Chapter 10
THE TOADS [_Retreating, overcome by the conquering song._] Croak! croak!
CHANTECLER Their fate to seethe in the cauldron of a witch! But you, the creatures of the forest come to slake the thirst of their hearts at your song. See them creeping to the lure--
THE TOADS [_From the underbrush._] Croak! croak!
CHANTECLER A doe, look! tiptoeing on delicate hoofs, followed by a wolf who has forgotten to be a wolf--
THE TOADS [_Lost among the grass._] Croak!
CHANTECLER The squirrel steals down from the lofty tree-tops. The whole vast forest is stirred by a thrill of brotherliness.
THE TOADS [_Out of sight._]--roak!
CHANTECLER The echo alone now repeats--
FAINT DISTANT VOICE --oak!
CHANTECLER Gone! Gone are the Toads!
[_Music holds the night: a song without words, delicate volleys of rapturous notes._]
CHANTECLER The Glow-worms have lighted their small, green lamps. All that is good comes forth, while hate shrinks back to its lair. Now they that shall be eaten lay themselves down in the grass by the side of them that shall eat them. The Star of a sudden looks nearer to earth, and forsaking her web the Spider draws herself up toward your song, climbing by her own silken thread.
ALL THE FOREST [_In a moan of ecstasy._] Ah!
[_And the forest lies as if under a spell; the moonlight is softer, the tender green fire of the glow-worm shines blinking among the moss; on all sides, between the tree-boles creep, shadow-like, the charmed beasts; eyes shine, moist muzzles point toward the source of the music. The_ WOODPECKER _stands at his bark window, dreamily nodding; all the_ RABBITS, _with uppricked ears, sit at their earthen doors._]
CHANTECLER When he sings thus without words, what is he singing, Squirrel?
THE SQUIRREL [_From a tree-top._] The joy of swift motion.
CHANTECLER And what say you, Hare?
THE HARE [_In the coppice._] The thrill of fear!
CHANTECLER You, Rabbit?
ONE OF THE RABBITS The Dew!
CHANTECLER You, Doe?
THE DOE [_From the depths of the woods._] Tears!
CHANTECLER Wolf?
THE WOLF [_In a gentle distant howl._] The Moon!
CHANTECLER And you, Tree with the golden wound, singing Pine?
THE PINE-TREE [_Softly beating time with one of its boughs._] He tells me that my drops of resin in the form of rosin will sing upon the bows of violins!
CHANTECLER And you, Woodpecker, what does he say to you?
THE WOODPECKER [_In ecstasy._] He says that Aristophanes--
CHANTECLER [_Promptly interrupting him._] Never mind! I know! You, Spider?
THE SPIDER [_Swinging at the end of one of her threads._] He sings of the raindrop sparkling in my web like a royal gift.
CHANTECLER And you, Drop of Water, sparkling in her web?
A LITTLE VOICE [_From the cobweb._] Of the Glow-worm!
CHANTECLER And you, Glow-worm?
A LITTLE VOICE [_In the grass._]Of the Star!
CHANTECLER And you, if one may so far presume as to question you, of what does he sing to you, Star?
A VOICE [_In the sky._] Of the Shepherd!
CHANTECLER Ah, what fountain is it--
THE PHEASANT-HEN [_Who is watching the horizon between the trees._] The darkness is lightening.
CHANTECLER What fountain, in which each finds water for his thirst? [_Listening with greater attention._] To me he speaks of the Day, which arises and shines at my song!
THE PHEASANT-HEN [_Aside._] And speaks of it so eloquently that for once you will forget it!
CHANTECLER [_Noticing a_ BIRD _who having come a little way out of the thicket is beatifically listening._] And how do you, Snipe, translate his poem?
THE SNIPE I don’t know. I only know I like it--It is sweet!
THE PHEASANT-HEN [_Who is not lured--she!--into forgetting to watch the sky between the branches, aside._] The night is wearing away!
