Chantecler. Edmond Rostand
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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 aërial 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 hemlet, 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