Chantecler

  The Project Gutenberg EBook of Chantecler, by Edmond Rostand

  This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with

  almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or

  re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included

  with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.net

  Title: Chantecler

  Play in Four Acts

  Author: Edmond Rostand

  Release Date: January 19, 2004 [EBook #10747]

  Language: English

  Character set encoding: ASCII

  *** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CHANTECLER ***

  Produced by Curtis Weyant, Ginny Brewer and PG Distributed Proofreaders

  CHANTECLER

  Play in Four Acts

  By

  EDMOND ROSTAND

  Translated

  By

  GERTRUDE HALL

  1910

  _DRAMATIS PERSONAE_

  CHANTECLER

  PATOU

  THE BLACKBIRD

  THE PEACOCK

  THE NIGHTINGALE

  THE GRAND-DUKE

  THE SCREECH-OWL

  LITTLE SCOPS

  THE GAME-COCK

  THE HUNTING DOG

  A CARRIER-PIGEON

  THE WOOD-PECKER

  THE TURKEY

  THE DUCK

  THE YOUNG GUINEA-COCK

  THE PHEASANT-HEN

  THE GUINEA-HEN

  THE OLD HEN

  THE WHITE HEN

  THE GREY HEN

  THE BLACK HEN

  THE SPECKLED HEN

  THE TUFTED HEN

  A Gander. A Capon. Chickens. Chicks. A Cockerel.

  A Swan. A Cuckoo. Night-birds. Fancy Cocks.

  Toads. A Turkey-hen. A Goose. A Garden Warbler.

  A Woodland Warbler. A Spider. A Heron. A Pigeon.

  A Guinea-pig. Barnyard animals. Woodland Creatures.

  Rabbits. Birds. Bees. Cicadas. Voices.

  PROLOGUE

  _The customary three knocks are heard. The drop-curtain wavers and is

  rising, when a voice rings out, "Not yet!" and the_ MANAGER, _a

  gentleman of important mien in evening dress, springing from his

  proscenium box, hurries toward the stage, repeating, "Not yet!"_

  _The curtain is again lowered. The_ MANAGER _turns toward the audience,

  and resting one hand on the prompter's box, addresses them:_

  The curtain is a wall,--a flying wall. Assured that presently the wall

  will fly--why haste? Is it not charming to delay--and just look at it

  for a while?

  Charming to sit before a great red wall, hanging beneath two gilt masks

  and a scroll--The thrilling moment is when the curtain thrills, and

  sounds come from the other side.

  You are desired to-night to listen to those sounds and entering the

  scene before you see it, to wonder and surmise--

  _Bending his ear, the_ MANAGER _listens to the sounds now beginning to

  come from behind the curtain._

  A footstep--is it a road? A flutter of wings--is it a garden?

  _The curtain here rippling as if about to rise, the_ MANAGER

  _precipitately shouts, "Stop!--Do not raise it yet!" Then again bending

  his ear, continues making note of the noises, clear or confused, single

  or combined, that from this onward come without stop from behind

  the curtain._

  A magpie cawing flies away. Great wooden shoes come running over flags.

  A courtyard, is it?--If so above a valley--from whence that softened

  clamour of birds and barking dogs.

  More and more clearly the scene suggests itself--Magically sound

  creates an atmosphere!--A sheep bell tinkles intermittently--Since there

  is grazing, we may look for grass.

  A tree, too--a tree must rustle in the breeze, for a bullfinch warbles

  his little native song; and a blackbird whistling the song he has caught

  by ear, implies, we may presume, a wicker cage.

  The rattling of a wagon run out of a shed--the dripping of a bucket

  drawn up overfull--the patter of doves' feet alighting on a roof--Surely

  it is a farmyard--unless it be a mill!

  Rustling of straw, click of a wooden latch--A stable or a haymow there

  must be. The locust shrills: the weather then is fine.--Church-bells

  ring: it is Sunday then.--Chatter of jays: the woods cannot be far!

  Hark! Nature with the scattered voices of a fair midsummer day is

  composing--in a dream!--the most mysterious of overtures--harmonised by

  evening distance and the wind!

  And all these sounds--song of a passing girl--laughter of children

  jogged by the donkey trotting--faraway gun-reports and hunting-horns

  --these sounds describe a holiday.

