Scene Sixth
Chantecler, the Blackbird, Patou, the Pheasant-hen
Chantecler
[After a moment, to the Blackbird who from his cage, which he has
returned, can see off over the wall.] Is he gone?
The Blackbird
He is nearly out of sight!
Chantecler
[Going toward Patou’s kennel.] Madam, come forth!
The Pheasant-hen
[Appearing at the threshold of the kennel.] Well?—A rebellious,
self-freed slave I am—even as that dog was saying! But of great
lineage, and proud as I am free—A pheasant of the woods!
The Blackbird
Whew! We hate ourself, don’t we!
The Pheasant-hen
In the forest where I live there comes a-poaching—
Chantecler
That madman who would have given to vile lead a jewel for setting!
The Pheasant-hen
Beneath foliage—not so thick but a sunbeam may glide in!—I make my
home. I am descended, however, from elsewhere. From whence? From Persia?
China? None can tell! But of one thing we may be certain: that I was
meant to shimmer in the blue among the fragrant gum-trees of the East,
and not to be chased through brambles by a hound!—Am I the ancient
Phoenix? or the sacred Chinese hen? Whence was I brought to this land?
And how brought? And by whom? History is not explicit on the point, and
leaves us a splendid choice. Wherefore I choose to have been born in
Colchis, from whence I came on Jason’s fist. I am all gold. Perhaps I
was the Fleece!
Patou
You?
The Pheasant-hen
The Pheasant!
Patou
[Politely correcting her.] Pheasant-hen.
The Pheasant-hen
I refer to my race, for which I stand, by token of my crimson shield.
Yes, my ancient fate of being a dead leaf beside a ruby, having appeared
to me one day too distinctly dull a lot, I stole his dazzling plumage
from the male. A good thing, too, for it becomes me so much better! The
golden tippet, as I wear it, curves and shimmers. The emerald epaulette
acquires a dainty grace. I have made of a mere uniform a miracle
of style!
Chantecler
She is distractingly lovely, so much is certain!
Patou
He is never going to fall in love with a woman dressed as a man!
The Blackbird
[Who has again hopped down from his cage.] I must go and tell the
Guinea-hen that a golden bird has blown into town. She’ll have a fit!
She will invite her! [Off.]
Chantecler
So you come to us from the East, like the Dawn?
The Pheasant-hen
My life has the picturesque disorder of a poem. If I came from the East,
it was by way of Egypt.
Patou
[Aside, heart-broken.] A gypsy, on top of the rest!
The Pheasant-hen
[To Chantecler, tossing and twisting her head so that the colours
ripple at her throat.] Have you noticed these two shades? They are our
own especial colours—the Dawn’s and mine! Princess of the underbrush,
queen of the glade, I am pleased to wear the yellow locks of an
adventuress. Dreamy and homesick for my unknown home, I choose my
palaces among the rustling flags and withered irises that fringe the
pool. I dote upon the forest, and when it smells in autumn of dead
leaves and decaying wood—
Patou
[In consternation.] She is mad!
The Pheasant-hen
Wild as a tree-bough in a southerly gale, I tremble, flutter, spend
myself in motion, till a vast languor overtakes me—
Chantecler
[Who for a minute or so has been letting his wing hang, now begins
slowly circling about the Pheasant-hen, in the manner of the
Blackbird aping him, with a very gentle, throaty.] Coa—[The
Pheasant-hen looks at him. Believing himself encouraged, he takes up
again louder, while circling about her.] Coa—
The Pheasant-hen
My dear sir, I prefer to tell you at once that if it is for my benefit
you are doing that—
Chantecler
[Stopping short.] What?
The Pheasant-hen
The eye—the peculiar gait—the drooping wing—the “Coa—”
Chantecler
But I —
The Pheasant-hen
You do it all very nicely, I admit; only, it has not the very slightest
effect upon me!
Chantecler
[Slightly abashed.] Madam—
The Pheasant-hen
Oh, I understand, of course. We are the illustrious Cock! Not a Hen in
the world but preens her feathers in the hope—the very touching hope,
certainly—of offering us a moment’s distraction, some day, between two
songs. We are so sure of ourself that we never hesitate, not even when
the lady is a visitor, and not quite the ordinary short-kirtled Hen whom
one can engage without further ceremony by such advances—
Chantecler
But—
The Pheasant-hen
I do not bestow my affections quite so lightly. For my taste, anyhow,
you are altogether too frankly Cock of the Walk!
Chantecler
Too—?
The Pheasant-hen
Spoiled! The only Cock to my fancy would be a plain inglorious Cock to
whom I should be all in all.
Chantecler
But—
The Pheasant-hen
Love a celebrated Cock? I am not such a very woman!
Chantecler
But—well—still—We might, however, Madam, take a little stroll
together!
The Pheasant-hen
Yes, like two friends.
Chantecler
Two friends.
The Pheasant-hen
Two chickens.
Chantecler
Very old!
