THE SAME, _three_ CHICKENS, _noticeable among the rest for a certain
jaunty pertness of gait and demeanour, who for a minute or so have been
moving among the artificial_ COCKS.
FIRST CHICKEN
To us, of course!
SECOND CHICKEN
To us!
THIRD CHICKEN
To us!
ALL THREE
[_Bowing at once._] Good morning!
FIRST CHICKEN
Your voice?
SECOND CHICKEN
Tenor?
THIRD CHICKEN
Bass?
SECOND CHICKEN
Robusto?
THIRD CHICKEN
Di cortesia?
CHANTECLER
[_Bewildered, looking toward the_ PHEASANT-HEN.] What is this? An
interlude?
THE PHEASANT-HEN
An interview.
SECOND CHICKEN
Do you take it in your chest?
THIRD CHICKEN
Or in your head?
CHANTECLER
Do I take what?
FIRST CHICKEN
Pray talk without reserve. We represent the Board of Investigation into
the Gallodoodle Movement.
CHANTECLER
That’s all very well, but I--[_Attempting to pass._]
FIRST CHICKEN
You will find it difficult, I think, to leave, until you have answered
such questions as we are pleased to ask. Is your early meal a light one?
CHANTECLER
But--
SECOND CHICKEN
You have tendencies, no doubt--
CHANTECLER
Hosts.
SECOND CHICKEN
What do you feel most particularly drawn to?
CHANTECLER
Hens.
FIRST CHICKEN
[_Without smiling._] Have you nothing to communicate with regard to your
song?
CHANTECLER
I just sing.
SECOND CHICKEN
And when you sing--?
CHANTECLER
The heavens hear me.
THIRD CHICKEN
Have you a special method?
CHANTECLER
I--
FIRST CHICKEN
You live--
CHANTECLER
To sing!
SECOND CHICKEN
And your song--?
CHANTECLER
Is my life!
THIRD CHICKEN
But how do you sing?
CHANTECLER
I take pains.
FIRST CHICKEN
But do you scan [_Beating furiously with his wing._] one-one-two
One-three? Three-one? Or four? What is your dynamic theory?
THE BLACKBIRD
[_Shouting._] Who has not his little pet dynamic theory?
CHANTECLER
Dyna--?
SECOND CHICKEN
Where do you place the accent? On the Cock--?
THIRD CHICKEN
On the Doo?
CHANTECLER
On the--
FIRST CHICKEN
[_Impatiently._] What is your school?
CHANTECLER
Schools of Cocks?
SECOND CHICKEN
[_Rapidly._] Certainly. Some sing Cock-a-doodle-doo, and some
Keek-a-deedle-dee!
CHANTECLER
Cock--? Keek--?
THIRD CHICKEN
Not to speak of those who--
A COCK
[_Coming forward._] The correct and proper way to crow is
Cowkerdowdledow!
CHANTECLER
What Cock is that?
FIRST CHICKEN
An Anglo-Indian.
SECOND CHICKEN
And the Turk over there, whose comb suggests a cyst, crows
Coocooroocoocoo!
THIRD CHICKEN
[_Shouting in his ear._] Do you not upon occasions vary your
Cockadoodledoo with Cackadaddledaa?
ANOTHER COCK
[_Springing up at the right._] I, for one, entirely suppress the vowels:
C-ck-d-dl-d!
CHANTECLER
[_Trying to get away._] Is it a Welsh Rabbit dream?
ANOTHER COCK
[_Springing up at the left._] O-a-oo-e-oo! Have you ever tried
suppressing the consonants?
ANOTHER COCK
[_Pushing aside all the others._] I mix the whole thing
up--Cuck-o-deedle-daa!--in a free and supple song!
CHANTECLER
My brain reels!
ALL THE COCKS
[_Gathered about him, fighting._] No! Cuckodee--No, Cackadaa--No,
Coocooroo--
THE COCK
[_Who mixes all up._] The free Cockadoodle! The free crow is obligatory!
CHANTECLER
Pray, who is that, speaking with such authority?
FIRST CHICKEN
It is a wonderful Cock who has never sung at all.
CHANTECLER
[_In humble despair._] And I am only a Cock who sings!
EVERYBODY
[_Drawing away from him in disgust._] I wouldn’t mention it if I were
you!
CHANTECLER
I give my song as the rose-tree gives its Rose!
THE PEACOCK
[_Sarcastically._] Ah, I was waiting for the Rose! [_Pitying laughter._]
CHANTECLER
[_Low, nervously, to the_ BLACKBIRD.] Is my prospective slayer going to
keep me waiting much longer?
EVERYONE
[_Disgusted._] The Rose? Oh!
