Scene SECOND

CHANTECLER. How softly sleeps the moonlight on the ferns! Now is the time ——

A LITTLE QUAVERING VOICE. Spider at night,
Bodeth delight!

THE PHEASANT-HEN. Thanks, kind Spider!

CHANTECLER. Now is the time ——

THE PHEASANT-HEN. [Close behind him.] Now is the time to kiss me.

CHANTECLER. All those Rabbits looking on make it a trifle ——

THE PHEASANT-HEN. [Suddenly flaps her wings; the frightened RABBITS start, on all sides white tails disappear into rabbit-holes. The PHEASANT-HEN coming back to CHANTECLER.] There![They bill.] Do you love my forest?

CHANTECLER. I love it, for no sooner had I crossed its verdant border than I got back my song. Let us go to roost. I must sing very early to-morrow.

THE PHEASANT-HEN. [Imperiously.] But one song only!

CHANTECLER. Yes.

THE PHEASANT-HEN. For a month I have only allowed you one song.

CHANTECLER. [Resignedly.] Yes.

THE PHEASANT-HEN. And has the Sun not risen just the same?

CHANTECLER. [In a tone of unwilling admission] The Sun has risen.

THE PHEASANT-HEN. You see that one can have the Dawn at a smaller cost. Is the sky any less red for your only crowing once?

CHANTECLER. No.

THE PHEASANT-HEN. Well then?[Offering her bill.] A kiss![Finding his kiss absent-minded.] You are thinking of something else. Please attend![Reverting to her idea.] Why should you wear yourself out? You were simply squandering the precious copper of your voice. Daylight is all very well, but one must live! Oh! the male creature! If we were not there, with what sad frequency he would be fooled!

CHANTECLER. [With conviction.] Yes, but you are there, you see.

THE PHEASANT-HEN. It is barbarous anyhow to keep up a perpetual cockaduddling when I am trying to sleep.

CHANTECLER. [Gently correcting her] Doodling, dearest.

THE PHEASANT-HEN. Duddling is correct.

CHANTECLER. Doodling.

THE PHEASANT-HEN. [Raising her head toward the top of the tree and calling.] Mr. Woodpecker![To CHANTECLER.] We will ask the learned gentleman in the green coat.[To the WOODPECKER, the upper half of whose figure appears at a round hole high up in the tree trunk; his coat is green, his waistcoat buff, and he wears a red skull-cap] Do you say cockaduddling or cockadoodling?

THE WOODPECKER. [Bending a long professorial bill.] Both.

CHANTECLER and the PHEASANT-HEN. [Turning to each other, triumphantly.] Ah!

THE WOODPECKER. Duddling is more tender, doodling more poetic.[He disappears.]

CHANTECLER. It is for you I cockaduddle!

THE PHEASANT-HEN. Yes, but you cockadoodle for the Dawn!

CHANTECLER. [Going toward her.] I do believe you are jealous!

THE PHEASANT-HEN. [Retreating coquettishly.] Do you love me more than her?

CHANTECLER. [With a cry of warning.] Be careful, a snare!

THE PHEASANT-HEN. [Jumping aside.] Ready to spring!

[Dimly visible against a tree, is, in fact, a spread birdnet.]

CHANTECLER. [Examining it.] A dangerous contrivance.

THE PHEASANT-HEN. Forbidden by the game-laws of 44.

CHANTECLER. [Laughing.] Do you know that?

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-MEN. [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 off, 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.