRD

  What affects you so?

  PATOU

  Oh, horrible, horrible! A poor little partridge perhaps--

  THE BLACKBIRD

  Is that streaming eye, my friend, a result of age or rheumatism?

  PATOU

  Neither! But I have within me several dogs, and there is conflict amidst

  me. My hunter's nostril twitches at a shot, but, directly, my

  house-dog's memory raises before me a bleeding wing, the glazing eye of

  a doe, the pathos of a rabbit's dying look--and I feel the heart of a

  Saint Bernard waking in my breast! [_Another shot._]

  CHANTECLER

  Again?

  SCENE FIFTH

  THE SAME, A GOLDEN PHEASANT, _later_ BRIFFAUT.

  A GOLDEN PHEASANT

  [_Flying suddenly over the wall, and dropping in the yard, mad with

  fright._] Hide me!

  CHANTECLER

  Heavens!

  PATOU

  A golden pheasant!

  GOLDEN PHEASANT

  Is this great Chantecler?

  THE BLACKBIRD

  All over the shop, we're famous!

  GOLDEN PHEASANT

  [_Running hither and thither._] Save me, if you are he!

  CHANTECLER

  I am!--Rely on me!

  [_Another shot._]

  GOLDEN PHEASANT

  [_Jumping and casting himself on_ CHANTECLER.] Merciful powers!

  CHANTECLER

  But what a nervous bird it is--a golden pheasant!

  GOLDEN PHEASANT

  I have no breath left! I ran too hard!-[_Faints._]

  THE BLACKBIRD

  Puff!--Out goes his light!

  CHANTECLER

  [_Upholding the_ PHEASANT _with one wing._] How beautiful he is, with

  drooping neck and softly ruffled throat-feathers! [_He runs to the

  drinking-trough._] Water!--One almost hesitates to dim such beauty with

  a wetting--[_He splashes him vigorously with his other wing._]

  THE GOLDEN PHEASANT

  [_Coming to._] I am pursued! Oh, hide me!

  THE BLACKBIRD

  "And the villain still--" Here's melodrama!

  [_To the_ PHEASANT.] How the dickens did he manage to miss you?

  THE PHEASANT

  Surprise!--The huntsman was looking for a little grey lark. Seeing me

  rise, he cried, "Thunder!" He saw but a flash of gold, and I a flash of

  fire.--But the dog is chasing me, a horrible dog--[_Seeing_ PATOU _he

  quickly adds._] I am speaking of a hunting-dog! [_To_ CHANTECLER.]

  Hide me!

  CHANTECLER

  The trouble is he is so conspicuous. That increases our dilemma. Where

  can he lie concealed?--Gentle sir, my lord, most noble stranger, where

  might we hope to hide the rainbow, supposing it in danger?

  PATOU

  There by the bench with the beehives stands my green cottage, very much

  at your service.--Go in, I pray! [_The_ GOLDEN PHEASANT _goes in, but

  his long tail projects._] There is too much of this golden vanity!--The

  tip is still in sight.--I shall have to sit on it.

  [BRIFFAUT _appears above the wall. Long hanging ears and quivering

  chops._]

  PATOU

  [_To_ BRIFFAUT, _affecting unconcern._] Good afternoon!

  BRIFFAUT

  [_Snuffing._] Humph, what a good smell!

  PATOU

  [_Pointing to his bowl._] My poor dinner! Soup with seasonable vegetables.

  BRIFFAUT

  [_Hurriedly._] Have you seen a pheasant-hen go by?

  PATOU

  [_In astonishment, reflecting._] A pheasant-hen,--?

  CHANTECLER

  [_Walking about, with an assumption of gaiety._] Impressive, isn't he,

  Briffaut there? with his look of a thoroughbred old Englishman!

  PATOU

  No, but I saw a pheasant.

  BRIFFAUT

  That was she!

  PATOU

  A pheasant-hen wears dun. This was a golden pheasant He went off towards

  the meadow.

  BRIFFAUT

  It is she!

