Scene FIFTH

FIRST CHICKEN. To us, of course!

SECOND CHICKEN. To us!

THIRD CHICKEN. To us!

ALL THREE. [Bowing at once.] Good morning!

FIRST CHICKEN. Your voice?

SECOND CHICKEN. Tenor?

THIRD CHICKEN. Bass?

SECOND CHICKEN. Robusto?

THIRD CHICKEN. Di cortesia?

CHANTECLER. [Bewildered, looking toward the PHEASANT-HEN.] What is this? An interlude?

THE PHEASANT-HEN. An interview.

SECOND CHICKEN. Do you take it in your chest?

THIRD CHICKEN. Or in your head?

CHANTECLER. Do I take what?

FIRST CHICKEN. Pray talk without reserve. We represent the Board of Investigation into the Gallodoodle Movement.

CHANTECLER. That's all very well, but I ——[Attempting to pass.]

FIRST CHICKEN. You will find it difficult, I think, to leave, until you have answered such questions as we are pleased to ask. Is your early meal a light one?

CHANTECLER. But——

SECOND CHICKEN. You have tendencies, no doubt ——

CHANTECLER. Hosts.

SECOND CHICKEN. What do you feel most particularly drawn to?

CHANTECLER. Hens.

FIRST CHICKEN. [Without smiling.] Have you nothing to communicate with regard to your song?

CHANTECLER. I just sing.

SECOND CHICKEN. And when you sing——?

CHANTECLER. The heavens hear me.

THIRD CHICKEN. Have you a special method?

CHANTECLER. I——

FIRST CHICKEN. You live ——

CHANTECLER. To sing!

SECOND CHICKEN. And your song——?

CHANTECLER. Is my life!

THIRD CHICKEN. But how do you sing?

CHANTECLER. I take pains.

FIRST CHICKEN. But do you scan[Beating furiously with his wing.] one-one-two? One-three? Three-one? Or four? What is your dynamic theory?

THE BLACKBIRD. [Shouting.] Who has not his little pet dynamic theory?

CHANTECLER. Dyna ——?

SECOND CHICKEN. Where do you place the accent? On the Cock ——?

THIRD CHICKEN. On the Doo?

CHANTECLER. On the——

FIRST CHICKEN. [Impatiently.] What is your school?

CHANTECLER. Schools of Cocks?

SECOND CHICKEN. [Rapidly.] Certainly. Some sing Cock-a-doodle-doo, and some Keek-a-deedle-dee!

CHANTECLER. Cock——? Keek——?

THIRD CHICKEN. Not to speak of those who ——

A COCK. [Coming forward.] The correct and proper way to crow is Cowkerdowdledow!

CHANTECLER. What Cock is that?

FIRST CHICKEN. An Anglo-Indian.

SECOND CHICKEN. And the Turk over there, whose comb suggests a cyst, crows Coocooroocoocoo!

THIRD CHICKEN. [Shouting in his ear.] Do you not upon occasions vary your Cockadoodledoo with Cackadaddledaa?

ANOTHER COCK. [Springing up at the right.] I, for one, entirely suppress the vowels: C-ck-d-dl-d!

CHANTECLER. [Trying to get away.] Is it a Welsh Rabbit dream?

ANOTHER COCK. [Springing up at the left] O-a-oo-e-oo! Have you ever tried suppressing the consonants?

ANOTHER COCK. [Pushing aside all the others] I mix the whole thing up—Cuck-o-deedle-daa!—in a free and supple song!

CHANTECLER. My brain reels!

ALL THE COCKS. [Gathered about him, fighting] No! Cuckodee — No, Cackadaa — No, Coocooroo ——

THE COCK. [Who mixes all up.] The free Cockadoodle! The free crow is obligatory!

CHANTECLER. Pray, who is that, speaking with such authority?

FIRST CHICKEN. It is a wonderful Cock who has never sung at all.

CHANTECLER. [In humble despair.] And I am only a Cock who sings!

EVERYBODY. [Drawing away from him in disgust.] I wouldn't mention it if I were you!

CHANTECLER. I give my song as the rose-tree gives its Rose!

THE PEACOCK. [Sarcastically] Ah, I was waiting for the Rose![Pitying laughter]

CHANTECLER. [Low, nervously, to the BLACKBIRD.] Is my prospective slayer going to keep me waiting much longer?

EVERYONE. [Disgusted] The Rose? Oh!