  A window opens, a door closes--The harness shakes its bells. Is it not

  plain in sight, the old farmyard?--The dog sleeps, the cat but

  feigns to sleep.

  Sunday!--Farmer and farmer's wife are starting for the fair. The old

  horse paws the ground--

  A ROUGH VOICE

  [_Behind the curtain, through the horse's pawing._] Whoa, Dapple!

  ANOTHER VOICE

  [_As if calling to a laggard._] Come along! We shan't get home till

  morning!

  AN IMPATIENT VOICE

  Are you ready?

  ANOTHER VOICE

  Fasten the shutters!

  MAN'S VOICE

  All right!

  WOMAN'S VOICE

  My sunshade!

  MAN'S VOICE

  [_Through the cracking of the whip._] Gee up!

  THE MANAGER

  The wagon to the jingling of the harness rattles off, jolting out

  ditties. A turn in the road cuts off the unfinished song.--They are

  gone, quite gone. The performance can begin.

  Some philosophers would say there was not a soul left, but we humbly

  believe that there are hearts. Man in leaving does not take with him all

  drama. One can laugh and suffer without him. [_He listens again._]

  Ardently humming, a velvety bumblebee hovers--then is still; he has

  plunged into a flower--Let us begin. Pray note that Aesop's hump

  to-night does duty as prompter's box!

  The members of our company are small, but--[_Calling toward the flies._]

  Alexander! [_To the audience._] He is my chief machinist. [_Calling

  again._] Let it down!

  A VOICE

  [_From the flies._] It's coming, sir!

  MANAGER

  We have lowered between the audience and the stage an invisible screen

  of magnifying glass--

  But there the violins are tuning up: Scraping of crystal bows, picking

  of strings!--Hush! Let the footlights now leap into brightness, for at a

  signal from their little leader the crickets' orchestra have briskly

  fallen to!

  Frrrt! The bumblebee emerges from the flower, shaking the yellow dust--A

  Hen comes on the scene as in La Fontaine's fable. A Cuckoo calls, as in

  Beethoven's symphony.

  Hush! Let the chandelier draw in its myriad lights--for the curious

  call-boy of the woods has, airily, to summon us, repeated thrice his

  double call--

  And since Nature is one of our performers, and feathered notables are on

  our staff--Hush! the curtain must go up: A w
ood-pecker's bill has rapped

  out the three strokes!

  ACT I

  THE EVENING OF THE PHEASANT-HEN

  _A farmyard such as the sounds from behind the curtain have described.

  At the right, a house over-clambered with wistaria. At the left, the

  farmyard gate, letting on to the road. A dog-kennel. At the back, a low

  wall, beyond which distant country landscape. The details of the setting

  define themselves in the course of the act._

  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

  [_Pecking._] 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!

  SCENE SECOND

  THE SAME, _a_ PIGEON _on the roof, later_ CHANTECLER.

  THE WHITE HEN

  [_Looking about with quick jerks of her head._] Who called me?

  THE VOICE

  A pigeon.

  THE WHITE HEN

  [_Looking for him._] Where?

  THE PIGEON

  On the sloping roof.

  THE WHITE HEN

  [_Lifting her head and seeing him._] Ah!

  THE PIGEON

  Though I am the bearer of an important missive, I would not miss the

  opportunity--Good evening, Hen!

  THE WHITE HEN

  Postman, howdedo?

  THE PIGEON

  My duty on the Postal Service of the Air obliging me this summer evening

  to pass your habitations, I should be most happy if--

  THE WHITE HEN

  [_Spying a crumb of some sort._] One moment, please.

  ANOTHER HEN

  [_Running eagerly towards her._] What are you eating?

  ALL THE HENS

  [_Arriving at a run._] What's she eating?

  THE WHITE HEN

  A simple grain of wheat.

  THE GREY HEN

  [_Taking up her conversation with the_ WHITE HEN.] As I was telling you,

  I mean to stay right on the door-step there--[_Showing the door of

  the house._]

  THE WHITE HEN

  [_Looking at the door._] The door is shut.

  THE GREY HEN

  Yes, but I shall hear the hour striking, and I will catch a look at my

  Cuckoo by stretching my neck,--

  THE PIGEON

  [_Calling, slightly out of patience._] White Hen!

