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
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
[_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!
[_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
End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Chantecler, by Edmond Rostand
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