Chapter 1
CHANTECLER
Play in Four Acts By EDMOND ROSTAND
Translated By GERTRUDE HALL
1910
_DRAMATIS PERSONAE_
CHANTECLER PATOU THE BLACKBIRD THE PEACOCK THE NIGHTINGALE THE GRAND-DUKE THE SCREECH-OWL LITTLE SCOPS THE GAME-COCK THE HUNTING DOG A CARRIER-PIGEON THE WOOD-PECKER THE TURKEY THE DUCK THE YOUNG GUINEA-COCK THE PHEASANT-HEN THE GUINEA-HEN THE OLD HEN THE WHITE HEN THE GREY HEN THE BLACK HEN THE SPECKLED HEN THE TUFTED HEN
A Gander. A Capon. Chickens. Chicks. A Cockerel. A Swan. A Cuckoo. Night-birds. Fancy Cocks. Toads. A Turkey-hen. A Goose. A Garden Warbler. A Woodland Warbler. A Spider. A Heron. A Pigeon. A Guinea-pig. Barnyard animals. Woodland Creatures. Rabbits. Birds. Bees. Cicadas. Voices.
PROLOGUE
_The customary three knocks are heard. The drop-curtain wavers and is rising, when a voice rings out, “Not yet!” and the_ MANAGER, _a gentleman of important mien in evening dress, springing from his proscenium box, hurries toward the stage, repeating, “Not yet!”_
_The curtain is again lowered. The_ MANAGER _turns toward the audience, and resting one hand on the prompter’s box, addresses them:_
The curtain is a wall,--a flying wall. Assured that presently the wall will fly--why haste? Is it not charming to delay--and just look at it for a while?
Charming to sit before a great red wall, hanging beneath two gilt masks and a scroll--The thrilling moment is when the curtain thrills, and sounds come from the other side.
You are desired to-night to listen to those sounds and entering the scene before you see it, to wonder and surmise--
_Bending his ear, the_ MANAGER _listens to the sounds now beginning to come from behind the curtain._
A footstep--is it a road? A flutter of wings--is it a garden?
_The curtain here rippling as if about to rise, the_ MANAGER _precipitately shouts, “Stop!--Do not raise it yet!” Then again bending his ear, continues making note of the noises, clear or confused, single or combined, that from this onward come without stop from behind the curtain._
A magpie cawing flies away. Great wooden shoes come running over flags. A courtyard, is it?--If so above a valley--from whence that softened clamour of birds and barking dogs.
More and more clearly the scene suggests itself--Magically sound creates an atmosphere!--A sheep bell tinkles intermittently--Since there is grazing, we may look for grass.
A tree, too--a tree must rustle in the breeze, for a bullfinch warbles his little native song; and a blackbird whistling the song he has caught by ear, implies, we may presume, a wicker cage.
The rattling of a wagon run out of a shed--the dripping of a bucket drawn up overfull--the patter of doves’ feet alighting on a roof--Surely it is a farmyard--unless it be a mill!
Rustling of straw, click of a wooden latch--A stable or a haymow there must be. The locust shrills: the weather then is fine.--Church-bells ring: it is Sunday then.--Chatter of jays: the woods cannot be far!
Hark! Nature with the scattered voices of a fair midsummer day is composing--in a dream!--the most mysterious of overtures--harmonised by evening distance and the wind!
And all these sounds--song of a passing girl--laughter of children jogged by the donkey trotting--faraway gun-reports and hunting-horns --these sounds describe a holiday.
A window opens, a door closes--The harness shakes its bells. Is it not plain in sight, the old farmyard?--The dog sleeps, the cat but feigns to sleep.
Sunday!--Farmer and farmer’s wife are starting for the fair. The old horse paws the ground--
A ROUGH VOICE [_Behind the curtain, through the horse’s pawing._] Whoa, Dapple!
ANOTHER VOICE [_As if calling to a laggard._] Come along! We shan’t get home till morning!
AN IMPATIENT VOICE Are you ready?
ANOTHER VOICE Fasten the shutters!
MAN’S VOICE All right!
WOMAN’S VOICE My sunshade!
MAN’S VOICE [_Through the cracking of the whip._] Gee up!
