Chapter 3
THE BLACKBIRD Is that streaming eye, my friend, a result of age or rheumatism?
PATOU Neither! But I have within me several dogs, and there is conflict amidst me. My hunter’s nostril twitches at a shot, but, directly, my house-dog’s memory raises before me a bleeding wing, the glazing eye of a doe, the pathos of a rabbit’s dying look--and I feel the heart of a Saint Bernard waking in my breast! [_Another shot._]
CHANTECLER Again?
SCENE FIFTH
THE SAME, A GOLDEN PHEASANT, _later_ BRIFFAUT.
A GOLDEN PHEASANT [_Flying suddenly over the wall, and dropping in the yard, mad with fright._] Hide me!
CHANTECLER Heavens!
PATOU A golden pheasant!
GOLDEN PHEASANT Is this great Chantecler?
THE BLACKBIRD All over the shop, we’re famous!
GOLDEN PHEASANT [_Running hither and thither._] Save me, if you are he!
CHANTECLER I am!--Rely on me!
[_Another shot._]
GOLDEN PHEASANT [_Jumping and casting himself on_ CHANTECLER.] Merciful powers!
CHANTECLER But what a nervous bird it is--a golden pheasant!
GOLDEN PHEASANT I have no breath left! I ran too hard!-[_Faints._]
THE BLACKBIRD Puff!--Out goes his light!
CHANTECLER [_Upholding the_ PHEASANT _with one wing._] How beautiful he is, with drooping neck and softly ruffled throat-feathers! [_He runs to the drinking-trough._] Water!--One almost hesitates to dim such beauty with a wetting--[_He splashes him vigorously with his other wing._]
THE GOLDEN PHEASANT [_Coming to._] I am pursued! Oh, hide me!
THE BLACKBIRD “And the villain still--” Here’s melodrama!
[_To the_ PHEASANT.] How the dickens did he manage to miss you?
THE PHEASANT Surprise!--The huntsman was looking for a little grey lark. Seeing me rise, he cried, “Thunder!” He saw but a flash of gold, and I a flash of fire.--But the dog is chasing me, a horrible dog--[_Seeing_ PATOU _he quickly adds._] I am speaking of a hunting-dog! [_To_ CHANTECLER.] Hide me!
CHANTECLER The trouble is he is so conspicuous. That increases our dilemma. Where can he lie concealed?--Gentle sir, my lord, most noble stranger, where might we hope to hide the rainbow, supposing it in danger?
PATOU There by the bench with the beehives stands my green cottage, very much at your service.--Go in, I pray! [_The_ GOLDEN PHEASANT _goes in, but his long tail projects._] There is too much of this golden vanity!--The tip is still in sight.--I shall have to sit on it.
[BRIFFAUT _appears above the wall. Long hanging ears and quivering chops._]
PATOU [_To_ BRIFFAUT, _affecting unconcern._] Good afternoon!
BRIFFAUT [_Snuffing._] Humph, what a good smell!
PATOU [_Pointing to his bowl._] My poor dinner! Soup with seasonable vegetables.
BRIFFAUT [_Hurriedly._] Have you seen a pheasant-hen go by?
PATOU [_In astonishment, reflecting._] A pheasant-hen,--?
CHANTECLER [_Walking about, with an assumption of gaiety._] Impressive, isn’t he, Briffaut there? with his look of a thoroughbred old Englishman!
PATOU No, but I saw a pheasant.
BRIFFAUT That was she!
PATOU A pheasant-hen wears dun. This was a golden pheasant He went off towards the meadow.
BRIFFAUT It is she!
CHANTECLER [_Going towards him, incredulous._] A pheasant-hen with golden plumage?
BRIFFAUT Ah, you do not know what sometimes happens?
CHANTECLER _and_ PATOU No.
THE BLACKBIRD We are in for a hunting yarn!--Give me chloroform!
BRIFFAUT It sometimes happens--the thing is exceptional, of course--My master knows because he has read about it.--It sometimes happens--An extraordinary phenomenon to be sure! which is likewise observed among moor-fowl.--It happens--
PATOU What happens?
BRIFFAUT That the pheasant-hen--Ah, my dear fellows--!