CHANTECLER [_To the_ NIGHTINGALE, _in a discouraged voice._] To sing! To sing! But how, after hearing the faultless crystal of your note, can I ever be satisfied again with the crude, brazen blare of mine?
THE NIGHTINGALE But you must!
CHANTECLER Shall I find it possible ever again to sing? My song, alas, must seem to me always after this too brutal and too red!
THE NIGHTINGALE I have sometimes thought that mine was too facile, perhaps, and too blue!
CHANTECLER Oh, how can you humble yourself to make such a confession to me?
THE NIGHTINGALE You fought for a friend of mine, the Rose! Learn, comrade, this sorrowful and reassuring fact, that no one, Cock of the morning or evening Nightingale, has quite the song of his dreams!
CHANTECLER [_With passionate desire._] Oh, to be a sound that soothes and lulls!
THE NIGHTINGALE To be a splendid call to duty!
CHANTECLER I make nobody weep!
THE NIGHTINGALE I awaken nobody! [_But after the expression of this regret, he continues in an ever higher and more lyrical voice._] What matter? One must sing on! Sing on, even while knowing that there are songs which he prefers to his own song. One must sing,--sing,--sing,--until--[_A shot. A flash from the thicket. Brief silence, then a small, tawny body drops at_ CHANTECLER’S _feet._]
CHANTECLER [_Bending and looking._] The Nightingale!--The brutes! [_And without noticing the vague, earliest tremour of daylight spreading through the air, he cries in a sob._] Killed! And he had sung such a little, little while! [_One or two feathers slowly flutter down._]
THE PHEASANT-HEN His feathers!
CHANTECLER [_Bending over the body which is shaken by a last throe._] Peace, little poet!
[_Rustling of leaves and snapping of twigs; from a thicket projects_ PATOU’S _shaggy head._]
SCENE SEVENTH
_The same_, PATOU, _emerging for a moment from the brush._
CHANTECLER [_To_ PATOU.] You! [_Reproachfully._] You have come to get him?
PATOU [_Ashamed._] Forgive me! The poacher compels me--
CHANTECLER [_Who had sprung before the body, to protect it, uncovers it._] A Nightingale!
PATOU [_Hanging his head._] Yes. The evil race of man loves to shower lead into a singing tree.
CHANTECLER See, the burying beetle has already come.
PATOU [_Gently withdrawing._] I will make believe I found nothing.
THE PHEASANT-HEN [_Watching the day break._] He has not noticed that night is nearly over.
CHANTECLER [_Bending over the grasses which begin to stir about the dead bird._] Insect, where the body has fallen, be swift to come and open the earth. The funereal necrophaga are the only grave-diggers who never carry the dead elsewhere, believing that the least sad, and the most fitting tomb, is the very clay whereon one fell into the final sleep. [_To the funeral insects, while the_ NIGHTINGALE _begins gently to sink into the ground._] Piously dig his grave! Light lie the earth upon him!
THE PHEASANT-HEN [_Aside, looking at the horizon._] Over there--
CHANTECLER Verily, verily, I say unto you, Bul-bul to-night shall see the Bird of Paradise!
THE PHEASANT-HEN [_Aside._] The sky is turning white! [_A whistle is heard in the distance._]
PATOU [_To_ CHANTECLER.] I will come back. He is whistling me. [_Disappears._]
THE PHEASANT-HEN [_Restlessly dividing her attention between the horizon and the_ COCK.] How can I conceal from him--[_She moves tenderly toward_ CHANTECLER, _opening her wings so as to hide the brightening East, and taking advantage of his grief._] Come and weep beneath my wing! [_With a sob he lays his head beneath the comforting wing which is quickly clapped over him. And the_ PHEASANT-HEN _gently lulls him, murmuring._] You see that my wing is soft and comforting! You see--
CHANTECLER [_In a smothered voice._] Yes!
