Chantecler Part 50

CHANTECLER [_With pa.s.sionate desire._] Oh, to be a sound that soothes and lulls!

THE NIGHTINGALE To be a splendid call to duty!

CHANTECLER I make n.o.body weep!

THE NIGHTINGALE I awaken n.o.body! [_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 _s.h.a.ggy 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 gra.s.ses 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 [_Restlessly dividing her attention between the horizon and the_ c.o.c.k.]

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 s.h.i.+eld, 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 c.o.c.k 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._] c.o.c.k-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?