THE GUINEA-HEN
If you must mention flowers, let them be rather less--
THE PEACOCK
Elementary. [_With the most disdainful impertinence._] So you are still
at the declension of _Rosa?_
CHANTECLER
I am, you--Peacock! You, I suppose, may be forgiven for speaking
slightingly of the Rose, being a rival candidate for the beauty prize.
[_Looking around him._] But I summon these Cocks, from Dorking to
Bantam, to defend with me--
A COCK
[_Nonchalantly._] Pray whom?
CHANTECLER
The Rose, _Rosam;_ to declare on the spot and forthwith--
THE BLACKBIRD
[_Ironically._] You set yourself up as the champion--
CHANTECLER
_Rosarum,_ of roses, I do!--To declare that worship
is due--
A COCK
To whom, pray?
CHANTECLER
To roses, _rosis!_--in whose hearts sleep rain-drops like essences in
fragrant vials, to declare that they are, and ever will be--
A VOICE
[_Cold and cutting._] Painted jades, things of naught! [_All the fancy_
COCKS _draw aside, revealing the_ WHITE PILE GAME COCK, _who appears,
tall and lean and sinister at the further end of their double row._]
CHANTECLER
At last!
THE BLACKBIRD
It’s time to climb up on the chairs!
CHANTECLER
[_To the_ WHITE PILE.] Sir--
THE PHEASANT-HEN
You are never going to challenge that giant?
CHANTECLER
I am! To appear tall it is sufficient to talk on stilts! [_To the_ GAME
COCK, _slowly crossing the stage toward him._] Know that such a remark
is not to be endured, and permit me to tell you--[_Finding a_ CHICK
_between himself and the_ GAME COCK, _he gently puts him aside, saying_]
Run to your mother, tot! [_To the_ WHITE PILE, _looking insolently at
his docked comb_]--that you look like a Fool who has mislaid
his coxcomb!
THE WHITE PILE
[_Astonished._] Fool? Coxcomb? What? What? What?
CHANTECLER
[_Beak to beak with the_ GAME COCK.] What? What? What? [_A pause. They
arch themselves, with bristling neck-hackle._]
THE WHITE PILE
[_Emphatically._] In America, during my grand tour, I killed three
Claybornes in a day. I have killed two Sherwoods, three Smoks, and one
Sumatra. I have killed--let me advise anyone fighting me to take
something beforehand to keep down his pulse!--three Red-game at
Cambridge and ten Braekels at Bruges!
CHANTECLER
[_Very simply._] I, my dear sir, have never killed anything. But as I
have at different times succored, defended, protected, this one and
that, I might perhaps be called, in my own fashion, brave. You need not
take these mighty airs with me. I came here knowing that you would come.
That rose was dangled to afford you the opportunity for brutal
stupidity. You did not fail to nibble at its petals. Your name?
THE GAME COCK
White Pile. And yours?
CHANTECLER
Chantecler.
THE PHEASANT-HEN
[_Running desperately to the_ DOG.] Patou!
CHANTECLER
[_To_ PATOU, _who is growling between his teeth._] You, keep out of
this!
PATOU
So I will, but it’s rrrrrrrough!
THE PHEASANT-HEN
[_To_ CHANTECLER.] A Cock does not risk his life for a Rose!
CHANTECLER
A slur upon a flower is a slur upon the Sun!
THE PHEASANT-HEN
[_Running to the_ BLACKBIRD.] Do something! This must be patched up--You
know you had promised me!
THE BLACKBIRD
Everything can be patched up, my dear, except the quarrels of a fellow’s
friends!
THE GUINEA-HEN
[_Giving loud cries of despair._] Horrible! Oh, horrible A five-o’clock
tea at which guests kill each other! How dreadful--[_To her son._] that
the Tortoise should not have got here yet!
A VOICE
[_Crying._] Chantecler, ten against one!
THE GUINEA-HEN
[_Seating her company, assisting the_ HENS _to climb upon flower-pots,
cold-frames, pumpkins._] Quick! quick!
THE BLACKBIRD
Our charming hostess is in great feather, doing the honours of an affair
of honour.
PATOU
[_To_ CHANTECLER.] Go in and thrash him. This crowd is longing for the
sight of your blood.
CHANTECLER
[_Sadly._] I was never anything but kind!
PATOU
[_Showing the ring which has formed, the faces lighted with hateful
eagerness._] Look at them! [_All necks are craned, all eyes shine; it is
hideous._ CHANTECLER _looks, understands, and bows his head._]
THE PHEASANT-HEN
[_With a cry of rage._] It’s a disgrace! A disgrace to the name of fowl!
CHANTECLER
[_Raising his head again._] So be it. But they shall at least learn
to-day who I was, and my secret--
PATOU
No, don’t tell them, if it’s what my old dreamer’s heart has
apprehended!