THE MANAGER The wagon to the jingling of the harness rattles off, jolting out ditties. A turn in the road cuts off the unfinished song.--They are gone, quite gone. The performance can begin.
Some philosophers would say there was not a soul left, but we humbly believe that there are hearts. Man in leaving does not take with him all drama. One can laugh and suffer without him. [_He listens again._]
Ardently humming, a velvety bumblebee hovers--then is still; he has plunged into a flower--Let us begin. Pray note that Aesop’s hump to-night does duty as prompter’s box!
The members of our company are small, but--[_Calling toward the flies._] Alexander! [_To the audience._] He is my chief machinist. [_Calling again._] Let it down!
A VOICE [_From the flies._] It’s coming, sir!
MANAGER We have lowered between the audience and the stage an invisible screen of magnifying glass--
But there the violins are tuning up: Scraping of crystal bows, picking of strings!--Hush! Let the footlights now leap into brightness, for at a signal from their little leader the crickets’ orchestra have briskly fallen to!
Frrrt! The bumblebee emerges from the flower, shaking the yellow dust--A Hen comes on the scene as in La Fontaine’s fable. A Cuckoo calls, as in Beethoven’s symphony.
Hush! Let the chandelier draw in its myriad lights--for the curious call-boy of the woods has, airily, to summon us, repeated thrice his double call--
And since Nature is one of our performers, and feathered notables are on our staff--Hush! the curtain must go up: A wood-pecker’s bill has rapped out the three strokes!
ACT I
THE EVENING OF THE PHEASANT-HEN
_A farmyard such as the sounds from behind the curtain have described. At the right, a house over-clambered with wistaria. At the left, the farmyard gate, letting on to the road. A dog-kennel. At the back, a low wall, beyond which distant country landscape. The details of the setting define themselves in the course of the act._
SCENE FIRST
_The whole barnyard company,_ HENS, CHICKENS, CHICKS, DUCKS, TURKEYS, _etc.;_ THE BLACKBIRD _in his cage_, THE CAT _asleep on the wall, later_ A BUTTERFLY _on the flowers._
THE WHITE HEN [_Pecking._] Ah! Delicious!
ANOTHER HEN What are you eating?
ALL THE HENS [_Rushing to the spot._] What’s she eating?
THE WHITE HEN A small green beetle, crisp and nice, tasting of the rose-leaves he had lived on.
THE BLACK HEN [_Standing before the_ BLACKBIRD’S _cage._] Really, the Blackbird whistles amazingly!
THE WHITE HEN Any little street urchin can do as much!
THE TURKEY [_Solemnly._] An urchin who had learned of a shepherd in Sicily!
THE DUCK He never whistles his tune to the end--
THE TURKEY That’s too easy, carrying it to the end! [_He hums the tune the_ BLACKBIRD _has been whistling._] “How sweet to fare afield, and cull--and cull--” You should know, Duck, that the thing in art is to leave off before the end! “And cull--and cull--” Bravo, Blackbird!
[_The_ BLACKBIRD _comes out on the little platform in front of his cage and bows._]
A CHICK [_Astonished._] Can he get out?
BLACKBIRD Applause is salt on my tail!
THE CHICK But his cage?
THE TURKEY He can come out, and he can go in again. His cage has that sort of spring.--“And cull--and cull--” The whole point is missed if you tell them what you cull!
THE BLACK HEN [_Catching sight of a_ BUTTERFLY _alighting on the flowers above the wall at the back._] Oh, what a gorgeous butterfly!
THE WHITE HEN Where?
THE BLACK HEN On the honey-suckle.
THE TURKEY That kind is called an Admiral.
THE CHICK [_Looking after the_ BUTTERFLY.] Now he has settled on a pink.
THE WHITE HEN [_To the_ TURKEY.] An Admiral, wherefore?
THE BLACKBIRD Obviously because he is neither a seaman nor a soldier.
THE WHITE HEN Our Blackbird has a pretty wit!
THE TURKEY [_Nodding and swinging his red stalactite._] He has better than wit, my dear!
ANOTHER HEN [_Watching the_ BUTTERFLY.] It’s sweet--a butterfly!
THE BLACKBIRD Easy as possible to make! You take a W and set it on top of a Y!
