Chantecler

12. Act II Scene 1

The NIGHT-BIRDS, of all sorts and sizes, form a great circle, perching in tiers on the branches, the briers, the stones; the CAT crouches in the grass; the BLACKBIRD hops hither and thither on a fagot.

At the rise of the curtain the NIGHT-BIRDS are discovered, motionless, black shapes with closed eyes. The GRAND DUKE is perched upon a tree branch above the rest. The SCREECH-OWL'S phosphorescent eyes alone are wide open. He proceeds with the roll-call, and at every name two great round eyes brighten in the dark.

THE SCREECH-OWL [Calling.] Strix! [Two eyes light up.] Scops! [Two more eyes light up.] Grand-Duke! [Two more eyes.] Metascops! [Two more eyes.] Minor! [Two more eyes.]

ONE NIGHT-BIRD [To the other.] The Great Bubo presides.

THE SCREECH-OWL [Calling.] Owl of the Wall! Of the Belfry! Of the Cloister! Of the Yew! [At every name two more eyes have opened wide.]

A NIGHT-BIRD [To another just arriving.] The roll is called!

THE OTHER I know. All there is to do is to open our eyes.

THE SCREECH-OWL Asio! Nictea! Nyctalis! [Three more pairs of eyes have opened.] Brachyotus! [No eye opening at the name, he repeats.] Brachyotus!

ONE OF THE NIGHT-BIRDS He will be here directly. He stopped to eat a linnet.

BRACHYOTUS [Arriving.] Present!

THE SCREECH-OWL Not one of them would miss, when the meeting relates to the Cock!

BRACHYOTUS Not one!

THE SCREECH-OWL Carine! [Two eyes open.] Caparacoch! [No eye opening, he repeats emphatically.] Ca-pa-ra-coch!--Well?--Well?

CAPARACOCH [Arriving out of breath, opens his eyes, faltering an excuse.] I live a long way off!

THE SCREECH-OWL [Dryly.] You should have started the earlier! [Looking around.] We are all present, I believe. [Calling.] Flammeolus! And Flammeoline! [All the eyes are now open.]

THE GRAND-DUKE [Solemnly.] Before beginning, let us give, but not too loud, the cry which makes us all as one!

ALL Long live the Night!

And in a weird, savage, hurried chorus, interspersed with hoots and flapping of wings, all talking together and rocking themselves in hideous glee.

THE GRAND-DUKE
Praise the Night, discreet, propitious,
When with wadded wing and muted
O'er the sleeping world we fly,
And the partridge in the bracken
Ne'er suspects the hovering presence
Till we pounce without a cry.

THE SCREECH-OWL
Praise the Night, convenient, secret,
When in slaughtering baby rabbits
We can do it at our ease,
Daub the grass with blood in comfort,
Spare the pains to look like heroes,
Be ourselves where no one sees!

AN OLD HORNED-OWL
Praise the density of darkness!


A WOOD-OWL
The intensity of stillness
Letting crunching bones be heard!

A BARN-OWL
Freshness pleasantly contrasting
With the genial warmth of blood drops
Spurting from a strangled bird!

THE WOOD-OWL
Praise the black rock oozing terror!

THE SCREECH-OWL
And the cross-roads where our screeches,
Furrowing the startled air,
Our demoniac yelling, hooting,
Make the hardened unbeliever
Cross himself and fall to prayer!

THE GRAND-DUKE
Praise the snares of the great Weaver,
Night, whose only fault or weakness
Is her tolerance of stars!

THE SCREECH-OWL
For spectators are not wanted
At the work of plucking fledglings--
Be they Jupiter and Mars!

THE GRAND-DUKE
Praise the Night, when we take vengeance
On the goldfinch for his beauty,
On the titmouse for his grace!
When the darkness takes possession
Let them tremble, those confiding
Hostages of Day's!

THE WOOD-OWL
For there is a choice in murder!

THE GRAND-DUKE
And the inkier the blackness
All the clearer do we see
To select the whitest pigeon
In the dove-cote, and the bluest
Blue jay on the shuddering tree!

THE BARN-OWL
Praise the hour and taste and relish
Of the eggs we suck, destroying
Hopes of many a haughty line!

THE SCREECH-OWL
And the councils where in whispers
We prepare what shall resemble
Accidents by every sign!

