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
it, you shall for my sake deceive the Dawn.
CHANTECLER
I? How?
THE PHEASANT-HEN
[_Stamping her foot; in a capricious tone._] It is my formal and
explicit wish--
CHANTECLER
But listen, dear--
THE PHEASANT-HEN
My formal and explicit wish that you should for one whole day refrain
altogether from singing.
CHANTECLER
That I--
THE PHEASANT-HEN
I desire you to remain one whole day without singing.
CHANTECLER
But, heavens and earth, am I to leave the valley in total darkness?
THE PHEASANT-HEN
[_Pouting._] What harm will it do to the valley?
CHANTECLER
Whatever lies too long in darkness and sleep becomes used to falsehood
and consents to death.
THE PHEASANT-HEN
Leave singing for one day--[_In a tone of evil insinuation._] It will
free my mind of certain suspicions troubling it.
CHANTECLER
[_With a start._] I can see what you are trying to do!
THE PHEASANT-HEN
And I can see what you are afraid of!
CHANTECLER
[_Earnestly._] I will never give up singing.
THE PHEASANT-HEN
And what if you were mistaken? What if the truth were that Dawn comes
without help from you?
CHANTECLER
[_With fierce resolution._] I shall not know it.
THE PHEASANT-HEN
[_In a sudden burst of tears._] Could you not forget the time, for once,
if you saw me weeping?
CHANTECLER
No, I could not.
THE PHEASANT-HEN
Nothing, ever, can make you forget the time?
CHANTECLER
Nothing. I am conscious of darkness as too heavy a weight.
THE PHEASANT-HEN
You are conscious of darkness as--Shall I tell you the truth? You think
you sing for the Dawn, but you sing in reality to be admired,
you--songster, you! [_With contemptuous pity._] Is it possible you are
not aware that your poor notes raise a smile right through the forest,
accustomed to the fluting of the thrush?
CHANTECLER
I know, you are trying now to reach me through my pride, but--
THE PHEASANT-HEN
I doubt if you can get so many as three toadstools and a couple of
sassafras stalks to listen to you, when the ardent oriole flings across
the leafy gloom his melodious pir-piriol!
THE WOODPECKER
[_Reappearing._] From the Greek: Pure, _puros._
CHANTECLER
No more from you, please! [_The_ WOODPECKER _hurriedly withdraws._]
THE PHEASANT-HEN
[_Insisting._] The echo must make some rather interesting mental
reservations, one fancies, when he hears you sing after hearing the
great Nightingale!
CHANTECLER
[_Turning to leave._] My nerves, my dear girl, are not of the very
steadiest to-night.
THE PHEASANT-HEN
[_Following._] Did you ever hear him?
CHANTECLER
Never.
THE PHEASANT-HEN
His song is so wonderful that the first time--[_She stops short, struck
by an idea._] Oh!
CHANTECLER
What is it?
THE PHEASANT-HEN
[_Aside._] Ah, you feel the weight of the darkness--
CHANTECLER
[_Coming forward again._] What?
THE PHEASANT-HEN
[_With an ironical curtsey._] Nothing! [_Carelessly._] Let us go to
roost! [CHANTECLER _goes to the back and is preparing to rise to a
branch. The_ PHEASANT-HEN _aside._] He does not know that when the
Nightingale sings one listens, supposing it to be a minute, and lo! the
whole night has been spent listening, even as happens in the enchanted
forest of a German legend.
CHANTECLER
[_As she does not join him, returns to her._] What are you saying?
THE PHEASANT-HEN
[_Laughing in his face._] Nothing!
A VOICE
[_Outside._] The illustrious Cock?
CHANTECLER
[_Looking around him._] I am wanted?
THE PHEASANT-HEN
[_Who has gone in the direction from whence came the voice._] There, in
the grass! [_Jumping back._] Mercy upon us! They are the--[_With a
movement of insuperable disgust._] They are the--[_With a spring she
conceals herself in the hollow tree, calling back to_ CHANTECLER.] Be
civil to them!