Chapter 9
THE PHEASANT-HEN You seem to forget that the object of your affections comes under the head of game.
CHANTECLER [_With a touch of sadness._] It is true that we are of different kinds.
THE PHEASANT-HEN [_Returning to his side with a hop._] I want you to love me more than her. Say it’s me you love most. Say it’s me!
THE WOODPECKER [_Reappearing._] I!
CHANTECLER [_Looking up._] Not in a love-scene.
THE PHEASANT-HEN [_To the_ WOODPECKER.] See here,--you! Be so kind another time as to knock!
WOODPECKER [_Disappearing._] Certainly. Certainly.
THE PHEASANT-HEN [_To_ CHANTECLER.] He has a bad habit of thrusting his bill between the bark and the tree, but he is a rare scholar, exceptionally well informed--
CHANTECLER [_Absent-mindedly._] On what subjects?
THE PHEASANT-HEN The language of birds.
CHANTECLER Indeed?
THE PHEASANT-HEN For, you know, the birds when they say their prayers speak the common language, but when they chat together in private they use a twittering dialect, wholly onomatopoetic.
CHANTECLER They talk Japanese. [_The_ WOODPECKER _knocks three times with his bill on the tree: Rat-tat-tat!_] Come in!
THE WOODPECKER [_Appearing, indignant._] Japanese, did you say?
CHANTECLER Yes. Some of them say, Tio! Tio! and others say Tzoui! Tzoui!
THE WOODPECKER Birds have talked Greek ever since Aristophanes!
CHANTECLER [_Rushing to the_ PHEASANT-HEN.] Oh, for the love of Greek! [_They bill._]
THE WOODPECKER Know, profane youth, that the Black-chat’s cry Ouis-ouis-tra-tra, is a corruption of the word Lysistrata! [_Disappears._]
THE PHEASANT-HEN [_To_ CHANTECLER.] Will you never love anyone but me?
[THE WOODPECKER’S _knock is heard: Rat-tat-tat._]
CHANTECLER Come in!
THE PHEASANT-HEN [_To_ CHANTECLER.] Do you promise?
THE WOODPECKER [_Appears, soberly nodding his red cap._] Tiri-para! sings the small sedge-warbler to the reeds. Incontrovertibly from the Greek. _Para,_ along, and the word water is understood. [_Disappears._]
CHANTECLER He has Greek on the brain!
THE PHEASANT-HEN [_Reverting to her idea._] Am I the whole, whole world to you?
CHANTECLER Of course you are, only--
THE PHEASANT-HEN In my green-sleeved Oriental robe, I look to you--how do I look?
CHANTECLER Like a living commandment ever to worship that which comes from the East.
THE PHEASANT-HEN [_Exasperated._] Will you stop thinking of the light of day, and think only of the light in my eyes?
CHANTECLER I shall never forget, however, that there was a morning when we believed equally in my Destiny, and that in the radiant hour of dawning love you forgot, and allowed me to forget, your gold for the gold of the Dawn!
THE PHEASANT-HEN The Dawn! Always the Dawn! Be careful, Chantecler I shall do something rash! [_Going toward the Back._]
CHANTECLER You will infallibly do as you like.
THE PHEASANT-HEN In the glade not long ago I met the--[_She catches herself and stops short, intentionally._]
CHANTECLER [_Looks at her, and in an angry cry._] The Pheasant? [_With sudden violence._] Promise me that you will never again go to the glade!
THE PHEASANT-HEN [_Assured of her power over him, with a bound returns to his side._] And you, promise that you will love me more than the Light!
CHANTECLER [_Sorrowfully._] Oh!
THE PHEASANT-HEN That you will not sing--
CHANTECLER More than one song, we have settled that point. [_Rat-tat-tat, from the_ WOODPECKER.] Come in!
THE WOODPECKER [_Appearing and pointing with his bill at the net._] The snare! The farmer placed it there. He declared he would capture the Pheasant-hen.
THE PHEASANT-HEN He flatters himself!
THE WOODPECKER And that he would keep you on his farm.
THE PHEASANT-HEN [_Indignant._] Alive? [_To_ CHANTECLER, _in a tone of reproach._] Your farm!
CHANTECLER [_Seeing a_ RABBIT _who has returned to the edge of his hole._] Ah, there comes a Rabbit!