A HEN [_Delighted._] A flourish of his bill, and there you have your caricature!
THE TURKEY He does better than execute caricatures! Hen, our Blackbird forces you to think while obliging you to laugh. He is a Teacher in wit’s clothing.
A CHICK [_To a_ HEN.] Mother, why does the Cat hate the Dog?
THE BLACKBIRD Because he appropriates his seat at the theatre.
THE CHICK [_Surprised._] They have a theatre?
THE BLACKBIRD Where dumb-shows are given.
THE CHICK Eh?
THE BLACKBIRD The hearthstone from whence both alike wish to watch the play of the Fire among the Logs.
THE TURKEY [_Delighted._] How aptly he conveys that the hatred of peoples is at bottom a question of wanting the other’s territory. There’s a brain for you!
THE SPECKLED HEN [_To the_ WHITE HEN, _who is pecking._] Do you peck peppers?
THE WHITE HEN Constantly.
THE SPECKLED HEN How can you stand the sting?
THE WHITE HEN It imparts to the feathers a delicate rosy tint.
THE SPECKLED HEN Oh, does it!
A VOICE IN THE DISTANCE Cuckoo!
THE WHITE HEN Listen!
THE VOICE [_From a greater distance._] Cuckoo!
THE WHITE HEN The Cuckoo!
A GREY HEN [_Comes running excitedly._] Which Cuckoo? The one who lives in the woods, or the one who lives in the clock?
THE VOICE [_Still further off._] Cuckoo!
THE WHITE HEN The one of the woods.
THE GREY HEN [_With a sigh of relief._] Oh, I was so afraid of having missed the other!
THE WHITE HEN [_Going near enough to her to speak in an undertone._] Do you mean to say you love him?
THE GREY HEN [_Sadly._] Without ever having set eyes on him. He lives in a chalet hanging on the kitchen wall, above the farmer’s great-coat and fowling-piece. The moment he sings, I rush to the spot, but I never get there in time to see anything but his little wicket closing. This evening I mean to stay right here beside the door--[_She takes up her position on the threshold._]
A VOICE White Hen!
SCENE SECOND
THE SAME, _a_ PIGEON _on the roof, later_ CHANTECLER.
THE WHITE HEN [_Looking about with quick jerks of her head._] Who called me?
THE VOICE A pigeon.
THE WHITE HEN [_Looking for him._] Where?
THE PIGEON On the sloping roof.
THE WHITE HEN [_Lifting her head and seeing him._] Ah!
THE PIGEON Though I am the bearer of an important missive, I would not miss the opportunity--Good evening, Hen!
THE WHITE HEN Postman, howdedo?
THE PIGEON My duty on the Postal Service of the Air obliging me this summer evening to pass your habitations, I should be most happy if--
THE WHITE HEN [_Spying a crumb of some sort._] One moment, please.
ANOTHER HEN [_Running eagerly towards her._] What are you eating?
ALL THE HENS [_Arriving at a run._] What’s she eating?
THE WHITE HEN A simple grain of wheat.
THE GREY HEN [_Taking up her conversation with the_ WHITE HEN.] As I was telling you, I mean to stay right on the door-step there--[_Showing the door of the house._]
THE WHITE HEN [_Looking at the door._] The door is shut.
THE GREY HEN Yes, but I shall hear the hour striking, and I will catch a look at my Cuckoo by stretching my neck,--
THE PIGEON [_Calling, slightly out of patience._] White Hen!
THE WHITE HEN One moment, please! [_To the_ GREY HEN.]--Catch a look at your Cuckoo, by stretching your neck where?--Where?
THE GREY HEN [_Pointing with her beak at the small, round opening at the foot of the door._] Through the cat-hole!
THE PIGEON [_Raising his voice to a shout._] Am I to be kept here cooling my feet on your rain-pipe? Hi, there, whitest of Hens!
THE WHITE HEN [_Hopping towards him._] You were saying?
THE PIGEON I was about to say--
THE WHITE HEN What, bluest of Pigeons?
THE PIGEON That I should consider myself past expression fortunate if--But no! I am abashed at my own boldness!--if I might be so favoured as to be permitted to get a glimpse--
THE WHITE HEN Of what?
