the bars.]—messing his shirtfront with omelette?
THE WHITE HEN
Perfectly true.
THE CHICK
Cali—
THE TURKEY [Helping him.] Gu?
THE CHICK
Gu—
THE PIGEON
Is it true—?
THE CHICK [Jumping for joy at having found.] Gula!
THE PIGEON—true that, as report says, he has a secret for his amazing singing, a secret whereby his crow becomes the brilliant burst of red which makes the poppies of the field feel themselves contemptible imitations?
THE WHITE HEN [Weary of this questioning.] Perfectly true.
THE PIGEON
That secret, that great secret, is it known to anyone?
THE WHITE HEN
No.
THE PIGEON
He has not even told his Hen?
THE WHITE HEN [Correcting him.] His Hens.
THE PIGEON [Slightly shocked.] Ah, he has more than one?
THE BLACKBIRD
He crows, remember, you only coo.
THE PIGEON
Well, then, he has not even told his favourite?
THE TUFTED HEN [Promptly.] No, he has not!
THE WHITE HEN [As promptly.] No, he has not!
THE BLACK HEN [As promptly.] No, he has not!
THE BLACKBIRD [Thrusting out his head.] Hush!—An aërial drama! The Butterfly, absorbed in his head of blossom, banquets, all oblivious of—
[A great green gauze butterfly-net appears above the wall, softly coming towards the BUTTERFLY settled on one of the flowers.]
A HEN
What is that?
THE TURKEY [Solemnly.] Fate!
THE BLACKBIRD
In a thin disguise of gauze!
THE WHITE HEN
Oh, a net—at the end of a cane!
THE BLACKBIRD No harm in the cane—it's the kid at the other end of the cane! [Half aloud, watching the BUTTERFLY.] You neat little fop, sailing from rose to rose, to-night you'll be neat as a pin can make you!
ALL [Watching the cautious approach of the net beyond the wall.] Nearer—Nearer—Hush! He'll catch it!—No he won't!—Yes, he will!
SUDDENLY OUTSIDE
Cock-a-doodle-doo!
[At the sound, the BUTTERFLY flies off. The NET wavers a moment, with an effect of disappointment, then disappears.]
SEVERAL HENS
What?—Eh?—What was it?
A HEN [Who having hopped up on a wheelbarrow can follow the flight of the BUTTERFLY.] He is off and away, over the meadow.
THE BLACKBIRD [With ironical emphasis.] It's Chantecler, practicing knight-errantry!
THE PIGEON [With emotion.] Chantecler!
A HEN
He is coming!
ANOTHER HEN
He is just 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—