CHANTECLER
[_Addressing the multitude, in a loud voice, solemnly, like one
confessing his faith._] Know, all of you, that it is I--[_Deep silence
falls. To the_ WHITE PILE, _who has given a sign of impatience._] Your
pardon, excellent duellist, but I have a mind, before getting myself
killed, to do something brave--
THE WHITE PILE
[_Surprised._] Ah?
CHANTECLER
Yes,--get myself laughed at!
THE PHEASANT-HEN
No, dearest, no! Don’t do it!
CHANTECLER
I wish to perish amid salvos of laughter! [_To the crowd._] Riot, spirit
of Mockery! Disciples of the Blackbird, prepare! [_In a still louder
voice, hammering home every word._] It is I, who, by my song, bring back
the light of day! [_Amazement, then vast laughter shakes the
multitude._] Is the merriment well under way? On guard!
THE GOLDEN PADUA COCK
[_Nodding his plume._] Gentlemen, engage!
VOICES
[_Amid storms of laughter._] Funny! Side-splitting! Was anything ever so
droll? I shall die laughing!
THE BLACKBIRD
The old Gallic love of a joke is not dead!
A CHICKEN
He sings light into the sky!
A DUCK
The Sun gets up to hear him!
CHANTECLER
[_Avoiding the blows which the_ WHITE PILE _is beginning to aim at
him._] Yes, it is I who give you back the Day!
A CHICK
And a jolly fine day it is!
CHANTECLER
[_While parrying and attacking._] The crowing of other Cocks, able
neither to make nor mar, is no better nor worse than sonorous sneezing!
Mine--[_He is wounded._]
A VOICE
Biff! In the neck!
CHANTECLER
--mine makes--[_He is again wounded._]
THE TURKEY
Insufferable self-sufficiency!
CHANTECLER
--the light--[_Again he is struck._]
A VOICE
Biff! On the neb!
CHANTECLER
--the light appear!
A VOICE
Biff! In the eye!
CHANTECLER
[_Blinded with blood._] Yes, the light!
A VOICE
[_Sneering._] Better have let sleeping darkness lie!
CHANTECLER
[_Automatically repeating beneath his adversary’s blows._] It is I who
make the dawn appear!
PATOU
[_Barking._] Aye! Aye! Aye!
THE PHEASANT-HEN
[_Sobbing._] Stand up to him, darling! Oh, hit back! Hit back!
A CHICK
Fellows, a nickname for the dawn!
ALL
Yes! Yes!
[_The_ WHITE PILE _hurls himself upon_ CHANTECLER.]
THE PHEASANT-HEN
Oh, cruel!
THE BLACKBIRD
Chantecler’s Light o’ Love!
A VOICE
A nickname for the Cock!
ALL
Yes! Yes!
THE BLACKBIRD
Grand Master of Illuminations!
ANOTHER VOICE
Purveyor of Sunny Beams!
CHANTECLER
[_Defending himself foot to foot._] Thanks! Another quip, for I can
still fight with my feet!
A VOICE
The Alarm-Cock!
CHANTECLER
[_Who seems upheld by their insults._] Another pun! And I who know no
more of fighting than can be learned on a peaceful farm--
A VOICE
Thresh out his hayseed!
CHANTECLER
Thanks! I--[_His torn feathers fly around him._]
CRY OF JOY
See his fur fly!
CHANTECLER
I feel--Another pleasantry!
A VOICE
Lay on, Macfluff!
CHANTECLER
Thanks! I feel that the more I am mocked, insulted, flouted, and
denied--
AN ASS
[_Stretching his neck over the hedge._] Hee-haw!
CHANTECLER
Thanks!--the better I shall fight!
THE WHITE PILE
[_Chuckling._] He is game, but he’s giving out.
THE PHEASANT-HEN
Enough. Enough. Oh, stop!
A VOICE
On White Pile, twenty to one!
THE PHEASANT-HEN
[_Seeing_ CHANTECLER’S _bleeding neck._] He bleeds, oh!
A HEN
[_Rising on tiptoe behind the_ GOLDEN PADUA COCK.] I should like to see
the blood!
THE WHITE PILE
[_Increasing the fury of his onset._] I’ll have your gizzard!
THE HEN
[_Trying to see._] The Padua Cock’s hat shuts off my view!
THE BLACKBIRD
Hats off!
A VOICE
That was a stinger! On his comb!
SHRILL CRIES
[_From the crowd._] Land him one! Do him up! Lay him out! Have his gore!
PATOU
[_Standing up in his wheelbarrow._] Will you stop behaving like human
beings?