THE PIGEON Oh, just a glimpse, the very least glimpse of--
ALL THE HENS [_Impatiently._] Of what?--What?
THE PIGEON Of his comb!
THE WHITE HEN [_Laughing, to the others._] Ha! ha! he wishes to see--
THE PIGEON [_In great excitement._] That’s it! Just to see--
THE WHITE HEN There, there, cool down!
THE PIGEON I am shaking with excitement!
THE WHITE HEN You are shaking down the roof!
THE PIGEON You can’t think how we admire him!
THE WHITE HEN Oh, everyone admires him!
THE PIGEON And I promised my missis to tell her what he is like!
THE WHITE HEN [_Quietly pecking._] Oh, he’s a fine fellow, no doubt of that!
THE PIGEON We can hear him crowing from our dove-cote. The One he is whose song is more an ornament to the landscape than the white hamlet to the hill! The One he is whose cry pierces the blue horizon like a gold-threaded needle stitching the hill-tops to the sky! The Cock he is! When you would praise him, call him the Cock!
THE BLACKBIRD [_Hopping up and down in his cage._] Tick-tock!--who sets all hearts a-beating, tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock!
A HEN Our Cock!
THE BLACKBIRD [_Thrusting his head between the bars of his cage._] My, thy, his, her, our, your, and their Cock!
THE TURKEY [_To the_ PIGEON.] He will soon be coming in from his usual round in the fields.
THE PIGEON You have the honour of his acquaintance, sir?
THE TURKEY [_Importantly._] I have known him from a baby. This chick--for to me he is still a chick!--used to come to me for his bugle lesson.
THE PIGEON Ah, indeed? You give lessons in--
THE TURKEY Certainly. A bird who can gobble is qualified to teach crowing.
THE PIGEON Where was he born?
THE TURKEY [_Indicating an old covered basket, badly battered and broken._] In that old basket.
THE PIGEON And is the hen who brooded him still living?
THE TURKEY [_Again indicating the basket._] She is there.
THE PIGEON Where?
THE TURKEY In that old basket.
THE PIGEON [_More and more interested._] Of what breed is she?
THE TURKEY She is just a good old-fashioned Gascon hen, born in the neighbourhood of Pau.
THE BLACKBIRD [_Thrusting out his head._] She is the one Henry the Fourth wished to see cooking in every Frenchman’s pot!
THE PIGEON How proud she must be of having hatched such a Cock!
THE TURKEY Yes, proud with a lowly foster-mother’s pride. Her beloved chick is coming to his inches, that is all she seems to understand or care about. And when you tell her this, her clouded reason gives a momentary gleam-- [_Calling towards the basket._] Hey, old lady, he is growing!
ALL THE HENS He is growing!
[_The lid of the basket is suddenly lifted, and a bristling aged hen’s head appears._]
THE PIGEON [_To the_ OLD HEN, _gently and feelingly._] Does it make you happy, mother, to think of him grown to a big fine Cock?
THE OLD HEN [_Nodding, sententiously._] Happy?--Wednesday’s crops do credit to Tuesday! [_She disappears, the lid drops._]
THE TURKEY She opens now and then, like that, and ping! shoots at us some such pearl of homely lore--
THE PIGEON [_To the_ WHITE HEN.] White Hen!
THE TURKEY --not always wholly without point!
THE OLD HEN [_Reappearing for an instant._] In the Peacock’s absence, the Turkey spreads his tail!
[_The_ TURKEY _turns quickly around, the lid has already dropped._]
THE PIGEON [_To the_ WHITE HEN.] Is it a fact that Chantecler is never hoarse, never the very least husky?
THE WHITE HEN [_Keeping on with her pecking._] Perfectly true.
THE PIGEON [_With growing enthusiasm._] Ah, you must be proud Cock who will be numbered among Illustrious Animals and his name remembered five, ten, fifteen years!
THE TURKEY Very proud. Very proud. [_To a_ CHICK.] Who are the Illustrious Animals? Tell them off!
THE CHICK [_Reciting a lesson._] Noah’s Dove--Saint Rocco’s Poodle--The--the Horse of Cali--
THE TURKEY Cali--?