THE PHEASANT-HEN [_Gently rocks him, darting a glance now and then over her shoulder to see how the dawn is progressing._] You see that a wing is an outspread heart--[_Aside._] Day is breaking! [_To_ CHANTECLER.] You see that--[_Aside._] The sky has paled! [_To_ CHANTECLER.]--that a wing is--[_Aside._] The tree is steeped in rosy light! [_To_ CHANTECLER.]--partly a shield, and partly a cradle, partly a cloak and a place of rest,--that a wing is a kiss which enfolds and covers you over. You see that--[_With a backward leap, suddenly withdrawing her wings._] the Day can break perfectly well without you!
CHANTECLER [_With the greatest cry of anguish possible to created being._] Ah!
THE PHEASANT-HEN [_Continuing inexorably._] That the mosses in a moment will be scarlet!
CHANTECLER [_Running toward the moss._] Ah, no! No! Not without me! [_The moss flushes red._] Ungrateful!
THE PHEASANT-HEN The horizon--
CHANTECLER [_Imploringly, to the horizon._] No!
THE PHEASANT-HEN --is glowing gold!
CHANTECLER [_Staggering._] Treachery!
THE PHEASANT-HEN One may be all in all to another heart, you see, one can be nothing to the sky!
CHANTECLER [_Swooning._] It is true!
PATOU [_Returning, cheery and cordial._] Here I am! I have come to tell you that they are all mad over there, at the topsy-turvy farm, to have back the Cock who orders the return of Day!
CHANTECLER They believe that now I have ceased to believe it!
PATOU [_Stopping short, amazed._] What do you mean?
THE PHEASANT-HEN [_Bitterly pressing close to_ CHANTECLER.] You see that a heart pressing against your own is better than a sky which does not in the very least need you.
CHANTECLER Yes!
THE PHEASANT-HEN That darkness after all may be as sweet as light if there are two close-clasped in the shade.
CHANTECLER [_Wildly._] Yes! Yes! [_But suddenly leaving her side he raises his head and in a ringing voice._] Cock-a-doodle-doo!
THE PHEASANT-HEN [_Taken aback._] Why are you crowing?
CHANTECLER As a warning to myself,--for thrice have I denied the thing I love!
THE PHEASANT-HEN And what is that?
CHANTECLER My life’s work! [_To_ PATOU.] Up and about! Come, let us go!
THE PHEASANT-HEN What are you going to do?
CHANTECLER Follow my calling.
THE PHEASANT-HEN But what night is there for you to rout?
CHANTECLER The night of the eyelid!
THE PHEASANT-HEN [_Pointing toward the growing glory of the dawn._] Very well, you will rouse sleepers--
CHANTECLER And Saint Peter!
THE PHEASANT-HEN But can you not see that Day has risen without the benefit of your crowing?
CHANTECLER I am more sure of my destiny than of the daylight before my eyes.
THE PHEASANT-HEN [_Pointing at the_ NIGHTINGALE _who has already half disappeared into the earth._] Your faith can no more return to life than can that dead bird.
[_From the tree above their heads suddenly rings forth the heart-stirring, limpid, characteristic note: Tio! Tio!_]
THE PHEASANT-HEN [_Struck with amazement._] Is it another singing?
PATOU [_With quivering ear._] And singing still better, if possible.
THE PHEASANT-HEN [_Looking up in a sort of terror at the foliage, and then down at the little grave._] Another takes up the song when this one disappears?
THE VOICE In the forest must always be a Nightingale!
CHANTECLER [_With exaltation._] And in the soul a faith so faithful that it comes back even after it has been slain.
THE PHEASANT-HEN But if the Sun is climbing up the sky?
CHANTECLER There must have been left in the air some power from my yesterday’s song.
[_Flights of noiseless grey wings pass among the trees._]
THE OWLS [_Hooting joyfully._] He kept still!
PATOU [_Raising his head and looking after them._] The Owls, fleeing from the newly risen light, are coming home to the woods.
