Scene Second
The Same, the Peacock.
The Guinea-hen
[To the Peacock, who enters slowly, with his head borne very stiff
and high.] Master, dear Master, would you be so extremely condescending
as to come and stand with your back to these sunflowers? Peacock!
Sunflowers! A study for Burne-Jones!
All
[Crowding around the Peacock.] Master! Master!
A Chicken
[Low to the Duck.] A word from him can make one’s fortune in society!
Another Chicken
[Who has succeeded in forcing his way to the Peacock, stammering with
emotion.] Master, what do you think of my latest “cheep”? [Suspense.
Religious silence.]
The Peacock
[Solemnly, letting the word drop slowly from his beak.] Definitive.
[Sensation.]
A Duck
[Trembling.] And my “quack”? [Suspense.]
The Peacock
Ultimate! [Sensation.]
The Guinea-hen
[Delighted, to the Hens.] I may say that it is at my days most
especially he throws off these specimens of a verbal art which might
fairly be called—
The Peacock
Lapidary.
All the Hens
[Rolling up their eyes.] Wonderful!
A Hen
[Coming forward, faint with emotion.] Master, high priest of taste,
what do you think of my dress? [Suspense.]
The Peacock
[After a glance.] Affirmative. [Sensation.]
The Tufted Hen
[Same business.] And my bonnet? [Suspense.]
The Peacock
Absolute. [Sensation.]
The Guinea-hen
[In a burst of emotion.] Our bonnets are absolute!
The Pheasant-hen
[Affecting exclusive interest in the Bees.] Ah, there is the Choir
Invisible striking up again!
The Guinea-hen
[Presenting the young Guinea-cock to the Peacock.] My son!—What do
you think of him?
The Peacock
Plausible.
Chorus of Wasps
Busily buzzing—
The Guinea-hen
[Overjoyed, running to the Pheasant-hen.] Oh, he said he was
plausible!
The Pheasant-hen
Who was?
The Guinea-hen
My son!
Chorus of Bees
When July
Too holly glows
Seek the shade
Inside the rose!
The Guinea-hen
[Returning to the Peacock.] Does not the rhythm of that chorus impress
you as—
The Peacock
Asunartetos!
A Hen
[To the Guinea-hen.] Your guest, my dear, can fit an epithet!
The Guinea-hen
Pontiff of the Unexpected Adjective I call him!
The Peacock
[Distilling his words, in a discordant haughty voice.] True it is
that—
The Guinea-hen
Ah, this is most pleasant, most pleasant! He is going to talk to us.
The Peacock
—a Ruskin rather more refined, I hope, than the earlier one, with a
tact—
The Guinea-hen
Very true!
Peacock
—a tact for which I stand largely in my own debt, I have constituted
myself Petronius-Priest and Maecenas-Messiah volatile volatiliser of
words, and that, jeweled judge, I love by my cameos and filigrees of
speech to represent the Taste of which I am the—
Patou
Oh, my poor head!
The Peacock
[Nonchalantly.]—shall I say guardian?
The Guinea-hen
[Effervescently.] Do say guardian!
The Peacock
No. Thesmothetes. [Respectful murmur of delight.]
The Guinea-hen
[To the Pheasant-hen.] Now you have seen our Peacock! Aren’t you
excited?
The Pheasant-hen
[Slightly bored.] Yes,—because I know the Cock is coming.
The Guinea-hen
[Delighted.] To-day? He is coming to-day? [She announces to the
general company, enthusiastically.] Chantecler!
The Peacock
[Slightly miffed.] A far greater triumph lies in store for you, fair
friend.
The Guinea-hen
Triumph? [The Peacock nods mysteriously.] What triumph?
The Peacock
[Walking away from her.] You shall see.
The Guinea-hen
[Following him.] Of what triumph are you speaking?
The Peacock
I said, “You shall see!”
Magpie
[Announcing.] Cock Braekel of Campine!