Scene FIRST
The whole barnyard company, HENS, CHICKENS,
CHICKS, DUCKS, TURKEYS, etc.; THE BLACKBIRD in his
cage, THE CAT asleep on the wall, later A BUTTERFLY on
the flowers.THE WHITE HEN. [Peeking.] Ah! Delicious!
ANOTHER HEN. What are you eating?
ALL THE HENS. [Rushing to the spot.] What's she eating?
THE WHITE HEN. A small green beetle, crisp and nice, tasting of the
rose-leaves he had lived on.
THE BLACK HEN. [Standing before the BLACKBIRD'S cage.] Really, the
Blackbird whistles amazingly!
THE WHITE HEN. Any little street urchin can do as much!
THE TURKEY. [Solemnly.] An urchin who had learned of a
shepherd in Sicily!
THE DUCK. He never whistles his tune to the end ——
THE TURKEY. That's too easy, carrying it to the end!
(He hums the tune the, BLACKBIRD has been whistling.) "How
sweet to fare afield, and cull —— and cull —— "
You should know, Duck, that the thing in art is to
leave off before the end! "And cull——and cull
—— " Bravo, Blackbird!
The BLACKBIRD comes out on the little platform in
front of his cage and bows.A CHICK. [Astonished.] Can he get out?
BLACKBIRD. Applause is salt on my tail!
THE CHICK. But his cage?
THE TURKEY. He can come out, and he can go in again. His cage
has that sort of spring.—-"And cull——and cull
—— " The whole point is missed if you tell them what
you cull!
THE BLACK HEN. [Catching sight of a BUTTERFLY alighting on the flowers
above the wall at the back.] Oh, what a gorgeous butterfly!
THE WHITE HEN. Where?
THE BLACK HEN. On the honey-suckle.
THE TURKEY. That kind is called an Admiral.
THE CHICK. [Looking after the BUTTERFLY.] Now he has settled
on a pink.
THE WHITE HEN. [To the TURKEY.] An Admiral, wherefore?
THE BLACKBIRD. Obviously because he is neither a seaman nor a
soldier.
THE WHITE HEN. Our Blackbird has a pretty wit!
THE TURKEY. [Nodding and swinging his red stalactite.] He has
better than wit, my dear!
ANOTHER HEN. [Watching the BUTTERFLY.] It's sweet—-a butterfly!
THE BLACKBIRD. Easy as possible to make! You take a W and set
it on top of a Y!
A HEN. [Delighted.] A flourish of his bill, and there you have
your caricature!
THE TURKEY. He does better than execute caricatures! Hen, our
Blackbird forces you to think while obliging you to
laugh. He is a Teacher in wit's clothing.
A CHICK. [To a HEN.] Mother, why does the Cat hate the
Dog?
THE BLACKBIRD. Because he appropriates his seat at the theatre.
THE CHICK. [Surprised.] They have a theatre?
THE BLACKBIRD. Where dumb-shows are given.
THE CHICK. Eh?
THE BLACKBIRD. The hearthstone from whence both alike wish to
watch the play of the Fire among the Logs.
THE TURKEY. [Delighted.] How aptly he conveys that the hatred
of peoples is at bottom a question of wanting the other's
territory. There's a brain for you!
THE SPECKLED HEN. [To the WHITE HEN, who is pecking.] Do you peck
peppers?
THE WHITE HEN. Constantly.
THE SPECKLED HEN. How can you stand the sting?
THE WHITE HEN. It imparts to the feathers a delicate rosy tint.
THE SPECKLED HEN. Oh, does it!
A VOICE IN THE DISTANCE. Cuckoo!
THE WHITE HEN. Listen!
THE VOICE. [From a greater distance.] Cuckoo!
THE WHITE HEN. The Cuckoo!
A GREY HEN. [Comes running excitedly.] Which Cuckoo? The one
who lives in the woods, or the one who lives in the clock?
THE VOICE. [Still further off.] Cuckoo!
THE WHITE HEN. The one of the woods.
THE GREY HEN. [With a sigh of relief.] Oh, I was so afraid of having
missed the other!
THE WHITE HEN. [Going near enough to her to speak in an undertone.] Do you mean to say you love him?
THE GREY HEN. [Sadly.] Without ever having set eyes on him. He
lives in a chalet hanging- on the kitchen wall, above the
farmer's great-coat and fowling-piece. The moment he
sings, I rush to the spot, but I never get there in time
to see anything but his little wicket closing. This
evening I mean to stay right here beside the door —
[She takes up her position on the threshold.] A VOICE. White Hen!