CHANTECLER [_Stamping with impatience._] The pheasant-hen what?--what?
BRIFFAUT Makes up her mind one day that the cock-pheasant goes altogether too fine. When the male in springtime puts on his holiday feathers, she sees that he is handsomer than she--
THE BLACKBIRD And it makes her sore!
BRIFFAUT She leaves off laying and hatching eggs. Nature then gives her back her purple and her gold, and the pheasant-hen proud and magnificent Amazon, preferring to put on her back blue, green, yellow, all the colours of the prism, rather than under a sober grey wing to shelter a brood of young pheasants, flies freely forth--Light-mindedly she sheds the virtues of her sex, and having done it--sees life! [_He sketches with his paw a slightly disrespectful gesture._]
CHANTECLER [_Dryly._] Pray, what do you know about it?
BRIFFAUT [_Astonished._] Is he annoyed?
PATOU [_Aside._] Already!
CHANTECLER In short, the pheasant your master missed--
BRIFFAUT Was a she!--[_He stops and scents the air._] Oh but!--
PATOU [_Quickly, showing his dish._] You know, it’s my dinner you smell!
BRIFFAUT It smells very unusually good.
CHANTECLER [_Aside._] I don’t like that way his nose has of twitching.
BRIFFAUT [_Starting upon another story._] Fancy such an instance as the following--
THE BLACKBIRD Holy Smoke! Here comes another!--Oh, I say, hire a hall!
[_A distant whistle is heard._]
CHANTECLER [_Quickly._] You are whistled for!
BRIFFAUT The deuce! Good evening! [_Disappears._]
PATOU Good evening.
CHANTECLER Gone, at last!
BLACKBIRD [_Calling._] Briffaut!
CHANTECLER Great Glory, what are you doing?
THE BLACKBIRD [_Calling._] I have something to tell you!
BRIFFAUT [_His head reappears above the wall._] Well--?
THE BLACKBIRD Look out, Briffaut!
CHANTECLER [_Low to the_ BLACKBIRD.] Do you make sport of our fears?
THE BLACKBIRD You are losing something!
BRIFFAUT What?
THE BLACKBIRD Time!
BRIFFAUT [_Disappearing with a snort of fury._] Wow!
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.
SCENE SEVENTH
THE SAME, _the_ GUINEA-HEN, _and the whole_ POULTRY-YARD
_Cries outside, nearer and nearer,_ “Ah!--” _Enter all the_ HENS _in tumult, preceded by the agitated_ GUINEA-HEN.
THE BLACKBIRD [_In his cage._] The next course will be Guinea-hen!
THE GUINEA-HEN [_Running to the_ PHEASANT-HEN.] Ah, my dear, my dear, my dear!--A beauty, a very beauty!--We have come to make your acquaintance, my dear!
[_General admiration,_ “Ah!--” _The_ PHEASANT-HEN _is surrounded. Conversation, cries, clucking._]
CHANTECLER [_Watching the_ PHEASANT-HEN, _aside._] How well she walks, with free and graceful gait!--[_He looks at the_ HENS.] So differently from my Hens! [_Irritably, to the_ HENS.] Ladies, you walk as if you had blisters! You walk as if you trod on your own eggs!
PATOU No mistaking the symptoms! He is very much in love.
THE GUINEA-HEN [_Presenting her son to the_ PHEASANT-HEN.] The Guinea-cock, my son.
THE YOUNG GUINEA-COCK [_Looking admiringly at the_ PHEASANT-HEN.] What a jolly shade of blond!
A HEN [_Disparagingly._] Like butter!
CHANTECLER [_Turning, dryly to the_ HENS.] It is time you went indoors.
THE PHEASANT-HEN [_Amiably._] So soon?
CHANTECLER They retire early.
A HEN [_A little mortified._] Yes, we must turn in.
THE PHEASANT-HEN They go in by a ladder!
THE GUINEA-HEN [_To the_ PHEASANT-HEN.] Let us be great friends, my dear, shall we?
CHANTECLER [_Looking at the_ PHEASANT-HEN, _aside._] Her sumptuous court-dress sets her apart from the rest, and removes her far above.--My Hens are dowdies!
