Chantecler | Page 5

outside--
THE WHITE HEN [To the PIGEON.] Now you will see. He's a very
fine bird indeed.
THE BLACKBIRD [Thrusting his head between the bars.] Easy as
possible to make, a Cock!
THE TURKEY [Admiringly.] Admirable amenity!
THE BLACKBIRD You take a melon--a fine specimen, I will
grant,--for the trunk. For the legs, two sticks of asparagus,--prize sticks,
of course. For the head, a red pepper,--as handsome as you may find.
For the eye, a currant,--exceptionally clear and light. For the tail, a

sheaf of leeks, with luxuriant blue-green flags. For the ear, a dainty
kidney-bean, --extra, superfine!--And there you have him, there's your
Cock!
THE PIGEON [Gently.] One thing you have omitted--His heavenly
clarion call!
THE BLACKBIRD [Indicating CHANTECLER, who now appears
upon the wall.] Yes, but with the exception of that--slight detail, you
must own my portrait is a likeness.
THE PIGEON Not at all. Not in the very least. [Contemplating
CHANTECLER _with a very different eye from the_ BLACKBIRD'S.]
What I see, beneath that quivering hemlet, is Summer's glorious and
favoured knight, who, from a groaning wain at evening borrowing its
golden harvest-robe has arrayed himself in this, and lifts it from the
dust with a gleaming sickle!
CHANTECLER [On the wall, in a long guttural sigh.] Coa--
THE BLACKBIRD When he makes that noise in his throat, he either is
in love, or preparing some poetic outburst.
CHANTECLER [Motionless on the wall, with head high.] Blaze forth
in glory!--Dazzle--
THE BLACKBIRD He's letting off hot air!
CHANTECLER Irradiate the world!
A HEN Now he pauses--one claw lifted--
CHANTECLER [In a sort of groan of excessive tenderness.] Coa--
THE BLACKBIRD That, if you please, is ecstasy!
CHANTECLER Thy gold is of all gold alone beneficent! I worship
thee!

THE PIGEON [Under breath.] To whom is he talking?
THE BLACKBIRD [Sneering.] To the sun, sonny, the sun!
CHANTECLER O thou that driest the tears of the meanest among
weeds And dost of a dead flower make a living butterfly-- Thy miracle,
wherever almond-trees Shower down the wind their scented shreds,
Dead petals dancing in a living swarm-- I worship thee, O Sun! whose
ample light, Blessing every forehead, ripening every fruit, Entering
every flower and every hovel, Pours itself forth and yet is never less,
Still spending and unspent--like mother's love!
I sing of thee, and will be thy high priest, Who disdainest not to glass
thy shining face In the humble basin of blue suds, Or see the lightning
of thy last farewell Reflected in an humble cottage pane!
THE BLACKBIRD [Thrusting out his head.] Can't call it off now, boys,
he's started on an ode!
THE TURKEY [Watching CHANTECLER _as by a series of stately
hops he comes down a pile of hay._] Here he comes, prouder than--
A HEN [Stopping in front of a small tin cone.] See there! The
new-fangled drinking-trough! [She drinks.] Handy!
THE BLACKBIRD Prouder than a drum major chanting as he marches:
"My country, 'tis of thee!"
CHANTECLER [Beginning to walk about the yard.] Thou smilest on
the--
ALL THE HENS [Rushing to the WHITE HEN who is eating
something.] What's she eating?
THE WHITE HEN Corn. Nothing but corn.
CHANTECLER Thou smilest on the sunflower craning after thee, And
burnishest my brother of the vane, And softly sifting through the
linden-trees Strewest the ground with dappled gold, So fine there's no

more walking where it lies.
Through thee the earthen pot is an enamelled urn, The clout hung out to
dry a noble banner, The hay-rick by thy favour boasts a golden cape,
And the rick's little sister, the thatched hive, Wears, by thy grace, a
hood of gold!
Glory to thee in the vineyards! Glory to thee in the fields! Glory among
the grass and on the roofs, In eyes of lizards and on wings of swans,--
Artist who making splendid the great things Forgets not to make
exquisite the small!
'Tis thou that, cutting out a silhouette, To all thou beamest on dost
fasten this dark twin, Doubling the number of delightful shapes,
Appointing to each thing its shadow, More charming often than itself.
I praise thee, Sun! Thou sheddest roses on the air, Diamonds on the
stream, enchantment on the hill; A poor dull tree thou takest and turnest
to green rapture, O Sun, without whose golden magic--things Would be
no more than what they are!
THE PIGEON Bravo! I shall have something to tell my mate. We shall
long talk of this!
CHANTECLER [Seeing him, with noble courtesy.] Young blue-winged
stranger, with new-fledged bill, thanks! Pray lay my duty at her coral
feet!
[The PIGEON flies off.]
THE BLACKBIRD Jolly your admirers, it pays!
CHANTECLER [In a cordial voice, to the whole barnyard.] To work
now, all of you, with a will!
[A FLY darts past, buzzing.]
CHANTECLER Busy