The Pheasant-hen
[Quickly.] No, no—not old! Very ugly!
Chantecler
[Quicker still.] Oh, no, not ugly! [Coming nearer to her.] Will you
take a turn in the yard?—Accept my wing!
The Pheasant-hen
You shall show me the sights.
Chantecler
[Stopping before the Chickens’ drinking-trough.]This, of course, is
hideous. It is a model drinking-trough on the siphon principle, made of
galvanised iron. But everything excepting that is charming, noble, time
and weather worn, from the hen-house roof to the stable door—
The Blackbird
[Returning.] The Guinea-hen is having a fit!
The Pheasant-hen
[To Chantecler, looking about her.] And so you live here untroubled,
and have nothing to fear?
Chantecler
Nothing whatever. Because the owner is a vegetarian An amazing man, a
lover of animals. He calls them by names borrowed from the poets. The
donkey there is Midas; the heifer, Io.
The Blackbird
The showman’s on the job!
The Pheasant-hen
[Indicating the Blackbird.] And that?
Chantecler
Our humorist.
The Pheasant-hen
What does he do?
Chantecler
Oh, he keeps busy!
The Pheasant-hen
Doing what?
Chantecler
Trying never to appear a fool, and that’s hard work.
The Pheasant-hen
Possibly—but most unattractive! [They move towards the back.]
The Blackbird
[With a glance at the Pheasant-hen’s scarlet breast.] Size up the
highfalutin’ dame!—Get on to the waistcoat will you?
Chantecler
[Continuing the round.] The hay-cock. The old wall. The wall, when I
sing, is alive with lizards, the hay-cock bends to listen. I sing on the
spot where you see the earth scratched up, and when I have sung, I drink
in the bowl over there.
Pheasant-hen
Your song then is a matter of importance?
Chantecler
[Seriously.] The greatest.
The Pheasant-hen
Why?
Chantecler
That is my secret.
The Pheasant-hen
If I should ask you to tell me?
Chantecler
[Turning the conversation, and showing a pile of brushwood tied in
bundles.] My friends, the fagots.
The Pheasant-hen
Stolen from my forest!—So what they say is true?—you have a secret?
Chantecler
[Dryly.] Yes, Madam.
The Pheasant-hen
I suppose it would be useless to insist—
Chantecler
[Climbing on the wall at the back.] And from here you can see the
remainder of the estate, to the edge of the kitchen-garden, where they
ply at evening a serpent ending like a sprinkling can.
The Pheasant-hen
What?—This is all?
Chantecler
This is all.
The Pheasant-hen
And do you imagine the world ends at your vegetable-patch?
Chantecler
No.
The Pheasant-hen
Do you never, as you watch, far overhead, the wedge of the south-flying
birds, dream of vaster horizons?
Chantecler
No.
Pheasant-hen
But all these things about you are dreary and poor and flat!
Chantecler
And I can never become used to the richness and wonder of these things!
The Pheasant-hen
It is always the same, you must agree!
Chantecler
Nothing is ever the same,—nothing,—ever,—under the sun! And that
because of the sun!—For She changes everything!
The Pheasant-hen
She—Who?
Chantecler
Light, the universal goddess! That geranium planted by the farmer’s wife
is never twice the same red! And that old wooden shoe, spurting straw,
what a sight, what a beautiful sight! And the wooden comb hanging among
the farmer’s smocks, with the green hair of the sward caught in its
teeth! The pitchfork, stood in the corner, like a misbehaving child,
dozing as he stands and dreaming of the hay-fields! And the bowl and
skittles there,—the trim-waisted skittles, shapely maids, whose orderly
quadrilles Patou in his gambols clumsily upsets! The great worm-eaten
bowl whose curved expanse some ant is always crossing, travelling with
no less pride than famed explorers,—around her ball in 80
seconds!—Nothing, I tell you, is two instants quite the same!—And I ,
sweet lady, have been so susceptible ever, that a garden-rake in a
corner, a flower in a pot, cast me long since into a helpless ecstasy,
and that from gazing at a morning-glory I fell into the startled
admiration which has made my eye so round!
The Pheasant-hen
[Thoughtfully.] One feels that you have a soul.—A soul then may find
wherewithal to grow, so far from life and its drama, shut in by a
farmyard wall with a cat asleep on it?
Chantecler
With power to see, capacity to suffer, one may come to understand all
things. In an insect’s death are hinted all disasters. Through a
knot-hole can be seen the sky and marching stars!
The Old Hen
[Appearing.] None knows the heavens like the water in the well!
Chantecler
[Presenting her to the Pheasant-hen before the basket-lid drops.] My
foster-mother!
The Pheasant-hen
[Politely approaching.] Delighted!
The Old Hen
[Slyly winking at her.] He’s a fine Cock!
The Pheasant-hen
He is a Cock, moreover, for whom that fact is not the only thing in the
world!
Chantecler
[Who has gone toward Patou.] There, my dear boy, is a Hen with whom
one can have a bit of solid conversation.