THE CHICK [_Trying to remember._] Cali--
THE PIGEON This Cock, now--this Cock of yours--Is it true that his song attunes, inspires, encourages, makes labour light, and keeps off birds of prey?
THE WHITE HEN [_Pecking._] Perfectly true.
THE CHICK [_Still hunting for his word._] Cali--Cali--
THE PIGEON White Hen, is it true that by his song, defender of the warm and sacred egg, he has frequently kept the lissome weasel from--
THE BLACKBIRD [_Looking out between the bars._]--messing his shirtfront with omelette?
THE WHITE HEN Perfectly true.
THE CHICK Cali--
THE TURKEY [_Helping him._] Gu?
THE CHICK Gu--
THE PIGEON Is it true--?
THE CHICK [_Jumping for joy at having found._] Gula!
THE PIGEON --true that, as report says, he has a secret for his amazing singing, a secret whereby his crow becomes the brilliant burst of red which makes the poppies of the field feel themselves contemptible imitations?
THE WHITE HEN [_Weary of this questioning._] Perfectly true.
THE PIGEON That secret, that great secret, is it known to anyone?
THE WHITE HEN No.
THE PIGEON He has not even told his Hen?
THE WHITE HEN [_Correcting him._] His Hens.
THE PIGEON [_Slightly shocked._] Ah, he has more than one?
THE BLACKBIRD He crows, remember, you only coo.
THE PIGEON Well, then, he has not even told his favourite?
THE TUFTED HEN [_Promptly._] No, he has not!
THE WHITE HEN [_As promptly._] No, he has not!
THE BLACK HEN [_As promptly._] No, he has not!
THE BLACKBIRD [_Thrusting out his head._] Hush!--An aÎrial drama! The Butterfly, absorbed in his head of blossom, banquets, all oblivious of--
[_A great green gauze butterfly-net appears above the wall, softly coming towards the_ BUTTERFLY _settled on one of the flowers._]
A HEN What is that?
THE TURKEY [_Solemnly._] Fate!
THE BLACKBIRD In a thin disguise of gauze!
THE WHITE HEN Oh, a net--at the end of a cane!
THE BLACKBIRD No harm in the cane--it’s the kid at the other end of the cane! [_Half aloud, watching the_ BUTTERFLY.] You neat little fop, sailing from rose to rose, to-night you’ll be neat as a pin can make you!
ALL [_Watching the cautious approach of the net beyond the wall._] Nearer--Nearer--Hush! He’ll catch it!--No he won’t!--Yes, he will!
SUDDENLY OUTSIDE Cock-a-doodle-doo!
[_At the sound, the_ BUTTERFLY _flies off. The_ NET _wavers a moment, with an effect of disappointment, then disappears._]
SEVERAL HENS What?--Eh?--What was it?
A HEN [_Who having hopped up on a wheelbarrow can follow the flight of the_ BUTTERFLY.] He is off and away, over the meadow.
THE BLACKBIRD [_With ironical emphasis._] It’s Chantecler, practicing knight-errantry!
THE PIGEON [_With emotion._] Chantecler!
A HEN He is coming!
ANOTHER HEN He is just outside--
THE WHITE HEN [_To the_ PIGEON.] Now you will see. He’s a very fine bird indeed.
THE BLACKBIRD [_Thrusting his head between the bars._] Easy as possible to make, a Cock!
THE TURKEY [_Admiringly._] Admirable amenity!
THE BLACKBIRD You take a melon--a fine specimen, I will grant,--for the trunk. For the legs, two sticks of asparagus,--prize sticks, of course. For the head, a red pepper,--as handsome as you may find. For the eye, a currant,--exceptionally clear and light. For the tail, a sheaf of leeks, with luxuriant blue-green flags. For the ear, a dainty kidney-bean, --extra, superfine!--And there you have him, there’s your Cock!
THE PIGEON [_Gently._] One thing you have omitted--His heavenly clarion call!
THE BLACKBIRD [_Indicating_ CHANTECLER, _who now appears upon the wall._] Yes, but with the exception of that--slight detail, you must own my portrait is a likeness.