THE GRAND-DUKE
Praise the shadow's grim suggestions!
The advantage over others
We inherit through their fright! THE SCREECH-OWL
For our grisly cachinnations
Give the very eagle goose-flesh--

ALL TOGETHER
Praise our patroness, the Night!

THE GRAND-DUKE And now let the Screech-Owl in his russet robe take the floor.

SEVERAL VOICES Silence!

THE BLACKBIRD [On his fagot.] What an awf'ly lovely evening party!

THE SCREECH-OWL [Oratorically.] Brethren of the Night--

THE GRAND-DUKE [To the OWL next to him.] The meeting-place seems to me particularly well chosen. The blackest spot, the moldiest tree. To the right, old postherds. To the left, in the dark between the hollies--the view!

THE SCREECH-OWL Brethren of the Night!--

AN OWL There comes the Mole!

SEVERAL VOICES Silence!

THE OWL She must have taken, to come here, a route below the roots of the daisies--

THE BLACKBIRD The subway, what else?

THE GRAND-DUKE [To his neighbor.] Is that the Blackbird?

THE BLACKBIRD [Coming forward.] Yes, your Grace. And the two agate balls over there are the Cat.

THE GRAND-DUKE I can hear him licking his paws.

THE SCREECH-OWL [Resuming.] Brethren of the Night! Inasmuch as everybody here--and we plume ourselves upon it!--is possessed of the evil eye--

ALL THE BIRDS [Chuckling and rocking in their peculiarly disgusting and characteristic fashion.] Ha, ha!

THE GRAND-DUKE [Spreading his wings to demand silence.] Hush! [All return to their appalling stillness.]

THE BLACKBIRD My eye is merely roguish. I am here to look on, you know, without taking sides,--in the artist spirit, that's all.

AN OWL If you are not taking sides, then you are siding with us!

THE BLACKBIRD Oh, I say, what a primitive notion!

THE SCREECH-OWL [Completing his sentence.] Let us express ourselves with simple and direct malevolence: the Cock is a robber!

ALL A robber! He robs us!

THE BLACKBIRD Now, what the--Robs you of what?

THE GRAND-DUKE Of health! Gladness!

THE BLACKBIRD How is that?

THE SCREECH-OWL By his crowing!

THE GRAND-DUKE His crowing brings on enlargement of the spleen and pericarditis! For it heralds--

THE BLACKBIRD [Hopping about.] Oh, I see--The light!

[All make a violent motion in his direction; the BLACKBIRD frightened, hides among the fagots.]

THE GRAND-DUKE [Emphatically.] Never speak that word! When that word is spoken, Night at the horizon feels a crawling discomfort, a titillation underneath her wing.

THE BLACKBIRD [Cautiously correcting himself.] The brightness of--[General start of dismay repeated; the BLACKBIRD again dodges behind the fagots.]

AN OWL [Hurriedly.] Never utter that horrible grating word, which so hatefully suggests the scratching of a match!

THE SCREECH-OWL You should express yourself: The Cock heralds the folding back of the pall--

THE BLACKBIRD But the day--[Start and threatening gesture from all.]

ALL [In voices of unspeakable anguish.] Not that word!

THE GRAND-DUKE You must refer to it as "that which will be!"

THE BLACKBIRD What difference does it make whether or not he heralds the--

ALL [Stopping him.] Ha!

THE BLACKBIRD --the folding back of the pall, since that which will be--will be!

THE GRAND-DUKE [In tones of despair.] Simple torture it is to hear a brazen throat forever reminding you of what you know to be only too true!

ALL [Writhing in pain.] Too true! Too true!

THE GRAND-DUKE He begins while the night is still pleasant and cool--

CRIES ON ALL SIDES He is a robber, a thief!

THE GRAND-DUKE He cheats us!

ALL THE OWLS He cheats us! Cheats us!

THE GRAND-DUKE Of the good bit of night there still is left.

AN OWLET He compels us to leave our posts beside the warrens--

THE SCREECH-OWL Our feasts of steaming flesh!

THE WOOD-OWL The witches' routs where we ride perched on the fist of a hag!

THE GRAND-DUKE After cock-crow an Owl is no longer in his normal state--

THE SCREECH-OWL He does evil in a hurry!

THE GRAND-DUKE And bungles it in consequence!

THE OLD HORNED-OWL As soon as the Cock has crowed all becomes temporary provisional--

THE BARN-OWL Though the Night be still black, we are painfully aware of it growing less and less black!