THE PHEASANT-HEN [_To the_ GUINEA-HEN, _excusing herself._] I return to my forest home to-night.
THE GUINEA-HEN [_In excessive grief._] So soon--? [_A shot in the distance._]
PATOU They are still after game.
THE GUINEA-HEN You must stay.
CHANTECLER [_Eagerly._] That’s it! Let us keep her a prisoner among us till to-morrow.
PHEASANT-HEN But where can I spend the night?
PATOU [_Indicating his kennel._] There, in my bachelor’s quarters.
PHEASANT-HEN I?--Sleep beneath a roof?
PATOU [_Insisting._] Go in, I pray.
THE PHEASANT-HEN But you? What shall you do?
PATOU I shall do very well!
THE PHEASANT-HEN [_Resigning herself._] I will stay then until to-morrow.
THE GUINEA-HEN [_With piercing cries._] Ah! Ah! But to-morrow, my dear! to-morrow--
ALL [_In alarm._] What is it?
THE YOUNG GUINEA-COCK To-morrow is my mother’s day!
THE GUINEA-HEN [_Impetuously._] My dear, would you care to come to-morrow quite informally, and take a simple snail with us? The Peacock--
CHANTECLER [_Mounting the ladder, from whence he can inspect the scene._] Quiet, if you please! Evening has blown its smoke across the sky--[_In a tone of command._] Is every one in his accustomed place?
THE GUINEA-HEN [_Lower, to the_ PHEASANT-HEN.] The Peacock is coming. We shall hold our little gathering among the currant-bushes.
CHANTECLER Are the turkeys on their roost?
THE GUINEA-HEN [_Same business._] From five to six.
CHANTECLER Are the ducks in their pointed house?
THE GUINEA-HEN [_Same business._] The Tortoise has kindly said we may expect her.
PHEASANT-HEN Indeed?
CHANTECLER [_On the last rung of the ladder._] Is every one under cover?--Every chick under a wing?
THE GUINEA-HEN [_Still insisting with the_ PHEASANT-HEN _that she come on the morrow._] The Tufted Hen has promised to bring the Cock.--[_To_ CHANTECLER.] Charmed, I am sure.
CHANTECLER But--
THE TUFTED HEN [_Looking out of the hen-house._] You will come, won’t you, dear?
CHANTECLER No.
THE PHEASANT-HEN [_At the foot of the ladder, looking up at him._] Oh, but you will?
CHANTECLER Why?
THE PHEASANT-HEN Because you said “No!” to the other!
CHANTECLER [_Wavering._] Ah!
PATOU Humph! I beseech you--
CHANTECLER [_Still wavering._] I--
PATOU Humph! He is weakening.--They will make him pay dear if he yields!
THE OLD HEN [_Appearing._] Make a reed into a pipe and play a tune upon it! [_The basket-lid drops._]
[_Night is thickening._]
CHANTECLER [_Still hesitating._] I--
A VOICE Let us go to sleep--
THE TURKEY [_On his roost, solemnly._] _Quandoque dormitat_--
THE BLACKBIRD [_In his cage._] Dormittimus!
CHANTECLER [_Very firmly to the_ PHEASANT-HEN.] I will not go. Good night.
THE PHEASANT-HEN [_Slightly offended._] Good night! [_With a curt hop she enters the dog-kennel._]
PATOU [_Falling asleep, stretched in front of his kennel._] Let us sleep until the sky grows pink--pink as--as--a puppy’s tummy--
THE GUINEA-HEN [_Dropping off._] From five to six--
THE BLACKBIRD [_Likewise dropping off._] Tew--tew--[_He nods._] tew--
CHANTECLER [_Still at the top of the ladder._] All sleeps.--[_He spies a_ CHICK _stealing out._] Is that a chick I see?--[_Springing after him and driving him in._] Let me catch you!--[_In driving back the_ CHICK, _he finds himself near the kennel. He calls very softly._] Pheasant-hen!
THE PHEASANT-HEN [_Lost among the straw, sleepily._] What do you want?