THE OWLS [_Returning to their holes in the old trees._] He kept still!
CHANTECLER [_With all his strength come back to him._] The proof that I was serving the cause of light when I sang is that the Owls are glad of my silence. [_Going to the_ PHEASANT-HEN, _with defiance in his mien._] I make the Dawn appear, and I do more than that!
THE PHEASANT-HEN [_Choking._] You do--
CHANTECLER On grey mornings, when poor creatures waking in the twilight dare not believe in the day, the bright copper of my song takes the place of the sun! [_Turning to go._] Back to our work!
THE PHEASANT-HEN But how find courage to work after doubting the work’s value?
CHANTECLER Buckle down to work!
THE PHEASANT-HEN [_With angry stubbornness._] But if you have nothing whatever to do with making the morning?
CHANTECLER Then I am just the Cock of a remoter Sun! My cries so affect the night that it lets certain beams of the day pierce through its black tent, and those are what we call the stars. I shall not live to see shining upon the steeples that final total light composed of stars clustered in unbroken mass; but if I sing faithfully and sonorously and if, long after me, and long after that, in every farmyard its Cock sings faithfully, sonorously, I truly believe there will be no more night!
THE PHEASANT-HEN When will that be?
CHANTECLER One Day!
THE PHEASANT-HEN Go, go, and forget our forest!
CHANTECLER No, I shall never forget the noble green forest where I learned that he who has witnessed the death of his dream must either die at once or else arise stronger than before.
THE PHEASANT-HEN [_In a voice which she does her best to make insulting._] Go and get into your hen-house by the way of a ladder.
CHANTECLER The birds have taught me that I can use my wings to go in.
THE PHEASANT-HEN Go and see your old Hen in her old broken basket.
CHANTECLER Ah, forest of the Toads, forest of the Poacher, forest of the Nightingale, and of the Pheasant-hen, when my old peasant mother sees me home again, back from your green recesses where pain is so interwoven with love, what will she say?
PATOU [_Imitating the_ OLD HEN’S _affectionate quaver._] How that Chick has grown!
CHANTECLER [_Emphatically._] Of course she will! [_Turning to leave._]
THE PHEASANT-HEN He is going! When faithless they turn to leave, oh, that we had arms, arms to hold them fast,--but we have only wings!
CHANTECLER [_Stops short and looks at her, troubled._] She weeps?
PATOU [_Hastily, pushing him along with his paw._] Hurry up!
CHANTECLER [_To_ PATOU.] Wait a moment.
PATOU I am willing. Nothing can sit so patiently and watch the dropping of tears as an old dog.
THE PHEASANT-HEN [_Crying to_ CHANTECLER, _with a leap toward him._] Take me with you!
CHANTECLER [_Turns and in an inflexible voice._] Will you consent to stand second to the Dawn?
THE PHEASANT-HEN [_Fiercely drawing back._] Never!
CHANTECLER Then farewell!
THE PHEASANT-HEN I hate you!
CHANTECLER [_Already at some distance among the brush._] I love you, but I should poorly serve the work to which I devote myself anew at the side of one to whom it were less than the greatest thing in the world! [_He disappears._]
SCENE EIGHTH
THE PHEASANT-HEN, PATOU, _later the_ WOODPECKER, RABBITS, _and, all the_ VOICES _of the awakening forest._
PATOU [_To the_ PHEASANT-HEN.] Mourn!
THE SPIDER [_In the centre of her-web which now sifts the gold dust of a sunbeam._] Spider at morn, Cometh to warn!
THE PHEASANT-HEN [_Furiously, tearing down the cobweb with a brush of her wing._] Be still, hateful Spider!--Oh, may he perish for having disdained me!
THE WOODPECKER [_Who from his window has been watching_ CHANTECLER’S _departure, suddenly, frightened._] The poacher has seen him!
THE OWLS [_In the trees._] The Cock is in danger!
