Chantecler

28. Act IV Scene 4

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!