THE SAME, _the_ NIGHTINGALE _unseen, and little by little all the_
FOREST CREATURES.
THE NIGHTINGALE
[_From the tree, in his emotionally throbbing voice._] Tiny bird, lost
in the darkness of the tree, I feel myself turning into the heart-beat
of the infinite night!
CHANTECLER
[_To the_ TOADS.] And you have dared--
THE NIGHTINGALE
Hushed lies the ravine beneath the magic of the moon--
CHANTECLER
--to compare my rude singing with that divine voice? Scum of the earth!
Toads! And I never divined that they were doing to him here what was
done to me over yonder!
THE BIG TOAD
[_Suddenly swelling to a great size._] Toads! Yes, as it happens, we are
Toads!
THE NIGHTINGALE
Vapour of pearl wreathes the summits in an ethereal veil--
THE BIG TOAD
[_Self-appreciatively._] We are Toads, certainly, magnificently embossed
with warts! [_All rear themselves up, swollen, standing between_
CHANTECLER _and the tree._]
CHANTECLER
And I perceived not, I who have never known envy, to what venomous feast
I was bidden!
THE NIGHTINGALE
What matter? Sooner or later, you, the strong, and I, the tender, we
were fated, despite all the Toads in the world, to understand
each other!
CHANTECLER
[_With religious fervour._] Sing!
A TOAD
[_Who has hastily dragged himself to the tree in which the_ NIGHTINGALE
_is singing._] Let us clasp the bark with our slimy little arms, and
slaver upon the foot of the tree! [_All crawl toward the tree._]
CHANTECLER
[_Trying to stop one of them who is clumsily hopping._] But are you not
yourself gifted with a singing voice of exceptional purity?
THE TOAD
[_In a tone of sincerest suffering._] I am, but when I hear somebody
else singing, I can’t help it,--I see green! [_He joins his
companions._]
THE BIG TOAD
[_Working his jaws as if chewing something which foamed._] There foam up
beneath our tongues I know not what strange soapsuds, and--[_To his
neighbour._] Are you frothing?
THE OTHER
I am frothing.
ANOTHER
He is frothing.
ALL
We are frothing.
A TOAD
[_Tenderly laying his arm about the neck of a dilatory_ TOAD.] Come and
froth!
CHANTECLER
[_To the_ NIGHTINGALE.] But will they not trouble and prevent your
mellifluent song?
THE NIGHTINGALE
In no wise. I will take their refrain into my song--
THE BIG TOAD
[_Patting a little_ TOAD _on the head to encourage him._] Don’t be
afraid, go ahead,--froth!
THE TOADS
[_All together, at the base of the tree to which they form a crawling,
writhing girdle._] The Toads, croak! croak! the Toads are we!
THE NIGHTINGALE
--And make of both a Villanelle!
THE TOADS
We welter in malignity!
THE NIGHTINGALE
The while they fume beneath my tree I fill with song the enchanted
dell--
THE TOADS
The Toads, croak! croak! the Toads are we! [_And the Villanelle
proceeds, sung by the alternate voices, one of which, ever higher and
more enraptured, carries the song proper, and the others, ever angrier
and lower, the burden of the song._]
THE NIGHTINGALE _and_ THE TOADS, _alternately_
I sing! for Wind, that harper free,
And music bubbling from the well--
--We welter in malignity!--
And fragrance floating from the lea,
Of meadow-sweet and pimpernel--
--The Toads, croak! croak! the Toads are we!--
And Luna showering ecstasy,
All weave so wonderful a spell--
--We welter in malignity!--
Its melting magic moveth me
The secret of my heart to tell!
--The Toads, croak! croak! the Toads are we!--
Within my heart all sympathy,
Within mine eye all visions dwell--
--We welter in malignity!--
Life, Death, I turn to rhapsody,
Who am the deathless Philomel!
--The Toads, croak! croak! the Toads are we,
Who welter in malignity!
CHANTECLER
Beside those heavenly pipes, ah, me! my voice is Punchinello’s squeak!
Sing on! Sing on! The Croakers are in retreat.
THE TOADS
[_Retreating, overcome by the conquering song._] Croak! croak!
CHANTECLER
Their fate to seethe in the cauldron of a witch! But you, the creatures
of the forest come to slake the thirst of their hearts at your song. See
them creeping to the lure--
THE TOADS
[_From the underbrush._] Croak! croak!
CHANTECLER
A doe, look! tiptoeing on delicate hoofs, followed by a wolf who has
forgotten to be a wolf--
THE TOADS
[_Lost among the grass._] Croak!
CHANTECLER
The squirrel steals down from the lofty tree-tops. The whole vast forest
is stirred by a thrill of brotherliness.
THE TOADS
[_Out of sight._]--roak!
CHANTECLER
The echo alone now repeats--
FAINT DISTANT VOICE
--oak!
CHANTECLER
Gone! Gone are the Toads!