THE GUINEA-HEN. If you must mention flowers, let them be rather less ——

THE PEACOCK. Elementary.[With the most disdainful impertinence] So you are still at the declension of Rosa?

CHANTECLER. I am, you—Peacock! You, I suppose, may be forgiven for speaking slightingly of the Rose, being a rival candidate for the beauty prize.[Looking around him] But I summon these Cocks, from Dorking to Bantam, to defend with me ——

A COCK. [Nonchalantly] Pray whom?

CHANTECLER. The Rose, Rosam; to declare on the spot and forthwith ——

THE BLACKBIRD. [Ironically.] You set yourself up as the champion——

CHANTECLER. Rosarum, of roses, I do! — To declare that worship is due ——

A COCK. To whom, pray?

CHANTECLER. To roses, roses! — in whose hearts sleep rain-drops like essences in fragrant vials, to declare that they are, and ever will be ——

A VOICE. [Cold and cutting.] Painted jades, things of naught![All the fancy COCKS draw aside, revealing the WHITE PILE GAME COCK, who appears, tall and lean and sinister, at the further end of their double row.]

CHANTECLER. At last!

THE BLACKBIRD. It's time to climb up on the chairs!

CHANTECLER. [To the WHITE PILE.] Sir ——

THE PHEASANT-HEN. You are never going to challenge that giant?

CHANTECLER. I am! To appear tall it is sufficient to talk oh stilts![To the GAME COCK, slowly crossing the stage toward him] Know that such a remark is not to be endured, and permit me to tell you ——[Finding a CHICK between himself and the GAME COCK, he gently puts him aside, saying] Run to your mother, tot![To the WHITE PILE, looking insolently at his docked comb] —— that you look like a Fool who has mislaid his coxcomb!

THE WHITE PILE. [Astonished] Fool? Coxcomb? What? What? What?

CHANTECLER. [Beak to beak with the GAME COCK.] What? What? What?[A pause. They arch themselves, with bristling neck-hackle]

THE WHITE PILE. [Emphatically] In America, during my grand tour, I killed three Claybornes in a day. I have killed two Sherwoods, three Smoks, and one Sumatra. I have killed — let me advise anyone fighting me to take something beforehand to keep down his pulse! — three Redgame at Cambridge and ten Braekels at Bruges!

CHANTECLER. [Very simply] I, my dear sir, have never killed anything. But as I have at different times succored, defended, protected, this one and that, I might perhaps be called, in my own fashion, brave. You need not take these mighty airs with me. I came here knowing that you would come. That rose was dangled to afford you the opportunity for brutal stupidity. You did not fail to nibble at its petals. Your name?

THE GAME COCK. White Pile. And yours?

CHANTECLER. Chantecler.

THE PHEASANT-HEN. [Running desperately to the DOG.] Patou!

CHANTECLER. [To PATOU, who is growling between his teeth.] You, keep out of this!

PATOU. So I will, but it's rrrrrrrough!

THE PHEASANT-HEN. [To CHANTECLER.] A Cock does not risk his life for a Rose!

CHANTECLER. A slur upon a flower is a slur upon the Sun!

THE PHEASANT-HEN. [Running to the BLACKBIRD.] Do something! This must be patched up — You know you had promised me!

THE BLACKBIRD. Everything can be patched up, my dear, except the quarrels of a fellow's friends!

THE GUINEA-HEN. [Giving loud cries of despair.] Horrible! Oh, horrible! A five-o'clock tea at which guests kill each other! How dreadful——[To her son] that the Tortoise should not have got here yet!

A VOICE. [Crying] Chantecler, ten against one!

THE GUINEA-HEN. [Seating her company, assisting the HENS to climb upon flower-pots, cold-frames, pumpkins.] Quick! quick!

THE BLACKBIRD. Our charming hostess is in great feather, doing the honours of an affair of honour.

PATOU. [To CHANTECLER.] Go in and thrash him. This crowd is longing for the sight of your blood.

CHANTECLER. [Sadly.] I was never anything but kind!

PATOU. [Showing the ring which has formed, the faces lighted with hateful eagerness] Look at them![All necks are craned, all eyes shine; it is hideous. CHANTECLER looks, understands, and bows his head]

THE PHEASANT-HEN. [With a cry of rage.] It's a disgrace! A disgrace to the name of fowl!

CHANTECLER. [Raising his head again.] So be it. But they shall at least learn to-day who I was, and my secret ——

PATOU. No, don't tell them, if it's what my old dreamer's heart has apprehended!