THE PIGEON Not at all. Not in the very least. [_Contemplating_ CHANTECLER _with a very different eye from the_ BLACKBIRD’S.] What I see, beneath that quivering helmet, is Summer’s glorious and favoured knight, who, from a groaning wain at evening borrowing its golden harvest-robe has arrayed himself in this, and lifts it from the dust with a gleaming sickle!
CHANTECLER [_On the wall, in a long guttural sigh._] Coa--
THE BLACKBIRD When he makes that noise in his throat, he either is in love, or preparing some poetic outburst.
CHANTECLER [_Motionless on the wall, with head high._] Blaze forth in glory!--Dazzle--
THE BLACKBIRD He’s letting off hot air!
CHANTECLER Irradiate the world!
A HEN Now he pauses--one claw lifted--
CHANTECLER [_In a sort of groan of excessive tenderness._] Coa--
THE BLACKBIRD That, if you please, is ecstasy!
CHANTECLER Thy gold is of all gold alone beneficent! I worship thee!
THE PIGEON [_Under breath._] To whom is he talking?
THE BLACKBIRD [_Sneering._] To the sun, sonny, the sun!
CHANTECLER O thou that driest the tears of the meanest among weeds And dost of a dead flower make a living butterfly-- Thy miracle, wherever almond-trees Shower down the wind their scented shreds, Dead petals dancing in a living swarm-- I worship thee, O Sun! whose ample light, Blessing every forehead, ripening every fruit, Entering every flower and every hovel, Pours itself forth and yet is never less, Still spending and unspent--like mother’s love!
I sing of thee, and will be thy high priest, Who disdainest not to glass thy shining face In the humble basin of blue suds, Or see the lightning of thy last farewell Reflected in an humble cottage pane!
THE BLACKBIRD [_Thrusting out his head._] Can’t call it off now, boys, he’s started on an ode!
THE TURKEY [_Watching_ CHANTECLER _as by a series of stately hops he comes down a pile of hay._] Here he comes, prouder than--
A HEN [_Stopping in front of a small tin cone._] See there! The new-fangled drinking-trough! [_She drinks._] Handy!
THE BLACKBIRD Prouder than a drum major chanting as he marches: “My country, ’tis of thee!”
CHANTECLER [_Beginning to walk about the yard._] Thou smilest on the--
ALL THE HENS [_Rushing to the_ WHITE HEN _who is eating something._] What’s she eating?
THE WHITE HEN Corn. Nothing but corn.
CHANTECLER Thou smilest on the sunflower craning after thee, And burnishest my brother of the vane, And softly sifting through the linden-trees Strewest the ground with dappled gold, So fine there’s no more walking where it lies.
Through thee the earthen pot is an enamelled urn, The clout hung out to dry a noble banner, The hay-rick by thy favour boasts a golden cape, And the rick’s little sister, the thatched hive, Wears, by thy grace, a hood of gold!
Glory to thee in the vineyards! Glory to thee in the fields! Glory among the grass and on the roofs, In eyes of lizards and on wings of swans,-- Artist who making splendid the great things Forgets not to make exquisite the small!
’Tis thou that, cutting out a silhouette, To all thou beamest on dost fasten this dark twin, Doubling the number of delightful shapes, Appointing to each thing its shadow, More charming often than itself.
I praise thee, Sun! Thou sheddest roses on the air, Diamonds on the stream, enchantment on the hill; A poor dull tree thou takest and turnest to green rapture, O Sun, without whose golden magic--things Would be no more than what they are!
THE PIGEON Bravo! I shall have something to tell my mate. We shall long talk of this!
CHANTECLER [_Seeing him, with noble courtesy._] Young blue-winged stranger, with new-fledged bill, thanks! Pray lay my duty at her coral feet!
[_The_ PIGEON _flies off._]
THE BLACKBIRD Jolly your admirers, it pays!
CHANTECLER [_In a cordial voice, to the whole barnyard._] To work now, all of you, with a will!
[_A_ FLY _darts past, buzzing._]
CHANTECLER Busy and resonant Fly, I love thee! Behold her! What is her flight but the heart-whole gift of herself?
THE TURKEY [_Loftily._] Yes.--She has dropped considerably in my esteem, however, since that matter of the--
CHANTECLER Of the what?
THE TURKEY Of the Fly and the--