CHANTECLER, _the_ PHEASANT-HEN, _hidden in the tree, and the_ TOADS.
A BIG TOAD
[_Rearing himself in the grass._] We have come--[_Other_ TOADS _become
visible behind him._]
CHANTECLER
Ye gods, how ugly they are!
THE BIG TOAD
[_Obsequiously._]--in behalf of all the thinking contingency of the
Forest, to the author of so many songs--[_He places his hand on
his heart._]
CHANTECLER
[_With disgust._] Oh, that hand spread over his paunch!
THE BIG TOAD
[_With a hop toward_ CHANTECLER.]--at once novel,--
ANOTHER TOAD
[_Same business._] Pellucid!
ANOTHER
[_Same business._] Succinct!
ANOTHER
[_Same business._] Vital!
ANOTHER
[_Same business._] Pure!
ANOTHER
[_Same business._] Great!
CHANTECLER
Gentlemen, pray be seated. [_They seat themselves around a large
toadstool._]
THE BIG TOAD
True, we are ugly--
CHANTECLER
[_Politely._] You have fine eyes.
THE BIG TOAD
[_Raising himself by bearing with both hands upon the rim of the
toadstool._] But, Knights of this fungoid Round Table, we desire to do
homage to the Parsifal who has given to the world a sublime song--
SECOND TOAD
A true song!
THE BIG TOAD
And a celestial!
THIRD TOAD
And a no less terrestrial!
THE BIG TOAD
[_With authority._] A song by comparison with which the song of the
Nightingale sinks into insignificance!
CHANTECLER
[_Astonished._] The Nightingale’s song?
SECOND TOAD
[_In a tone of finality._] Is not a circumstance to yours!
THE BIG TOAD
[_With a hop._] It was high time that a new singer--
ANOTHER
[_Same business._] And a new song--
FIFTH TOAD
[_Quickly, to his neighbour._] And a song by a stranger--
THE BIG TOAD
Came to change conditions here.
CHANTECLER
Ah, I shall change conditions?
ALL
Glory to the Cock!
CHANTECLER
I do not see that the forest thinks so poorly of me after all!
THE BIG TOAD
Played out, the Nightingale!
CHANTECLER
[_More and more surprised._] Really?
SECOND TOAD
More and more his song confesses itself effete--
THE BIG TOAD
Mawkish!
THIRD TOAD
Null!
FOURTH
[_Contemptuously._] And his old-fashioned pretense of inspiration!
FIFTH TOAD
And the name he has adopted: Bul-bul!
ALL THE TOADS
[_Puffing with laughter._] Bul-bul!
THE BIG TOAD
This is the way he goes on: [_Parodying the song of the_ NIGHTINGALE.]
Tio! Tio!
SECOND TOAD
His solitary idea is an old silver trill copied from the bubbling
spring. [_He imitates in grotesque fashion the singing of the_
NIGHTINGALE.] Tio! Tio!
CHANTECLER
But--
THE BIG TOAD
[_Quickly._] Do not attempt, you, the Renovator of Art, to defend that
ancient high authority on sentimental gargling!
SECOND TOAD
That superannuated tenor quavering out his cavatinas to the glory of
minor poetry and the edification of fogydom!
THIRD TOAD
The Harp that twanged through Tara’s hall, and insists on twanging
still!
CHANTECLER
[_Indulgently._] But why should he not, after all, if he enjoys it?
THE BIG TOAD
Endeavouring to impose on a suffering and surfeited public the musty old
fashion of ingenious fioritura!
CHANTECLER
Audiences nowadays, of course, look for a different sort of thing.
THIRD TOAD
Your song has exposed the artificiality of his.
ALL
[_In an explosion._] Down with Bul-bul!
CHANTECLER
[_Whom the_ TOADS _have gradually surrounded._] Gentlemen and honored
Batrachians, my voice, it is true, gives forth natural notes--
THE BIG TOAD
Yes, notes which lend us wings--
CHANTECLER
[_Modestly._] Oh!
ALL
[_Waggling their bodies as if about to fly._] Wings!
THE BIG TOAD
Their secret being that they sing Life!
CHANTECLER
That is true.
SECOND TOAD
Yes, my dear fellow, Life!
CHANTECLER
[_With careless complacency._] My crest for that reason is flesh and
blood!
ALL THE TOADS
[_Clapping their little hands._] Good, very good!
THE BIG TOAD
That formula is a programme.
SECOND TOAD
Since we are assembled around a table, why should we not offer to the
Chief--
CHANTECLER
[_Modestly, hanging back from the suggested honour._]Gentlemen--
SECOND TOAD
--to the Chief of whom we stood in notable need, a banquet?
ALL
[_Beating enthusiastically upon the toadstool._] A banquet!
THE PHEASANT-HEN
[_Looking out from the tree._] What is the matter?
CHANTECLER
[_In spite of all, rather flattered._] A banquet!
THE PHEASANT-HEN
[_Slightly ironical._] Shall you accept?
CHANTECLER
You see, my dear--the new tendencies--Art,--the thinking contingency of
the Forest--[_Indicating the_ TOADS.] Yes, I have lent wings to--[_In a
light and careless tone._] It’s all up with the Nightingale, you see.
Musty old method! Antiquated trill! This is the way he goes on--[_To
the_ TOADS.] How was it you said he went on?
ALL THE TOADS
[_Comically._] Tio! Tio!
CHANTECLER
[_To the_ PHEASANT-HEN, _with pitying indulgence._] He goes on like
this: Tio! Tio! And I believe I need not scruple to accept--
A VOICE
[_In the tree above him breaks forth in a long note, limpid, and
heart-moving._] Tio! [_Silence._]
CHANTECLER
[_Startled, raising his head._] What was that?
THE BIG TOAD
[_Quickly, visibly embarrassed._] Nothing! It is he!
THE VOICE
[_Slowly and wonderfully, with the sigh of a soul in every note._] Tio!
Tio! Tio! Tio!
CHANTECLER
[_Turning upon the_ TOADS.] Scum of the earth!
THE TOADS
[_Backing away from him._] What--?