  CHANTECLER

  [_Going towards him, incredulous._] A pheasant-hen with golden plumage?

  BRIFFAUT

  Ah, you do not know what sometimes happens?

  CHANTECLER _and_ PATOU

  No.

  THE BLACKBIRD

  We are in for a hunting yarn!--Give me chloroform!

  BRIFFAUT

  It sometimes happens--the thing is exceptional, of course--My master

  knows because he has read about it.--It sometimes happens--An

  extraordinary phenomenon to be sure! which is likewise observed among

  moor-fowl.--It happens--

  PATOU

  What happens?

  BRIFFAUT

  That the pheasant-hen--Ah, my dear fellows--!

  CHANTECLER

  [_Stamping with impatience._] The pheasant-hen what?--what?

  BRIFFAUT

  Makes up her mind one day that the cock-pheasant goes altogether too

  fine. When the male in springtime puts on his holiday feathers, she sees

  that he is handsomer than she--

  THE BLACKBIRD

  And it makes her sore!

  BRIFFAUT

  She leaves off laying and hatching eggs. Nature then gives her back her

  purple and her gold, and the pheasant-hen proud and magnificent Amazon,

  preferring to put on her back blue, green, yellow, all the colours of

  the prism, rather than under a sober grey wing to shelter a brood of

  young pheasants, flies freely forth--Light-mindedly she sheds the

  virtues of her sex, and having done it--sees life! [_He sketches with

  his paw a slightly disrespectful gesture._]

  CHANTECLER

  [_Dryly._] Pray, what do you know about it?

  BRIFFAUT

  [_Astonished._] Is he annoyed?

  PATOU

  [_Aside._] Already!

  CHANTECLER

  In short, the pheasant your master missed--

  BRIFFAUT

  Was a she!--[_He stops and sc
ents the air._] Oh but!--

  PATOU

  [_Quickly, showing his dish._] You know, it's my dinner you smell!

  BRIFFAUT

  It smells very unusually good.

  CHANTECLER

  [_Aside._] I don't like that way his nose has of twitching.

  BRIFFAUT

  [_Starting upon another story._] Fancy such an instance as the following--

  THE BLACKBIRD

  Holy Smoke! Here comes another!--Oh, I say, hire a hall!

  [_A distant whistle is heard._]

  CHANTECLER

  [_Quickly._] You are whistled for!

  BRIFFAUT

  The deuce! Good evening! [_Disappears._]

  PATOU

  Good evening.

  CHANTECLER

  Gone, at last!

  BLACKBIRD

  [_Calling._] Briffaut!

  CHANTECLER

  Great Glory, what are you doing?

  THE BLACKBIRD

  [_Calling._] I have something to tell you!

  BRIFFAUT

  [_His head reappears above the wall._] Well--?

  THE BLACKBIRD

  Look out, Briffaut!

  CHANTECLER

  [_Low to the_ BLACKBIRD.] Do you make sport of our fears?

  THE BLACKBIRD

  You are losing something!

  BRIFFAUT

  What?

  THE BLACKBIRD

  Time!

  BRIFFAUT

  [_Disappearing with a snort of fury._] Wow!

  SCENE SIXTH

  CHANTECLER, THE BLACKBIRD, PATOU, THE PHEASANT-HEN

  CHANTECLER

  [_After a moment, to the_ BLACKBIRD _who from his cage, which he has

  returned, can see off over the wall._] Is he gone?

  THE BLACKBIRD

  He is nearly out of sight!

  CHANTECLER

  [_Going toward_ PATOU'S _kennel._] 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 BLACKBIRD

  Whew! We hate ourself, don't we!

  THE PHEASANT-HEN

  In the forest where I live there comes a-poaching--

  CHANTECLER

  That madman who would have given to vile lead a jewel for setting!

  THE PHEASANT-HEN

  Beneath 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!

  PATOU

  You?

  THE PHEASANT-HEN

  The Pheasant!

  PATOU

  [_Politely correcting her._] Pheasant-hen.