THE WOODPECKER [_Leaning out to see better._] He breaks his gun in two!
PATOU [_Alarmed._] To load it! Is that murderous fool in sheepskin gaiters going to fire upon a rooster?
THE PHEASANT-HEN [_Spreading her wings to rise._] Not if he sees a pheasant!
PATOU [_Springing before her._] What are you doing?
THE PHEASANT-HEN Following my calling! [_She flies toward the danger._]
THE WOODPECKER [_Seeing that in her upward swing she must touch the spring of the forgotten snare._] Look out for the snare! [_Too late. The net falls._]
THE PHEASANT-HEN [_Utters a cry of despair._] Ah!
PATOU She is caught!
THE PHEASANT-HEN [_Struggling in the net._] He is lost!
PATOU [_Wildly._] She is--He is--
[_All the_ RABBITS _have thrust out their heads to see._]
THE PHEASANT-HEN [_Crying in an ardent prayer._] Daybreak protect him!
THE OWLS [_Rocking themselves gleefully among the branches._] The gun-barrel shines, shines--
THE PHEASANT-HEN Dawn, touch the cartridge with your dewy wing! Trip the foot of the hunter in a tangle of grass! He is your Cock! He drove off the darkness and the shadow of the Hawk! And he is going to die. Nightingale, you, say something! Speak!
THE NIGHTINGALE [_In a supplicating sob._] He fought for a friend of mine, the Rose!
THE PHEASANT-HEN Let him live! And I will dwell in the farmyard beside the ploughshare and the hoe! And renouncing for his sake all that in my pride I made a burden and torment to him, I will own, O Sun, that when you made his shadow you marked out my place in the world!
[_Daylight grows. On all sides, rustles and murmurs._]
THE WOODPECKER [_Singing._] The air is blue!
A CROW [_Cawing as he flies past._] Daylight grows!
THE PHEASANT-HEN The forest is astir--
ALL THE BIRDS [_Waking among the trees._] Good-morning! Good-morning! Good-morning! Good-morning! Good-morning!
THE PHEASANT-HEN Everyone sings!
A JAY [_Darting past like a streak of blue lightning._] Ha, ha!
THE WOODPECKER The Jay shakes with homeric laughter.
THE PHEASANT-HEN [_Crying in the midst of the music of the morning._] Let him live!
THE JAY [_Again darting past._] Ha, ha!
A CUCKOO [_In the distance._] Cuckoo!
THE PHEASANT-HEN I abdicate!
PATOU [_Lifting his eyes heavenward._] She abdicates!
THE PHEASANT-HEN Forgive, O Light, to whom I dared dispute him! Dazzle the eye taking aim, and be victory awarded, O Sunbeams--
THE JAY _and the_ CUCKOO [_Far away._] Ha! Cuckoo!
THE PHEASANT-HEN --to your powder of gold--[_A shot. She gives a sharp cry, ending in a dying voice._]--over man’s black powder! [_Silence._]
CHANTECLER’S VOICE [_Very far away._] Cock-a-doodle-doo!
ALL [_In a glad cry._] Saved!
THE RABBITS [_Capering gaily out of their burrows._] Let us turn somersets among the thyme!
A VOICE [_Fresh and solemn, among the trees._] O God of birds!
THE RABBITS [_Stopping short in their antics stand abruptly still; soberly._] The morning prayer!
THE WOODPECKER [_Crying to the_ PHEASANT-HEN.] They are coming to examine the trap!
THE PHEASANT-HEN [_Closes her eyes in resignation._] So be it!
THE VOICE IN THE TREES God by whose grace we wake to this new day--
PATOU [_Before leaving._] Hush! Drop the curtain! Men folk are coming! [_Off._]
[_All the woodland creatures hide. The_ PHEASANT-HEN _is left alone, and, held down by the snare, with spread wings and panting breast, awaits the approach of the giant._]
CURTAIN