CRIES
[_Furiously keeping time with the blows showering upon_ CHANTECLER.] In
the neck! On the nut! On the wing! On the--[_Sudden silence._]
CHANTECLER
[_Amazed._] What is this? The ring breaks up, the shouting dies--[_He
looks around. The_ WHITE PILE _has drawn away and backed against the
hedge. A strange commotion agitates the crowd._ CHANTECLER, _exhausted,
bleeding, tottering, does not understand, and murmurs._] What joke are
they preparing against my end? [_And suddenly._] Joy, Patou, joy!
PATOU
What?
CHANTECLER
I have done them an injustice. All of them, ceasing to insult and mock
me, look, gather round me, closer and closer--look!
PATOU
[_Seeing them all, in fact, crowding around_ CHANTECLER, _and gazing
anxiously at the sky, looks up too, and says simply._] It is the hawk!
CHANTECLER
Ah! [_A dark shadow slowly sweeps over the motley crowd, who crouch and
cower._]
PATOU
When that great shadow falls, it is not the fine, strange Cocks we trust
to keep off the bird of prey!
CHANTECLER
[_Suddenly grown great of size, his wounds forgotten, stands in the
midst of them, and in an authoritative tone._] Yes, close around me, all
of you, all! [_All, huddled in their feathers, their heads drawn in
between their wings, press against him._]
THE PHEASANT-HEN
Dear, brave, and gentle heart!
CHANTECLER
[_The shadow sweeps over the crowd a second time. The_ GAME COCK _makes
himself small._ CHANTECLER _alone remains standing, in the midst of a
heap of ruffled, trembling feathers._]
A HEN
[_Looking up at the_ HAWK.] Twice the black shadow has swept over us!
CHANTECLER
[_Calling to the_ CHICKS, _who come madly running._] Chicks, come here
to me!
THE PHEASANT-HEN
You take them under your wing?
CHANTECLER
I must. Their mother is a box!
THE PHEASANT-HEN
[_Looking upward._] He hovers over us--[_The shadow of the_ HAWK,
_circling lower and lower, passes for the third time, darker
than ever._]
ALL
[_In a moan of fear._] Ah!
CHANTECLER
[_Shouting toward the sky._] I am here!
PATOU
He has heard your trumpet cry!
THE PHEASANT-HEN
He flies further.
[_All rise with a joyous cry of deliverance, “Ah!” and go back to their
places to watch the end of the combat._]
PATOU
Without loss of a moment they form the ring again.
CHANTECLER
[_With a start._] What did you say? [_He looks. It is true, the ring has
immediately formed._]
THE PHEASANT-HEN
Now they want you killed to be revenged for their fine scare.
CHANTECLER
But now I shall not be killed! I felt my strength come back when the
common enemy flew across the sky. [_Striding boldly up to the_ WHITE
PILE.] I got back my courage, fearing for the others.
THE WHITE PILE
[_Amazed at being smartly attacked._] Whence has he drawn new strength?
CHANTECLER
I am thrice stronger now than you. Black excites me, you see, as red
excites the bull, and thrice I have stared at night in the form of a
bird’s shadow!
THE WHITE PILE
[_Driven to bay, against the hedge, prepares to use his razors._]
THE PHEASANT-HEN
[_Screaming._] Look out! He has two sharp razors at his heels, the
beast!
CHANTECLER
I knew it!
THE CAT
[_From his tree, to the_ GAME COCK.] Use your knives!
PATOU
[_Ready to spring from his wheelbarrow._] If he uses those, I’ll
strangle him, that’s all!
THE CROWD
Oh!
PATOU
I will! Howl you never so loud!
THE WHITE PILE
[_Feeling himself lost._] No help for it!
THE PHEASANT-HEN
[_Closely watching him._] He is getting one of his razors ready!
THE WHITE PILE
[_Striking with his sharp spur._] Take that! Die! [_He utters a terrible
cry, while_ CHANTECLER, _avoiding the blow, springs aside._] Ah! [_He
drops to the ground. Cry of amazement._]
SEVERAL VOICES
What is it?
THE BLACKBIRD
[_Who has hopped up to the fallen_ COCK _and examined him._] Nothing!
Merely he has dexterously slashed his left claw with his right!
THE CROWD
[_Following and hooting the_ WHITE PILE, _who, having picked himself up,
limps off._] Hoo! Hoo!
PATOU _and the_ PHEASANT-HEN
[_Laughing and weeping and talking, all in one, beside_ CHANTECLER,
_who stands motionless, utterly spent, with closed eyes._] Chantecler!
It is we! The Pheasant-hen! The Dog! Speak to us, speak!
CHANTECLER
[_Opening his eyes, looks at them and says gently._] The day will rise
to-morrow!