CHANTECLER. [Addressing the multitude, in a loud voice, solemnly, like one confessing his faith.] Know, all of you, that it is I ——[Deep silence falls. To the WHITE PILE, who has given a sign of impatience.] Your pardon, excellent duellist, but I have a mind, before getting myself killed, to do something brave ——

THE WHITE PILE. [Surprised.] Ah?

CHANTECLER. Yes, — get myself laughed at!

THE PHEASANT-HEN. No, dearest, no! Don't do it!

CHANTECLER. I wish to perish amid salvos of laughter![To the crowd.] Riot, spirit of Mockery! Disciples of the Blackbird, prepare![In a still louder voice, hammering home every word.] It is I, who, by my song, bring back the light of day![Amazement, then vast laughter shakes the multitude.] Is the merriment well under way? On guard!

THE GOLDEN PADUA COCK. [Nodding his plume.] Gentlemen, engage!

VOICES. [Amid storms of laughter.] Funny! Side-splitting! Was anything ever so droll? I shall die laughing!

THE BLACKBIRD. The old Gallic love of a joke is not dead!

A CHICKEN. He sings light into the sky!

A DUCK. The Sun gets up to hear him!

CHANTECLER. [Avoiding the blows which the WHITE PILE is beginning to aim at him.] Yes, it is I who give you back the Day!

A CHICK. And a jolly fine day it is!

CHANTECLER. [While parrying and attacking.] The crowing of other Cocks, able neither to make nor mar, is no better nor worse than sonorous sneezing! Mine——[He is wounded.]

A VOICE. Biff! In the neck!

CHANTECLER. —— mine makes ——[He is again wounded.]

THE TURKEY. Insufferable self-sufficiency!

CHANTECLER. —— the light ——[Again fie is struck]

A VOICE. Biff! On the neck!

CHANTECLER. —— the light appear!

A VOICE. Biff! In the eye!

CHANTECLER. [Blinded with blood.] Yes, the light!

A VOICE. [Sneering.] Better have let sleeping darkness lie!

CHANTECLER. [Automatically repeating beneath his adversary's blows.] It is I who make the dawn appear!

PATOU. [Barking.] Aye! Aye! Aye!

THE PHEASANT-HEN. [Sobbing.] Stand up to him, darling! Oh, hit back! Hit back!

A CHICK. Fellows, a nickname for the dawn!

ALL. Yes! Yes!

[The WHITE PILE hurls himself upon CHANTECLER.]

THE PHEASANT-HEN. Oh, cruel!

THE BLACKBIRD. Chantecler's Light o' Love!

A VOICE. A nickname for the Cock!

ALL. Yes! Yes!

THE BLACKBIRD. Grand Master of Illuminations!

ANOTHER VOICE. Purveyor of Sunny Beams!

CHANTECLER. [Defending himself foot to foot.] Thanks! Another quip, for I can still fight with my feet!

A VOICE. The Alarm-Cock!

CHANTECLER. [Who seems upheld by their insults.] Another pun! And I who know no more of fighting than can be learned on a peaceful farm ——

A VOICE. Thresh out his hayseed!

CHANTECLER. Thanks! I ——[His torn feathers fly around him.]

CRY OF JOY. See his fur fly!

CHANTECLER. I feel —— Another pleasantry!

A VOICE. Lay on, Macfluff!

CHANTECLER. Thanks! I feel that the more I am mocked, insulted; flouted, and denied——

AN ASS. [Stretching his neck over the hedge] Hee-haw!

CHANTECLER. Thanks! — the better I shall fight!

THE WHITE PILE. [Chuckling] He is game, but he's giving out.

THE PHEASANT-HEN. Enough. Enough. Oh, stop!

A VOICE. On White Pile, twenty to one!

THE PHEASANT-HEN. [Seeing CHANTECLER'S bleeding neck] He bleeds, oh!

A HEN. [Rising on tiptoe behind the GOLDEN PADUA COCK.] I should like to see the blood!

THE WHITE PILE. [Increasing the fury of his onset] I'll have your gizzard!

THE HEN. [Trying to see.] The Padua Cock's hat shuts off my view!

THE BLACKBIRD. Hats off!

A VOICE. That was a stinger! On his comb!

SHRILL CRIES. [From the crowd.] Land him one! Do him up! Lay him out! Have his gore!

PATOU. [Standing up in his wheelbarrow.] Will you stop behaving like human beings?

