THE SAME, _a_ PIGEON _on the roof, later_ CHANTECLER.
THE WHITE HEN
[_Looking about with quick jerks of her head._] Who called me?
THE VOICE
A pigeon.
THE WHITE HEN
[_Looking for him._] Where?
THE PIGEON
On the sloping roof.
THE WHITE HEN
[_Lifting her head and seeing him._] Ah!
THE PIGEON
Though I am the bearer of an important missive, I would not miss the
opportunity--Good evening, Hen!
THE WHITE HEN
Postman, howdedo?
THE PIGEON
My 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 HEN
A simple grain of wheat.
THE GREY HEN
[_Taking up her conversation with the_ WHITE 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 HEN
Yes, 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 HEN
One moment, please! [_To the_ GREY 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 PIGEON
I was about to say--
THE WHITE HEN
What, bluest of Pigeons?
THE PIGEON
That 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 HEN
Of what?
THE PIGEON
Oh, just a glimpse, the very least glimpse of--
ALL THE HENS
[_Impatiently._] Of what?--What?
THE PIGEON
Of 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 HEN
There, there, cool down!
THE PIGEON
I am shaking with excitement!
THE WHITE HEN
You are shaking down the roof!
THE PIGEON
You can’t think how we admire him!
THE WHITE HEN
Oh, everyone admires him!
THE PIGEON
And 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 PIGEON
We 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 HEN
Our Cock!
THE BLACKBIRD
[_Thrusting his head between the bars of his cage._] My, thy, his, her,
our, your, and their Cock!
THE TURKEY
[_To the_ PIGEON.] He will soon be coming in from his usual round in the
fields.
THE PIGEON
You 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 PIGEON
Ah, indeed? You give lessons in--
THE TURKEY
Certainly. A bird who can gobble is qualified to teach crowing.
THE PIGEON
Where was he born?
THE TURKEY
[_Indicating an old covered basket, badly battered and broken._] In that
old basket.
THE PIGEON
And is the hen who brooded him still living?
THE TURKEY
[_Again indicating the basket._] She is there.
THE PIGEON
Where?
THE TURKEY
In that old basket.
THE PIGEON
[_More and more interested._] Of what breed is she?
THE TURKEY
She 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 PIGEON
How proud she must be of having hatched such a Cock!
THE TURKEY
Yes, 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 HENS
He is growing!
[_The lid of the basket is suddenly lifted, and a bristling aged hen’s
head appears._]
THE PIGEON
[_To the_ OLD 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 TURKEY
She opens now and then, like that, and ping! shoots at us some such
pearl of homely lore--
THE PIGEON
[_To the_ WHITE 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!
[_The_ TURKEY _turns quickly around, the lid has already dropped._]
THE PIGEON
[_To the_ WHITE 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 TURKEY
Very proud. Very proud. [_To a_ CHICK.] 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 TURKEY
Cali--?
THE CHICK
[_Trying to remember._] Cali--
THE PIGEON
This 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 PIGEON
White 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 HEN
Perfectly true.
THE CHICK
Cali--
THE TURKEY
[_Helping him._] Gu?
THE CHICK
Gu--
THE PIGEON
Is 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 PIGEON
That secret, that great secret, is it known to anyone?
THE WHITE HEN
No.
THE PIGEON
He has not even told his Hen?
THE WHITE HEN
[_Correcting him._] His Hens.
THE PIGEON
[_Slightly shocked._] Ah, he has more than one?
THE BLACKBIRD
He crows, remember, you only coo.
THE PIGEON
Well, 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 the_ BUTTERFLY _settled on one of the flowers._]
A HEN
What is that?
THE TURKEY
[_Solemnly._] Fate!
THE BLACKBIRD
In a thin disguise of gauze!
THE WHITE HEN
Oh, a net--at the end of a cane!
THE BLACKBIRD
No harm in the cane--it’s the kid at the other end of the cane! [_Half
aloud, watching the_ BUTTERFLY.] 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 OUTSIDE
Cock-a-doodle-doo!
[_At the sound, the_ BUTTERFLY _flies off. The_ NET _wavers a moment,
with an effect of disappointment, then disappears._]
SEVERAL HENS
What?--Eh?--What was it?
