THE PEACOCK
[_Modestly._] The Super-peacock--who supervenes, and supersedes--
THE GUINEA-HEN
Will spread his tail for us! He has expressed his amiable willingness so
far to favour us.
[_The company falls into groups of spectators, the outlandish_ COCKS
_forming a wreath around their patron._]
THE PEACOCK
[_Preparing to spread his tail._] I am, by precious natural gift, in
addition to my multifarious accomplishments something of a--shall I say
artist in firework?
THE GUINEA-HEN
[_Effervescently._] Yes!
THE PEACOCK
No. Pyrotechnist. For the choicest piece in urban gardens, where
Catharine-wheels on festival nights spurt sidereal spray, and rockets
shot into gold-riddled skies fall back in prismatic showers, is less
sapphirine, smaragdine, cuprine--
CHANTECLER
Zounds!
THE PEACOCK
--than, I venture to say, ladies, am I--
THE PHEASANT-HEN
Oh, I understood that last word!
THE PEACOCK
--when I unfurl the union of fan, jewel-case, and screen, upon which I
offer to the self-same sunbeams that redden the reed all the joyous gems
you now may contemplate!
CHANTECLER
What a silly bill!
[_The_ PEACOCK _has spread his tail._]
A COCK
[_To the_ PEACOCK.] Master, which of us will you make the fashion?
THE PADUA COCK
[_Quickly coming forward._] Me! I look like a palm-tree!
A CHINA COCK
[_Pushing the_ PADUA COCK _aside._] I look like a pagoda!
A BIG FEATHER-FOOTED COCK
[_Pushing the_ CHINA COCK _aside._] Me! I have cauliflowers sprouting at
my heels!
CHANTECLER
Each is in one the show and Mr. Barnum!
ALL
[_Parading and filing past the_ PEACOCK.] See my beak! See my feet! See
my feathers!
CHANTECLER
[_Suddenly shouting at them._] Lo! While you hold your costume contest,
a Scarecrow gives you his blessing!
[_Behind them, in fact, the wind has lifted the arms of the_ SCARECROW,
_which loosely wave above the pageant._]
ALL
[_Starting back._] What?
CHANTECLER
Behold this dummy talking to that lay-figure! [_While the wind blows
through the flapping rags._] What say the trousers, dancing their limp
fandango? They say, "We were once the fashion!" And, terror of the
titlark, what says the old hat which a beggar would none of? "I was the
fashion!" And the coat? "I was the fashion!" And the tattered sleeves,
that no one has care to mend, try to clasp the Wind, whom they take for
the Fashion, and drop back empty--The Wind has passed, the Wind is far!
THE PEACOCK
[_To the animals slightly dismayed by this address._] You poor-spirited
creatures, that thing cannot talk!
CHANTECLER
Man says the same of us.
THE PEACOCK
[_To the birds nearest to him._] He is vexed because of those Cocks whom
I introduced. [_To_ CHANTECLER, _ironically._] What, my dear sir, do you
say to these resplendent gentlemen?
CHANTECLER
I say, my dear sir, that these resplendent gentlemen are manufactured
wares, the work of merchants with highly complex brains, who to fashion
a ridiculous Chicken have taken a wing from that one, a topknot from
this. I say that in such Cocks nothing remains of the true Cock. They
are Cocks of shreds and patches, idle bric-a-brac, fit to figure in a
catalogue, not in a barnyard with its decent dunghill and its dog. I say
that those befrizzled, beruffled, bedeviled Cocks were never stroked and
cherished by Nature's maternal hand. I say that it's all Aviculture, and
Aviculture is flapdoodle! And I say that those preposterous parrots,
without style, without beauty, without form, whose bodies have not even
kept the pleasing oval of the egg they were hatched from, look like so
many desperate fowls escaped from some hen-coop of the Apocalypse!
A COCK
My dear sir--
CHANTECLER
[_With rising spirit._] And I add that the whole duty of a Cock is to be
an embodied crimson cry! And when a Cock is not that, it matters little
that his comb be shaped like a toadstool, or his quills twisted like a
screw, he will soon vanish and be heard of no more, having been nothing
but a variety of a variety!
A COCK
I protest--
CHANTECLER
[_Going from one to the other._] Yes, Cocks affecting incongruous forms,
Cocks crowned with cocoa-palm coiffures--Hear me talk like the Peacock!
I lapse into alliteration! [_Finding his fun in bewildering them with
cackling guttural volubility._] Yes, Cockerels cockaded with cockles,
Cockatrice-headed Cockasters, cock-eyed Cockatoos! Not content to be
common Cocks, your crotchet it was to be what but crack Cocks? Yes,
Fashion, to be accounted of thy flock, these chuckle-headed Cocks craved
to be Super-cocks. But know ye not, ye crazy Cocks, one cannot be so
queer a Cock, but there may occur a queerer Cock? Let some Cock come
whose coccyx boasts a more flamboyant shock, and you pass like childish
measles, croup or chicken-pox! Consider that to-morrow, high
Cockalorums, fancy Cocks, consider that day after to-morrow,
cheese-capped goblet-crested Cocks, in spite of curly hackle and
cauliflowered hocks, a more fantastic Cock than ever may creep out of
a--box! For the Cock-fancier, to diversify his stock, may more
fantastically still combine his Cutcutdaycuts and his Cocks, and you
will be no more--sad Cuckoos made a mock!--but old rococo Cocks beside
this more coquettish Cock!
A COCK
And how, may one learn from you, can a Cock secure himself against
becoming rococo?
CHANTECLER
One royal way there is: to think only of crowing like a right and proper
Cock!
A COCK
[_Haughtily._] We are well known, I beg to state, for our exceptionally
fine crowing!
CHANTECLER
Known to whom?
SCENE FIFTH
THE SAME, _three_ CHICKENS, _noticeable among the rest for a certain
jaunty pertness of gait and demeanour, who for a minute or so have been
moving among the artificial_ COCKS.
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<
br />
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, _rosis!_--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 on 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 Red-game 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?
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 he is struck._]
A VOICE
Biff! On the neb!
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.]
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