CHANTECLER [_After a moment’s hesitation._] Nothing.--Nothing! [_He goes back to the top of his ladder._]
THE PHEASANT-HEN Shall I be able to sleep, I wonder--
PATOU [_Falling sound asleep._] A puppy’s tum--
THE PHEASANT-HEN [_Indistinctly, overcome by slumber._] To sleep under a roof?--I, with my gypsy tastes?
CHANTECLER I am going in. [_He disappears in the hen-house. He is heard saying in a dreamy voice._] It is time to shut my--my--
THE PHEASANT-HEN [_In a last effort._]--gyp--sy--tastes.--[_Her head nods and disappears among the straw._]
CHANTECLER [_His voice, sleepier and fainter._]--to shut my eyes--[_Silence. He sleeps. Two green eyes are seen suddenly kindling at the top of the wall._]
THE CAT And to open mine! [_Immediately two more yellow eyes shine forth from the darkness above the hay-cock._]
A VOICE And mine! [_Two more yellow eyes on the wall._]
ANOTHER VOICE And mine! [_Two more yellow eyes._]
ANOTHER VOICE And mine!
SCENE EIGHTH
_The_ POULTRY-YARD _asleep. The_ CAT _awake. Three_ SCREECH-OWLS, _later the_ MOLE _and the_ VOICE _of the_ CUCKOO.
FIRST VOICE Two green eyes?
THE CAT [_Sitting up on the wall, and looking at the other phosphorescent eyes._] Six golden eyes?
FIRST VOICE On the wall?
THE CAT On the rick?--[_He calls._] Owls!
THE OWLS Cat!
THE BLACKBIRD [_Waking up._] What’s this?
THE SCREECH-OWL [_To the_ CAT.] Great plot against him!
THE CAT To-night?
THE THREE OWLS To-night, too-whit!
THE CAT Pfitt!--Where?
THE OWLS The hollies, too-whoo!
THE CAT What o’clock?
THE OWLS Eight, too-whit! too-whoo!
FIRST OWL Bats weaving soft black snares of flight--
THE CAT Are they with us?
THE THREE OWLS They are!
FIRST OWL Mole, burrowing from nether to upper night--
THE CAT Is she with us?
THE THREE OWLS She is!
THE CAT [_Talking toward the house-door._] You, strike your eight strokes bravely, Cuckoo of the little clock!
THE SCREECH-OWL Is he with us?
THE CAT He is!--And I am pleased to tell you, silent night-watchers that some of the day-birds are likewise with us.
THE TURKEY [_Coming forward surrounded by a number of the barnyard constituents, obsequiously._] So it is settled for this evening, dear Round Eyes? You will be there?
THE OWLS We will be there! All the Round Eyes of the neighbourhood will be there!
THE BLACKBIRD That’s a show I’d like to see!
PATOU [_In his sleep._] Grrrrrrr--
THE CAT [_To the startled_ NIGHT-BIRDS.] The dog is dreaming.--He growls in his sleep.
CHANTECLER [_Inside the hen-house._] Coa--
THE OWLS [_Frightened._] Himself!
THE TURKEY Fly!
FIRST OWL No need. The night is dark. We can vanish by merely closing our eyes. [_They shut their luminous eyes. Darkness._ CHANTECLER _appears at the top of the ladder._]
CHANTECLER [_To the_ BLACKBIRD.] Did you hear anything, Blackbird?
THE BLACKBIRD I did, indeed, old chap.
THE OWLS [_Frightened._] What’s this?
THE BLACKBIRD A black conspiracy--
CHANTECLER Ah?
THE BLACKBIRD [_With melodramatic emphasis._] Against you!--Tremble!
CHANTECLER [_Going in again, unalarmed._] Joker!
THE OWLS He has gone in.
THE BLACKBIRD I have betrayed no one!
AN OWL The Blackbird then is with us?
THE BLACKBIRD No--but may I come and look on?
AN OWL A Night-bird never eats a black bird. You can come.
THE BLACKBIRD The password?
THE OWL Terror and Talons!
THE PHEASANT-HEN [_Putting her head out of the dog-kennel._] I can’t breathe in that stifling, low-roofed little house, and--[_Catching sight of the_ NIGHT-BIRDS.] Oh!--[_She darts aside, behind the kennel, and watches._]