THE RABBIT [_Showing the snare to the_ PHEASANT-HEN.] You know if you put your foot on that spring--
THE PHEASANT-HEN [_In a tone of superiority._] I know all about snares, my little man. If you put your foot on that spring, the thing shuts. I am afraid of nothing but dogs. [_To_ CHANTECLER.] On your farm, which you secretly yearn for.
CHANTECLER [_In a voice of injured innocence._] I?
THE PHEASANT-HEN [_To the_ RABBIT, _giving him a light tap with her wing to send him home._] Afraid of nothing but dogs. And since you put me in mind of it, I think I must go and perplex their noses, by tangling my tracks all among the grass and underwoods.
CHANTECLER That’s it, you go and fool the dogs!
THE PHEASANT-HEN [_Starts of, then returns._] You are homesick for that wretched old farm of yours?
CHANTECLER I? I? [_She goes off. He repeats indignantly._] I? [_Watching her out of sight, then, dropping his voice, to the_ WOODPECKER.] She is not coming back, is she?
THE WOODPECKER [_Who from his high window in the tree can look off._] No.
SCENE THIRD
CHANTECLER, THE WOODPECKER.
CHANTECLER [_Eagerly._] Keep watch! They are going to talk with me from home.
THE WOODPECKER [_Interested._] Who?
CHANTECLER The Blackbird.
THE WOODPECKER I thought he hated you.
CHANTECLER He came near it, but the Blackbird cast of mind admits of compromise, and it amuses him to keep me informed.
THE WOODPECKER Is he coming?
CHANTECLER [_Who is a different bird since the_ PHEASANT-HEN’S _exit, light-hearted, boyishly cheerful._] No, but the blue morning-glory opening in his cage amid the wistaria, communicates by subterranean filaments with this white convolvulus trembling above the pool. [_Going to the convolvulus._] So that by talking into its chalice--[_He plunges his bill into one of the trembling milky trumpets._] Hello!
THE WOODPECKER [_Nodding to himself._] From the Greek, _allos_, another. He talks with another.
CHANTECLER Hello! The Blackbird, please!
THE WOODPECKER [_Keeping watch._] Most imprudent, this is! To choose among the convolvuli exactly the one which--
CHANTECLER [_Lighter and lighter of mood, returning to the_ WOODPECKER.] But it’s the only one open all night! When the Blackbird answers, the Bee who sleeps in the flower wakes up and we--
THE BEE [_Inside the convolvulus._] Vrrrrrrrrr!
CHANTECLER [_Briskly running to the flower and listening at the horn-shaped receiver._] Ah? This morning, did you say?
THE WOODPECKER [_Filled with curiosity._] What is it?
CHANTECLER [_In a voice of sudden emotion._] Thirty chicks have been born! [_Listening again._] Briffaut, the hunting-dog, is ill? [_As if something interfered with his hearing._] I believe it is the Dragon-flies, deafening us with the crackling of their wings--[_Shouting._] Will you be so kind, young ladies, as not to cut us off? [_Listening._] And big Julius obliges Patou to go with him on his hunting expeditions? [_To the_ WOODPECKER.] Ah, you ought to know my friend Patou! [_Burying his bill again in the flower._] So? Without me everything goes wrong? Yes! [_With satisfaction._] Yes! Waste and carelessness naturally!
THE WOODPECKER [_Who has been keeping watch, warns him suddenly under breath._] Here she comes!
CHANTECLER [_With his bill in the flower._] Indeed?
THE WOODPECKER [_Fluttering desperately._] Hush!
CHANTECLER The Ducks spent the night under the cart, did they?
THE WOODPECKER Pst!
SCENE FOURTH
THE SAME, THE PHEASANT-HEN
THE PHEASANT-HEN [_Who has come upon the scene, with a threatening gesture at the_ WOODPECKER.] Go inside! [_The_ WOOD PECKER _precipitately disappears. She stands listening to_ CHANTECLER.]
CHANTECLER [_In the convolvulus, more and more deeply interested._] You don’t mean it! What, all of them?--Yes?--No--Oh!--Well, well!--Is that so?
THE WOODPECKER [_Who has timidly come back, aside._] Oh, that an ant of the heaviest might weigh down his tongue!
CHANTECLER [_Talking into the flower._] So soon? The Peacock out of fashion?