CRIES. [Furiously keeping time with the blows showering upon CHANTECLER.] In the neck! On the nut! On the wing! On the——[Sudden silence]

CHANTECLER. [Amazed] What is this? The ring breaks up, the shouting dies ——[He looks around. The WHITE PILE has drawn away and backed against the hedge. A strange commotion agitates the crowd. CHANTECLER, exhausted, bleeding, tottering, does not understand, and murmurs.] What joke are they preparing against my end?[And suddenly] Joy, Patou, joy!

PATOU. What?

CHANTECLER. I have done them an injustice. All of them, ceasing to insult and mock me, look, gather round me, closer and closer—look!

PATOU. [Seeing them all, in fact, crowding around CHANTECLER, and gazing anxiously at the sky, looks up too, and says simply.] It is the hawk!

CHANTECLER. Ah![A dark shadow slowly sweeps over the motley crowd, who crouch and cower.]

PATOU. When that great shadow falls, it is not the fine, strange Cocks we trust to keep off the bird of prey!

CHANTECLER. [Suddenly grown great of size, his wounds forgotten, stands in the midst of them, and in an authoritative tone] Yes, close around me, all of you, all![All, huddled in their feathers, their heads drawn in between their wings, press against him]

THE PHEASANT-HEN. Dear, brave, and gentle heart!

[The shadow sweeps over the crowd a second time. The GAME COCK makes himself small. CHANTECLER alone remains standing, in the midst of a, heap of ruffled, trembling feathers.]

A HEN. [Looking up at the HAWK.] Twice the black shadow has swept over us!

CHANTECLER. [Calling to the CHICKS, who come madly running.] Chicks, come here to me!

THE PHEASANT-HEN. You take them under your wing?

CHANTECLER. I must. Their mother is a box!

THE PHEASANT-HEN. [Looking upward.] He hovers over us ——[The shadow of the HAWK, circling lower and lower, passes for the third time, darker than ever.]

ALL. [In a moan of fear] Ah!

CHANTECLER. [Shouting toward the sky.] I am here!

PATOU. He has heard your trumpet cry!

THE PHEASANT-HEN. He flies further.

[All rise with a joyous cry of deliverance, "Ah!" and go back to their places to watch the end of the combat.]

PATOU. Without loss of a moment they form the ring again.

CHANTECLER. [With a start.] What did you say?[He looks. It is true, the ring has immediately formed.]

THE PHEASANT-HEN. Now they want you killed to be revenged for their fine scare.

CHANTECLER. But now I shall not be killed! I felt my strength come back when the common enemy flew across the sky.[Striding boldly up to the WHITE PILE.] I got back my courage, fearing for the others.

THE WHITE PILE. [Amazed at being smartly attacked.] Whence has he drawn new strength?

CHANTECLER. I am thrice stronger now than you. Black excites me, you see, as red excites the bull, and thrice I have stared at night in the form of a bird's shadow!

THE WHITE PILE. [Driven to bay, against the hedge, prepares to use his razors.]

THE PHEASANT HEN. [Screaming.] Look out! He has two sharp razors at his heels, the beast!

CHANTECLER. I knew it!

THE CAT. [From his tree, to the GAME COCK.] Use your knives!

PATOU. [Ready to spring from his wheelbarrow] If he uses those, I'll strangle him, that's all!

THE CROWD. Oh!

PATOU. I will! Howl you never so loud!

THE WHITE PILE. [Feeling himself lost.] No help for it!

THE PHEASANT-HEN. [Closely watching him.] He is getting one of his razors ready!

THE WHITE PILE. [Striking with his sharp spur.] Take that! Die![He utters a terrible cry, while CHANTECLER, avoiding the blow, springs aside.] Ah![He drops to the ground. Cry of amazement]

SEVERAL VOICES. What is it?

THE BLACKBIRD. [Who has hopped up to the fallen COCK and examined him.] Nothing! Merely he has dexterously slashed his left claw with his right!

THE CROWD. [Following and hooting the WHITE PILE, who, having picked himself up, limps ojf.] Hoo! Hoo!

PATOU and the PHEASANT-HEN. [Laughing and weeping and talking, all in one, beside CHANTECLER, who stands motionless, utterly spent, with closed eyes] Chantecler! It is we! The Pheasant-hen! The Dog! Speak to us, speak!

CHANTECLER. [Opening his eyes, looks at them and says gently] The day will rise to-morrow!