A HEN
[_Who having hopped up on a wheelbarrow can follow the flight of the_
BUTTERFLY.] 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 HEN
He is coming!
ANOTHER HEN
He is just outside--
THE WHITE HEN
[_To the_ PIGEON.] 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 BLACKBIRD
You 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
[_Indicating_ CHANTECLER, _who now appears upon the wall._] Yes, but
with the exception of that--slight detail, you must own my portrait is
a likeness.
THE PIGEON
Not at all. Not in the very least. [_Contemplating_ CHANTECLER _with a
very different eye from the_ BLACKBIRD’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 BLACKBIRD
When 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 BLACKBIRD
He’s letting off hot air!
CHANTECLER
Irradiate the world!
A HEN
Now he pauses--one claw lifted--
CHANTECLER
[_In a sort of groan of excessive tenderness._] Coa--
THE BLACKBIRD
That, if you please, is ecstasy!
CHANTECLER
Thy 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!
CHANTECLER
O thou that driest the tears of the meanest among weeds
And dost of a dead flower make a living butterfly--
Thy miracle, wherever almond-trees
Shower 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 face
In the humble basin of blue suds,
Or see the lightning of thy last farewell
Reflected 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
[_Watching_ CHANTECLER _as 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 BLACKBIRD
Prouder 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 the_ WHITE HEN _who is eating something._] What’s she
eating?
THE WHITE HEN
Corn. Nothing but corn.
CHANTECLER
Thou smilest on the sunflower craning after thee,
And burnishest my brother of the vane,
And softly sifting through the linden-trees
Strewest 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 things
Forgets 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--things
Would be no more than what they are!
THE PIGEON
Bravo! 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!
[_The_ PIGEON _flies off._]
THE BLACKBIRD
Jolly your admirers, it pays!
CHANTECLER
[_In a cordial voice, to the whole barnyard._] To work now, all of you,
with a will!
[_A_ FLY _darts past, buzzing._]
CHANTECLER
Busy 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--
CHANTECLER
Of the what?
THE TURKEY
Of the Fly and the--
CHANTECLER
I 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 TURKEY
Yes, 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! [_The_ GANDERS
_go 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--?
CHANTECLER
That 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!
CHANTECLER
Everything is interesting! Pray go and sit on the eggs you have been
entrusted with! [_To another_ HEN.] 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 remaining_ HENS.]
You--[_Catching sight of the_ OLD 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 HEN
Sooner or later, tadpole becomes toad!
CHANTECLER
True! [_To the _HENS,_ 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 the_ GREY HEN.] Are you coming?
THE GREY HEN
Not a word! I intend to stay behind, to see the Cuckoo. [_She hides
behind the basket._]
CHANTECLER
You, little tufted hen, was it just my fancy that you looked sulky
falling into line?
THE TUFTED HEN
[_Going up to him._] Cock--
CHANTECLER
What is it?
THE TUFTED HEN
I, who am nearest to your heart--
CHANTECLER
[_Quickly._] Hush!
THE TUFTED HEN
It annoys me not to be told--
THE WHITE HEN
[_Who has drawn near on the other side._] Cock--
CHANTECLER
Well?
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--
CHANTECLER
What?
THE BLACK HEN
Your special and tender regard for me--
CHANTECLER
[_Quickly._] Hush!
THE BLACK HEN
Tell 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--
CHANTECLER
That’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--
CHANTECLER
You 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--
CHANTECLER
And make them into troches! Exactly!
ALL THREE HENS
Cock--!
CHANTECLER
Off with you all! Be off! [_The_ HENS _hastily 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!
CHANTECLER
You 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! [_The_ HENS _bow in obedience._] Now let me see you cross!
A HORN
[_In the distance._] Honk! Honk! Honk!
CHANTECLER
[_Rushing in front of the_ HENS _and spreading his wings before them._]
Not yet!
THE HORN
[_Very near, accompanied by a terrific snorting._] Honk! Honk! Honk!
CHANTECLER
[_Barring the_ HENS’ _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 HEN
You may think this is fun! Now everything we eat will taste of gasoline!