THE WOODPECKER [_Trying to get_ CHANTECLER’S _attention behind the_ PHEASANT-HEN’S _back._] Pst!
THE PHEASANT-HEN [_Turning around, furious._] You!--You had better! [_The_ WOODPECKER _alertly retires, bumping his head._]
CHANTECLER [_In the flower._] An elderly Cock?--I hope that the Hens--? [_With intonations more and more expressive of relief._] Ah, that’s right! that’s right! that’s right! [_He ends, with evident lightening of the heart._] A father! [_As if answering a question._] Do I sing? Yes, but far away from here, at the water-side.
THE PHEASANT-HEN Oh!
CHANTECLER [_With a tinge of bitterness._] Golden Pheasants will not long allow one to purchase glory by too strenuous an effort, and so I go off by myself, and work at the Dawn in secret.
THE PHEASANT-HEN [_Approaching from behind with threatening countenance._] Oh!
CHANTECLER As soon as the beauteous eye which enthralls me--
THE PHEASANT-HEN [_Pausing._] Oh!
CHANTECLER --closes, and in her surpassing loveliness she sleeps--
THE PHEASANT-HEN [_Delighted._] Ah!
CHANTECLER I make my escape.
THE PHEASANT-HEN [_Furious._] Oh!
CHANTECLER I speed through the dew to a distant place, to sing there the necessary number of times, and when I feel the darkness wavering, when only one song more is needed, I return and noiselessly getting back to roost, wake the Pheasant-hen by singing it at her side.--Betrayed by the dew? Oh, no! [_Laughing._] For with a whisk of my wing I brush my feet clear of the tell-tale silveriness!
THE PHEASANT-HEN [_Close behind him._] You brush your--?
CHANTECLER [_Turning._] Ouch! [_Into the convolvulus._] No nothing! I--Later!--Ouch!
THE PHEASANT-HEN [_Violently._] So! So! Not only you keep up an interest in the fidelity of your old flames--
CHANTECLER [_Evasively._] Oh!
THE PHEASANT-HEN You furthermore--
CHANTECLER I--
THE BEE [_Inside the morning-glory._] Vrrrrrrr!
CHANTECLER [_Placing his wing over the flower._] I--
THE PHEASANT-HEN You deceive me to the point of remembering to brush off your feet!
CHANTECLER But--
THE PHEASANT-HEN This clodhopper, see now, whom I picked up off his haystack--and to rule alone in his soul is apparently quite beyond my power!
CHANTECLER [_Collecting himself and straightening up._] When one dwells in a soul, it is better, believe me, to meet with the Dawn there, than with nothing.
THE PHEASANT-HEN [_Angrily._] No! the Dawn defrauds me of a great and undivided love!
CHANTECLER There is no great love outside the shadow of a great dream! How should there not flow more love from a soul whose very business it is to open wide every day?
THE PHEASANT-HEN [_Coming and going stormily._] I will sweep everything aside with my golden russet wing!
CHANTECLER And who are you, bent upon such tremendous sweeping [_They stand rigid and erect in front of each other, looking defiance into each other’s eyes._]
THE PHEASANT-HEN The Pheasant-hen I am, who have assumed the golden plumage of the arrogant male!
CHANTECLER Remaining in spite of all a female, whose eternal rival is the Idea!
THE PHEASANT-HEN [_In a great cry._] Hold me to your heart and be still!
CHANTECLER [_Crushing her brutally to him._] Yes, I strain you to my Cock’s heart--[_With infinite regret._] Better it were I had folded you to my Awakener’s soul!
THE PHEASANT-HEN To deceive me for the Dawn’s sake! Very well, however much you may abhor it, you shall for my sake deceive the Dawn.
CHANTECLER I? How?
THE PHEASANT-HEN [_Stamping her foot; in a capricious tone._] It is my formal and explicit wish--
CHANTECLER But listen, dear--
THE PHEASANT-HEN My formal and explicit wish that you should for one whole day refrain altogether from singing.
CHANTECLER That I--
THE PHEASANT-HEN I desire you to remain one whole day without singing.
CHANTECLER But, heavens and earth, am I to leave the valley in total darkness?
THE PHEASANT-HEN [_Pouting._] What harm will it do to the valley?
CHANTECLER Whatever lies too long in darkness and sleep becomes used to falsehood and consents to death.