  THE WHITE HEN

  One moment, please! [_To the_ GREY HEN.]--Catch a look at your Cuckoo,

  by stretching your neck where?--
Where?

  THE GREY HEN

  [_Pointing with her beak at the small, round opening at the foot of the

  door._] Through the cat-hole!

  THE PIGEON

  [_Raising his voice to a shout._] Am I to be kept here cooling my feet

  on your rain-pipe? Hi, there, whitest of Hens!

  THE WHITE HEN

  [_Hopping towards him._] You were saying?

  THE PIGEON

  I was about to say--

  THE WHITE HEN

  What, bluest of Pigeons?

  THE PIGEON

  That I should consider myself past expression fortunate if--But no! I am

  abashed at my own boldness!--if I might be so favoured as to be

  permitted to get a glimpse--

  THE WHITE HEN

  Of what?

  THE PIGEON

  Oh, just a glimpse, the very least glimpse of--

  ALL THE HENS

  [_Impatiently._] Of what?--What?

  THE PIGEON

  Of his comb!

  THE WHITE HEN

  [_Laughing, to the others._] Ha! ha! he wishes to see--

  THE PIGEON

  [_In great excitement._] That's it! Just to see--

  THE WHITE HEN

  There, there, cool down!

  THE PIGEON

  I am shaking with excitement!

  THE WHITE HEN

  You are shaking down the roof!

  THE PIGEON

  You can't think how we admire him!

  THE WHITE HEN

  Oh, everyone admires him!

  THE PIGEON

  And I promised my missis to tell her what he is like!

  THE WHITE HEN

  [_Quietly pecking._] Oh, he's a fine fellow, no doubt

  of that!

  THE PIGEON

  We can hear him crowing from our dove-cote. The One he is whose song is

  more an ornament to the landscape than the white hamlet to the hill! The

  One he is whose cry pierces the blue horizon like a gold-threaded needle

  stitching the hill-tops to the sky! The Cock he is! When you would

  praise him, call him the Cock!

  THE BLACKBIRD

  [_Hopping up and down in his cage._] Tick-tock!--who sets all hearts

  a-beating, tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock!

  A HEN

  Our Cock!

  THE BLACKBIRD

  [_Thrusting his head between the bars of his cage._] My, thy, his, her,

  our, your, and their Cock!

  THE TURKEY

  [_To the_ PIGEON.] He will soon be coming in from his usual round in the

  fields.

  THE PIGEON

  You have the honour of his acquaintance, sir?

  THE TURKEY

  [_Importantly._] I have known him from a baby. This chick--for to me he

  is still a chick!--used to come to me for his bugle lesson.

  THE PIGEON

  Ah, indeed? You give lessons in--

  THE TURKEY

  Certainly. A bird who can gobble is qualified to teach crowing.

  THE PIGEON

  Where was he born?

  THE TURKEY

  [_Indicating an old covered basket, badly battered and broken._] In that

  old basket.

  THE PIGEON

  And is the hen who brooded him still living?

  THE TURKEY

  [_Again indicating the basket._] She is there.

  THE PIGEON

  Where?

  THE TURKEY

  In that old basket.

  THE PIGEON

  [_More and more interested._] Of what breed is she?

  THE TURKEY

  She is just a good old-fashioned Gascon hen, born in the neighbourhood

  of Pau.

  THE BLACKBIRD

  [_Thrusting out his head._] She is the one Henry the Fourth wished to

  see cooking in every Frenchman's pot!

  THE PIGEON

  How proud she must be of having hatched such a Cock!

  THE TURKEY

  Yes, proud with a lowly foster-mother's pride. Her beloved chick is

  coming to his inches, that is all she seems to understand or care about.

  And when you tell her this, her clouded reason gives a momentary gleam--

  [_Calling towards the basket._] Hey, old lady, he is growing!

  ALL THE HENS

  He is growing!

  [_The lid of the basket is suddenly lifted, and a bristling aged hen's

  head appears._]

  THE PIGEON

  [_To the_ OLD HEN, _gently and feelingly._] Does it make you happy,

  mother, to think of him grown to a big fine Cock?

  THE OLD HEN

  [_Nodding, sententiously._] Happy?--Wednesday's crops do credit to

  Tuesday! [_She disappears, the lid drops._]

  THE TURKEY

  She opens now and then, like that, and ping! shoots at us some such

  pearl of homely lore--