THE SCREECH-OWL When his metallic voice has cleft the night, we squirm like a worm in a fruit that is cut in two.

THE BLACKBIRD [On his fagot, mystified.] The other Cocks, however--

THE GRAND-DUKE Their song creates no uneasiness. It is his song which must be silenced.

ALL THE NIGHT-BIRDS [Flapping their wings, in a long lament.] Silenced! Silenced!

AN OWL How can it be accomplished?

THE SCREECH-OWL The Blackbird here has worked in our cause.

THE BLACKBIRD Who--I?

THE SCREECH-OWL Yes, you laughed at him.

ALL [Cackling.] Ha, ha!

THE GRAND-DUKE [Spreading his wings.] Hush! [They resume their sinister stillness.]

THE SCREECH-OWL But his song has not acted any the less directly on our gall-bladders for the fun that has been made of him. He has grown stronger than ever since he was found ridiculous.

ALL What shall we do?

THE SCREECH-OWL The Peacock, that great booby--

ALL [Cackling and rocking.] Ha, ha!

THE GRAND-DUKE [Opening his wings.] Hush! [All instantly motionless.]

THE SCREECH-OWL Through the Peacock, likewise working in our cause, the Cock came out of fashion. But his song is just as inconvenient, in fashion or out of it. He is all the more proudly uncompromising for no longer being in style.

ALL What shall we do?

AN OWL Cut his throat!

CRIES Death to the Cock!

AN OWL Death to that aristocrat posing as a democrat and socialist!

ANOTHER With spurs on his heels, but a liberty cap on his head!

THE GRAND-DUKE Night-birds all, arise!

[ALL, arising with outspread wings and glaring eyes, increase enormously in size. The night appears doubly dark.]

THE BLACKBIRD [With unabated lightness.] Midnight to the fore!

THE SCREECH-OWL Kill him! But how can we, when our eyes cease to see the moment he comes out?

ALL [Wailing like an ancient chorus.] Woe!

THE OLD HORNED-OWL [Craftily.] How kill--from afar?

THE GRAND-DUKE By means of what secret spring?

A VOICE [From the tree.] Duke, may I lay a plan before the assembly?

THE GRAND-DUKE Scops! Let us hear!

ALL [At sight of a small OWL dropping from a bough, and coming forward with tiny hops.] Scops, dear little Scops!

SCOPS [Bowing before the GRAND-DUKE.] You are aware, mighty Blind-by-day-and-seer-by-night, that in pleasant gardens up yonder hill a breeder of birds--termed aviculturist, raises for exhibitions--termed agricultural, the most magnificent Cocks of the most extraordinary varieties. Now, that great discoverer of rare birds, the Peacock, who, possessing a voice which pierces the ear-drum cannot abide a voice which pierces the darkness--the Peacock, whose specialty it is to confer celebrity upon every strange beast--

THE GRAND-DUKE [To his neighbour.] From every strange region!

SCOPS Cherishes the dream of presenting these same Cocks to-morrow, in the kitchen garden, at the--

ALL TOGETHER [Laughing.] Guinea-hen's!

SCOPS And launching among her set these Birds whose glory will be the finishing blow to the glory of Chantecler.

THE BLACKBIRD Flatten him out like a pan cake!

THE SCREECH OWL But those Cocks are always locked in!

SCOPS I am coming to that. This evening, when a maid, having entered their wire-netted close, was scattering corn in a golden shower, I started up suddenly from the hollow of a pollard willow, and the girl--

AN OWL [To his neighbour.] What a bright mind, our little Scops!

SCOPS At sight of the ill-omened bird--

ALL [Cackling and rocking.] Ha, ha!

THE GRAND-DUKE [Spreading his wings.] Hush! [All suddenly still.]

SCOPS Fled, with one arm across her eyes! The cage was left open, and the whole fantastic host will meet Chantecler to-morrow at the--

ALL [With peals of laughter.] Guinea-hen's!

THE BLACKBIRD He is not going. He has refused.

SCOPS The devil!

THE CAT [Quietly.] Go on, Scops. He will be there.

THE BLACKBIRD [Looking at him from a distance.] What do you know about it, pocket panther?

THE CAT I saw a Pheasant-hen exciting his admiration, and I saw that he would go.

THE BLACKBIRD It's when you're sound asleep that you see everything!

THE GRAND-DUKE [To SCOPS.] Very well, then, let us suppose him going.