THE PHEASANT-HEN Leave singing for one day--[_In a tone of evil insinuation._] It will free my mind of certain suspicions troubling it.
CHANTECLER [_With a start._] I can see what you are trying to do!
THE PHEASANT-HEN And I can see what you are afraid of!
CHANTECLER [_Earnestly._] I will never give up singing.
THE PHEASANT-HEN And what if you were mistaken? What if the truth were that Dawn comes without help from you?
CHANTECLER [_With fierce resolution._] I shall not know it.
THE PHEASANT-HEN [_In a sudden burst of tears._] Could you not forget the time, for once, if you saw me weeping?
CHANTECLER No, I could not.
THE PHEASANT-HEN Nothing, ever, can make you forget the time?
CHANTECLER Nothing. I am conscious of darkness as too heavy a weight.
THE PHEASANT-HEN You are conscious of darkness as--Shall I tell you the truth? You think you sing for the Dawn, but you sing in reality to be admired, you--songster, you! [_With contemptuous pity._] Is it possible you are not aware that your poor notes raise a smile right through the forest, accustomed to the fluting of the thrush?
CHANTECLER I know, you are trying now to reach me through my pride, but--
THE PHEASANT-HEN I doubt if you can get so many as three toadstools and a couple of sassafras stalks to listen to you, when the ardent oriole flings across the leafy gloom his melodious pir-piriol!
THE WOODPECKER [_Reappearing._] From the Greek: Pure, _puros._
CHANTECLER No more from you, please! [_The_ WOODPECKER _hurriedly withdraws._]
THE PHEASANT-HEN [_Insisting._] The echo must make some rather interesting mental reservations, one fancies, when he hears you sing after hearing the great Nightingale!
CHANTECLER [_Turning to leave._] My nerves, my dear girl, are not of the very steadiest to-night.
THE PHEASANT-HEN [_Following._] Did you ever hear him?
CHANTECLER Never.
THE PHEASANT-HEN His song is so wonderful that the first time--[_She stops short, struck by an idea._] Oh!
CHANTECLER What is it?
THE PHEASANT-HEN [_Aside._] Ah, you feel the weight of the darkness--
CHANTECLER [_Coming forward again._] What?
THE PHEASANT-HEN [_With an ironical curtsey._] Nothing! [_Carelessly._] Let us go to roost! [CHANTECLER _goes to the back and is preparing to rise to a branch. The_ PHEASANT-HEN _aside._] He does not know that when the Nightingale sings one listens, supposing it to be a minute, and lo! the whole night has been spent listening, even as happens in the enchanted forest of a German legend.
CHANTECLER [_As she does not join him, returns to her._] What are you saying?
THE PHEASANT-HEN [_Laughing in his face._] Nothing!
A VOICE [_Outside._] The illustrious Cock?
CHANTECLER [_Looking around him._] I am wanted?
THE PHEASANT-HEN [_Who has gone in the direction from whence came the voice._] There, in the grass! [_Jumping back._] Mercy upon us! They are the--[_With a movement of insuperable disgust._] They are the--[_With a spring she conceals herself in the hollow tree, calling back to_ CHANTECLER.] Be civil to them!
SCENE FIFTH
CHANTECLER, _the_ PHEASANT-HEN, _hidden in the tree, and the_ TOADS.
A BIG TOAD [_Rearing himself in the grass._] We have come--[_Other_ TOADS _become visible behind him._]
CHANTECLER Ye gods, how ugly they are!
THE BIG TOAD [_Obsequiously._]--in behalf of all the thinking contingency of the Forest, to the author of so many songs--[_He places his hand on his heart._]
CHANTECLER [_With disgust._] Oh, that hand spread over his paunch!
THE BIG TOAD [_With a hop toward_ CHANTECLER.]--at once novel,--
ANOTHER TOAD [_Same business._] Pellucid!
ANOTHER [_Same business._] Succinct!
ANOTHER [_Same business._] Vital!
ANOTHER [_Same business._] Pure!
ANOTHER [_Same business._] Great!
CHANTECLER Gentlemen, pray be seated. [_They seat themselves around a large toadstool._]
THE BIG TOAD True, we are ugly--
CHANTECLER [_Politely._] You have fine eyes.
THE BIG TOAD [_Raising himself by bearing with both hands upon the rim of the toadstool._] But, Knights of this fungoid Round Table, we desire to do homage to the Parsifal who has given to the world a sublime song--
SECOND TOAD A true song!