[_Music holds the night: a song without words, delicate volleys of
rapturous notes._]
CHANTECLER
The Glow-worms have lighted their small, green lamps. All that is good
comes forth, while hate shrinks back to its lair. Now they that shall be
eaten lay themselves down in the grass by the side of them that shall
eat them. The Star of a sudden looks nearer to earth, and forsaking her
web the Spider draws herself up toward your song, climbing by her own
silken thread.
ALL THE FOREST
[_In a moan of ecstasy._] Ah!
[_And the forest lies as if under a spell; the moonlight is softer, the
tender green fire of the glow-worm shines blinking among the moss; on
all sides, between the tree-boles creep, shadow-like, the charmed
beasts; eyes shine, moist muzzles point toward the source of the music.
The_ WOODPECKER _stands at his bark window, dreamily nodding; all the_
RABBITS, _with uppricked ears, sit at their earthen doors._]
CHANTECLER
When he sings thus without words, what is he singing, Squirrel?
THE SQUIRREL
[_From a tree-top._] The joy of swift motion.
CHANTECLER
And what say you, Hare?
THE HARE
[_In the coppice._] The thrill of fear!
CHANTECLER
You, Rabbit?
ONE OF THE RABBITS
The Dew!
CHANTECLER
You, Doe?
THE DOE
[_From the depths of the woods._] Tears!
CHANTECLER
Wolf?
THE WOLF
[_In a gentle distant howl._] The Moon!
CHANTECLER
And you, Tree with the golden wound, singing Pine?
THE PINE-TREE
[_Softly beating time with one of its boughs._] He tells me that my
drops of resin in the form of rosin will sing upon the bows of violins!
CHANTECLER
And you, Woodpecker, what does he say to you?
THE WOODPECKER
[_In ecstasy._] He says that Aristophanes--
CHANTECLER
[_Promptly interrupting him._] Never mind! I know! You, Spider?
THE SPIDER
[_Swinging at the end of one of her threads._] He sings of the raindrop
sparkling in my web like a royal gift.
CHANTECLER
And you, Drop of Water, sparkling in her web?
A LITTLE VOICE
[_From the cobweb._] Of the Glow-worm!
CHANTECLER
And you, Glow-worm?
A LITTLE VOICE
[_In the grass._]Of the Star!
CHANTECLER
And you, if one may so far presume as to question you, of what does he
sing to you, Star?
A VOICE
[_In the sky._] Of the Shepherd!
CHANTECLER
Ah, what fountain is it--
THE PHEASANT-HEN
[_Who is watching the horizon between the trees._] The darkness is
lightening.
CHANTECLER
What fountain, in which each finds water for his thirst? [_Listening
with greater attention._] To me he speaks of the Day, which arises and
shines at my song!
THE PHEASANT-HEN
[_Aside._] And speaks of it so eloquently that for once you will forget
it!
CHANTECLER
[_Noticing a_ BIRD _who having come a little way out of the thicket is
beatifically listening._] And how do you, Snipe, translate his poem?
THE SNIPE
I don’t know. I only know I like it--It is sweet!
THE PHEASANT-HEN
[_Who is not lured--she!--into forgetting to watch the
sky between the branches, aside._] The night is wearing
away!
CHANTECLER
[_To the_ NIGHTINGALE, _in a discouraged voice._] To sing! To sing! But
how, after hearing the faultless crystal of your note, can I ever be
satisfied again with the crude, brazen blare of mine?
THE NIGHTINGALE
But you must!
CHANTECLER
Shall I find it possible ever again to sing? My song, alas, must seem to
me always after this too brutal and too red!
THE NIGHTINGALE
I have sometimes thought that mine was too facile, perhaps, and too
blue!
CHANTECLER
Oh, how can you humble yourself to make such a confession to me?
THE NIGHTINGALE
You fought for a friend of mine, the Rose! Learn, comrade, this
sorrowful and reassuring fact, that no one, Cock of the morning or
evening Nightingale, has quite the song of his dreams!
CHANTECLER
[_With passionate desire._] Oh, to be a sound that soothes and lulls!
THE NIGHTINGALE
To be a splendid call to duty!
CHANTECLER
I make nobody weep!
THE NIGHTINGALE
I awaken nobody! [_But after the expression of this regret, he continues
in an ever higher and more lyrical voice._] What matter? One must sing
on! Sing on, even while knowing that there are songs which he prefers to
his own song. One must sing,--sing,--sing,--until--[_A shot. A flash
from the thicket. Brief silence, then a small, tawny body drops at_
CHANTECLER’S _feet._]
CHANTECLER
[_Bending and looking._] The Nightingale!--The brutes! [_And without
noticing the vague, earliest tremour of daylight spreading through the
air, he cries in a sob._] Killed! And he had sung such a little, little
while! [_One or two feathers slowly flutter down._]
THE PHEASANT-HEN
His feathers!
CHANTECLER
[_Bending over the body which is shaken by a last throe._] Peace, little
poet!
[_Rustling of leaves and snapping of twigs; from a thicket projects_
PATOU’S _shaggy head._]