SCOPS Chantecler, for all his fame, has retained his bluff country squire's frankness. When he sees this-- THE BLACKBIRD [Prompting.] Tea-fight--

SCOPS And the contortions of those--

THE BLACKBIRD [Same business.] Snobs--

SCOPS In the presence of those--

THE BLACKBIRD [Same business.] Big guns--

SCOPS He is sure to say things which they are equally sure to take up.

THE GRAND-DUKE [Thrilled.] And do you believe that a cock-fight--?

SCOPS Such is my fond hope.

THE CAT But listen, Scops. Suppose Chantecler should win?

SCOPS Know, Angora, that there will be among those fancy cocks a genuine game-cock, lean, with tawny wing, the same who--

THE BLACKBIRD [Seeing the OWLS puff out their feathers for joy.] Sensation among the audience!

SCOPS The same who has defeated the most famous champions--the White Pile. And as this victor in Flemish and English encounters wears at his heels, for the defter dispatching of his enemy, two razors fastened there by the ingenuity of man, by tomorrow night Chantecler will be dead, and his eyes picked out of their sockets.

THE SCREECH-OWL [Enthusiastically.] We will go and gloat over his corpse!

THE GRAND-DUKE [Risen to his full height, formidable.] And his comb, which looked above his forehead like an incarnate bit of scarlet dawn, we will take his comb,--our dearest dream at length fulfilled!--and we will eat it!

ALL [With a yell, which ends in their ferocious cackling and rocking.] And we will eat it,--eat it, ha, ha!

THE GRAND-DUKE [Spreading his wings.] Hush! [Dead silence.]

SCOPS And after that--

THE BLACKBIRD [Hopping.] It's quite a tidy proposition as it stands--

SCOPS What?

THE BLACKBIRD Your scheme! By Jingo, if I were the sort of bird to take things solemnly, I would go straight to the Cock and tell him. But I will do nothing of the sort. [He concludes, with four little hops.] For I know--that all this--will turn out--beautifully!

SCOPS [Ironically.] Beautifully indeed! [He continues in growing excitement.] And after that, if those absurd Cocks of far-fetched breeds have not by to-morrow evening gone back to their cages, we will eat them all, no longer good for anything!

THE GRAND-DUKE [In his neighbour's ear.] And after that we will eat the Blackbird for dessert.

THE BLACKBIRD [Who has not caught the last sentence.] What did he say?

SCOPS [Quickly.] Nothing! [In a still increasing frenzy of glee.] And after that--

[In the distance: Cock-a-doodle-doo! Instant silence. SCOPS stops short and collapses, as if mown down. All the puffed OWLS appear suddenly to have grown thin.]

ALL [Looking at one another and blinking.] What is it? What was that? [They hastily spread their wings and call to one another for flight.] Grand-Duke! Minor! Minimus!

THE BLACKBIRD [Hopping from one to the other.] Going? So soon? Why, what's your hurry?

VOICE [Of one of the NIGHT-BIRDS calling to another.] Nyctalis!

THE BLACKBIRD It's hours before daybreak. Oceans of time, you have!

AN OWL Asio, are you coming?

ANOTHER OWL [Calling.] Nictea!

ANOTHER [Fluttering up to him.] Yes, my dear! [They all stagger and trip over their wings.]

THE BLACKBIRD What makes them stumble?

THE NIGHT-BIRDS [Winking and blinking with marked evidences of pain.] Oh, how it hurts! Ow! Ow!

THE BLACKBIRD Lightning opthalmia, I declare! [One by one the OWLS fly off.]

THE GRAND-DUKE [The last to go, spins on himself with a cry of pain and rage.] How does he contrive, that pernicious Cock, to have a voice that fairly puts out your eyes! [He heavily flaps off.]

VOICES OF THE NIGHT-BIRDS [In the distance.] Strix!

THE BLACKBIRD [Looking after them among the branches, and later in the blue space over the valley.] They are calling one another!

VOICE IN THE DISTANCE Scops!

THE BLACKBIRD [Bending over the valley, where the dark wings are dwindling and fading.] They wheel--waver--dip--

VOICES [Dying in the distance.] Owl of the Wall! Of the Belfry! Of the Yew!

THE BLACKBIRD Gone! [He looks about, gives a hop, and with an immediate return to levity.] But it's supper-time.--Now for a bite of cold grasshopper! [The PHEASANT-HEN suddenly flies over the brushwood tangle, dropping beside him.] You!