THE BIG TOAD And a celestial!
THIRD TOAD And a no less terrestrial!
THE BIG TOAD [_With authority._] A song by comparison with which the song of the Nightingale sinks into insignificance!
CHANTECLER [_Astonished._] The Nightingale’s song?
SECOND TOAD [_In a tone of finality._] Is not a circumstance to yours!
THE BIG TOAD [_With a hop._] It was high time that a new singer--
ANOTHER [_Same business._] And a new song--
FIFTH TOAD [_Quickly, to his neighbour._] And a song by a stranger--
THE BIG TOAD Came to change conditions here.
CHANTECLER Ah, I shall change conditions?
ALL Glory to the Cock!
CHANTECLER I do not see that the forest thinks so poorly of me after all!
THE BIG TOAD Played out, the Nightingale!
CHANTECLER [_More and more surprised._] Really?
SECOND TOAD More and more his song confesses itself effete--
THE BIG TOAD Mawkish!
THIRD TOAD Null!
FOURTH [_Contemptuously._] And his old-fashioned pretense of inspiration!
FIFTH TOAD And the name he has adopted: Bul-bul!
ALL THE TOADS [_Puffing with laughter._] Bul-bul!
THE BIG TOAD This is the way he goes on: [_Parodying the song of the_ NIGHTINGALE.] Tio! Tio!
SECOND TOAD His solitary idea is an old silver trill copied from the bubbling spring. [_He imitates in grotesque fashion the singing of the_ NIGHTINGALE.] Tio! Tio!
CHANTECLER But--
THE BIG TOAD [_Quickly._] Do not attempt, you, the Renovator of Art, to defend that ancient high authority on sentimental gargling!
SECOND TOAD That superannuated tenor quavering out his cavatinas to the glory of minor poetry and the edification of fogydom!
THIRD TOAD The Harp that twanged through Tara’s hall, and insists on twanging still!
CHANTECLER [_Indulgently._] But why should he not, after all, if he enjoys it?
THE BIG TOAD Endeavouring to impose on a suffering and surfeited public the musty old fashion of ingenious fioritura!
CHANTECLER Audiences nowadays, of course, look for a different sort of thing.
THIRD TOAD Your song has exposed the artificiality of his.
ALL [_In an explosion._] Down with Bul-bul!
CHANTECLER [_Whom the_ TOADS _have gradually surrounded._] Gentlemen and honored Batrachians, my voice, it is true, gives forth natural notes--
THE BIG TOAD Yes, notes which lend us wings--
CHANTECLER [_Modestly._] Oh!
ALL [_Waggling their bodies as if about to fly._] Wings!
THE BIG TOAD Their secret being that they sing Life!
CHANTECLER That is true.
SECOND TOAD Yes, my dear fellow, Life!
CHANTECLER [_With careless complacency._] My crest for that reason is flesh and blood!
ALL THE TOADS [_Clapping their little hands._] Good, very good!
THE BIG TOAD That formula is a programme.
SECOND TOAD Since we are assembled around a table, why should we not offer to the Chief--
CHANTECLER [_Modestly, hanging back from the suggested honour._]Gentlemen--
SECOND TOAD --to the Chief of whom we stood in notable need, a banquet?
ALL [_Beating enthusiastically upon the toadstool._] A banquet!
THE PHEASANT-HEN [_Looking out from the tree._] What is the matter?
CHANTECLER [_In spite of all, rather flattered._] A banquet!
THE PHEASANT-HEN [_Slightly ironical._] Shall you accept?
CHANTECLER You see, my dear--the new tendencies--Art,--the thinking contingency of the Forest--[_Indicating the_ TOADS.] Yes, I have lent wings to--[_In a light and careless tone._] It’s all up with the Nightingale, you see. Musty old method! Antiquated trill! This is the way he goes on--[_To the_ TOADS.] How was it you said he went on?
ALL THE TOADS [_Comically._] Tio! Tio!
CHANTECLER [_To the_ PHEASANT-HEN, _with pitying indulgence._] He goes on like this: Tio! Tio! And I believe I need not scruple to accept--
A VOICE [_In the tree above him breaks forth in a long note, limpid, and heart-moving._] Tio! [_Silence._]
CHANTECLER [_Startled, raising his head._] What was that?