  THE PHEASANT-HEN

  I 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!

  CHANTECLER

  She is distractingly lovely, so much is certain!

  PATOU

  He 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._]

  CHANTECLER

  So you come to us from the East, like the Dawn?

  THE PHEASANT-HEN

  My 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

  [_To_ CHANTECLER, _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-HEN

  Wild 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 the_ PHEASANT-HEN, _in the manner of the_

  BLACKBIRD _aping him, with a very gentle, throaty._] Coa--[_The_

  PHEASANT-HEN _looks at him. Believing himself encouraged, he takes up

  again louder, while circling about her._] Coa--

  THE PHEASANT-HEN

  My 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-HEN

  The eye--the peculiar gait--the drooping wing--the "Coa--"

  CHANTECLER

  But I--

  THE PHEASANT-HEN

  You do it all very nicely, I admit; only, it has not the very slightest

  effect upon me!

  CHANTECLER

  [_Slightly abashed._] Madam--

  THE PHEASANT-HEN

  Oh, 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--

  CHANTECLER

  But--

  THE PHEASANT-HEN

  I do not bestow my affections quite so lightly. For my taste, anyhow,

  you are altogether too frankly Cock of the Walk!

  CHANTECLER

  Too--?

  THE PHEASANT-HEN

  Spoiled! The only Cock to my fancy would be a plain inglorious Cock to

  whom I should be all in all.

  CHANTECLER

  But--

  THE PHEASANT-HEN

  Love a celebrated Cock? I am not such a very woman!

  CHANTECLER

  But--well--still--We might, however, Madam, take a little stroll together!

  THE PHEASANT-HEN

  Yes, like two friends.

  CHANTECLER

  Two friends.

  THE PHEASANT-HEN

  Two chickens.

  CHANTECLER

  Very 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-HEN

  You shall show me the sights.

  CHANTECLER

  [_Stopping before the_ CHICKENS' _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

  [_To_ CHANTECLER, _looking about her._] And so you live here untroubled,

  and have nothing to fear?

  CHANTECLER

  Nothing 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 BLACKBIRD

  The showman's on the job!

  THE PHEASANT-HEN

  [_Indicating the_ BLACKBIRD.] And that?

  CHANTECLER

  Our humorist.

  THE PHEASANT-HEN

  What does he do?

  CHANTECLER

  Oh, he keeps busy!

  THE PHEASANT-HEN

  Doing what?

  CHANTECLER

  Trying never to appear a fool, and that's hard work.

  THE PHEASANT-HEN

  Possibly--but most unattractive! [_They move towards the back._]

  THE BLACKBIRD

  [_With a glance at the_ PHEASANT-HEN'S _scarlet 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-HEN

  Your song then is a matter of importance?

  CHANTECLER

  [_Seriously._] The greatest.

  THE PHEASANT-HEN

  Why?

  CHANTECLER

  That is my secret.

  THE PHEASANT-HEN

  If 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-HEN

  Stolen from my forest!--So what they say is true?--you have a secret?

  CHANTECLER

  [_Dryly._] Yes, Madam.

  THE PHEASANT-HEN

  I 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-HEN

  What?--This is all?

  CHANTECLER

  This is all.

  THE PHEASANT-HEN

  And do you imagine the world ends at your vegetable-patch?

  CHANTECLER

  No.

  THE PHEASANT-HEN

  Do you never, as you watch, far overhead, the wedge of the south-flying

  birds, dream of vaster horizons?

  CHANTECLER

  No.

  PHEASANT-HEN

  But all these things about you are dreary and poor and flat!

  CHANTECLER

  And I can never become used to the richness and wonder of these things!

  THE PHEASANT-HEN

  It is always the same, you must agree!

  CHANTECLER

  Nothing is ever the same,--nothing,--ever,--under the sun! And that

  because of the sun!--For _She_ changes everything!

  THE PHEASANT-HEN

  She--Who?

  CHANTECLER

  Light, 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