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
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?
CHANTECLER
With 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 the _PHEASANT-HEN_ before 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-HEN
He is a Cock, moreover, for whom that fact is not the only thing in the
world!
CHANTECLER
[_Who has gone toward_ PATOU.] There, my dear boy, is a Hen with whom
one can have a bit of solid conversation.