THE BIG TOAD [_Quickly, visibly embarrassed._] Nothing! It is he!
THE VOICE [_Slowly and wonderfully, with the sigh of a soul in every note._] Tio! Tio! Tio! Tio!
CHANTECLER [_Turning upon the_ TOADS.] Scum of the earth!
THE TOADS [_Backing away from him._] What--?
SCENE SIXTH
THE SAME, _the_ NIGHTINGALE _unseen, and little by little all the_ FOREST CREATURES.
THE NIGHTINGALE [_From the tree, in his emotionally throbbing voice._] Tiny bird, lost in the darkness of the tree, I feel myself turning into the heart-beat of the infinite night!
CHANTECLER [_To the_ TOADS.] And you have dared--
THE NIGHTINGALE Hushed lies the ravine beneath the magic of the moon--
CHANTECLER --to compare my rude singing with that divine voice? Scum of the earth! Toads! And I never divined that they were doing to him here what was done to me over yonder!
THE BIG TOAD [_Suddenly swelling to a great size._] Toads! Yes, as it happens, we are Toads!
THE NIGHTINGALE Vapour of pearl wreathes the summits in an ethereal veil--
THE BIG TOAD [_Self-appreciatively._] We are Toads, certainly, magnificently embossed with warts! [_All rear themselves up, swollen, standing between_ CHANTECLER _and the tree._]
CHANTECLER And I perceived not, I who have never known envy, to what venomous feast I was bidden!
THE NIGHTINGALE What matter? Sooner or later, you, the strong, and I, the tender, we were fated, despite all the Toads in the world, to understand each other!
CHANTECLER [_With religious fervour._] Sing!
A TOAD [_Who has hastily dragged himself to the tree in which the_ NIGHTINGALE _is singing._] Let us clasp the bark with our slimy little arms, and slaver upon the foot of the tree! [_All crawl toward the tree._]
CHANTECLER [_Trying to stop one of them who is clumsily hopping._] But are you not yourself gifted with a singing voice of exceptional purity?
THE TOAD [_In a tone of sincerest suffering._] I am, but when I hear somebody else singing, I can’t help it,--I see green! [_He joins his companions._]
THE BIG TOAD [_Working his jaws as if chewing something which foamed._] There foam up beneath our tongues I know not what strange soapsuds, and--[_To his neighbour._] Are you frothing?
THE OTHER I am frothing.
ANOTHER He is frothing.
ALL We are frothing.
A TOAD [_Tenderly laying his arm about the neck of a dilatory_ TOAD.] Come and froth!
CHANTECLER [_To the_ NIGHTINGALE.] But will they not trouble and prevent your mellifluent song?
THE NIGHTINGALE In no wise. I will take their refrain into my song--
THE BIG TOAD [_Patting a little_ TOAD _on the head to encourage him._] Don’t be afraid, go ahead,--froth!
THE TOADS [_All together, at the base of the tree to which they form a crawling, writhing girdle._] The Toads, croak! croak! the Toads are we!
THE NIGHTINGALE --And make of both a Villanelle!
THE TOADS We welter in malignity!
THE NIGHTINGALE The while they fume beneath my tree I fill with song the enchanted dell--
THE TOADS The Toads, croak! croak! the Toads are we! [_And the Villanelle proceeds, sung by the alternate voices, one of which, ever higher and more enraptured, carries the song proper, and the others, ever angrier and lower, the burden of the song._]
THE NIGHTINGALE _and_ THE TOADS, _alternately_ I sing! for Wind, that harper free, And music bubbling from the well-- --We welter in malignity!--
And fragrance floating from the lea, Of meadow-sweet and pimpernel-- --The Toads, croak! croak! the Toads are we!--
And Luna showering ecstasy, All weave so wonderful a spell-- --We welter in malignity!--
Its melting magic moveth me The secret of my heart to tell! --The Toads, croak! croak! the Toads are we!--
Within my heart all sympathy, Within mine eye all visions dwell-- --We welter in malignity!--
Life, Death, I turn to rhapsody, Who am the deathless Philomel! --The Toads, croak! croak! the Toads are we, Who welter in malignity!
CHANTECLER Beside those heavenly pipes, ah, me! my voice is Punchinello’s squeak! Sing on! Sing on! The Croakers are in retreat.