Chancre

“ The Pheasant-hen
Go and see your old Hen in her old broken basket.
Chantecler
Ah, forest of the Toads, forest of the Poacher, forest of the Nightingale, and of the Pheasant-hen, when my old peasant mother sees me home again, back from your green recesses where pain is so interwoven with love, what will she say?
Patou
[Imitating the Old Hen’s affectionate quaver.] How that Chick has grown!
Chantecler
[Emphatically.] Of course she will! [Turning to leave.]
The Pheasant-hen
He is going! When faithless they turn to leave, oh, that we had arms, arms to hold them fast,—but we have only wings! ”

“ 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! ”

“ Chantecler
Look at me, Pheasant-hen, and try, if indeed it be possible, try to recognise, by yourself, sign by sign, the vocation of which my body is the symbol. Guess, to begin with, at my destiny from my shape, and see how, curved like a sort of living hunting-horn, I am as much formed for sound to turn and gain volume within me, as the wild duck is formed to swim!—Wait!—Mark the fact that, impatient and proud, scratching up the earth with my claws, I appear always to be seeking something in the soil—
The Pheasant-hen
You are seeking for grains of corn, seeds, I suppose. ”

“ I have not exhausted my ammunition! You wish to imitate the sparrow? But the sparrow does not, slyly and meanly mischievous, make a cult of sprightliness is not funny with authority, is not the pedant of flippancy! You percher among low bushes, who never care to fly, you wish to imitate— [Turning to one of the exotic Cocks cackling behind him.] Silence, Cock of Japan! or I shall spoil a picture!
The Japanese Cock
[Hurriedly.] I beg your pardon!
Chantecler
[Continuing to the Blackbird.] You wish to imitate the sparrow, who, rising on light wing, underlines his words with a telegraph wire! ”

“ Bahajee believes that some means can be taken to induce the bird to repeat the secret, and is now arranging that he and I shall go the old merchant's house for the purpose. This is a little difficult to manage, as the relations of the old man guard his property day and night, and are naturally anxious to discover the hiding-place of the Chank for themselves, as it is worth money to anyone who finds it. They therefore watch the bird day and night, fearing to leave it a moment with strangers, and trusting to induce it to reveal its secret. ”

“ Chantecler
The Glow-worms have lighted their small, green lamps. All that is good comes forth, while hate shrinks back to its lair. Now they that shall be eaten lay themselves down in the grass by the side of them that shall eat them. The Star of a sudden looks nearer to earth, and forsaking her web the Spider draws herself up toward your song, climbing by her own silken thread. ”

“ The chank, the sacred shell of the Hindus, has been used by the priests of Buddha for centuries as a horn to call the faithful. Shankar the Destroyer, of Hindu mythology, and Vishnu, each hold a chank shell in one of their hands.
The shell whorl usually runs from left to right, sometimes it is found with the whorl reversed and these were so highly regarded by Hindus, Cingalese and Chinese that in old times they were sold for their weight in gold. Even now they bring a good price in the eastern markets. ”

“ Then there were the tomtoms, whose stretched skins produce quite musical and bell-like though monotonous sounds; and lastly two old men jingling cymbals and at the same time blowing their terrible chank-horns or conches. These chanks are much used in Buddhist and Hindu temples. They are large whorled sea-shells of the whelk shape, such as sometimes ornament our mantels. ”

“ The Blackbird
[Hastily.] Nothing! [He tries to get away.]
Chantecler
You wish to ape the sparrow of city streets! But his impudence is not a manner of prudence, an art of remaining vague, an elegant method of having no opinion. His eyes always express either wrath or delight. Do you care to know the secret by which the little beggar, with his “Chappie” and his “See” can steal away our hearts? It is that he is frank and fearless that he believes, that he loves, that the railings of a balcony where some child strews crumbs for him are the only cage he ever knew! ”

“ You, Cock, who had the sense to prefer the grain of true wheat to the pearl, how can you allow yourself to be taken in by that villainous Blackbird! A bird who practises a tune!
Chantecler
[Indulgently.] Come, he whistles his tune like many another!
Patou
[Unwillingly agreeing, in a drawling growl.] Ye-e-es, but he never whistles it to the end!
Chantecler
[Watching the Blackbird hopping about.] A light-hearted fellow!
Patou
[Same business.] Ye-e-es, but he lies heavy on our hearts. A bird who takes his exercise indoors!
Chantecler
You must own he is intelligent! ”

“ Chantecler
You lie on the earth and sleep in the sun!
Patou
[With a pleased yap.] Aye!
Chantecler
We have ever had in common our love for those two things.
Patou
I am so fond of the sun that I howl at the moon. And so fond of the earth that I dig great holes and shove my nose in it!
Chantecler
I know! The gardener’s wife has her opinion of those holes.—But what are the dangers you discern? All lies quiet beneath the quiet sky. Nothing appears to be threatening my humble sunlit dominions.
The Old Hen
[Lifting the basket-lid with her head.] The egg looks like marble until it gets smashed! ”

“ The Tufted Hen
You may think this is fun! Now everything we eat will taste of gasoline!
Scene Third
Chantecler, the Blackbird in his cage, the Cat still asleep on the wall, the Grey Hen behind the Old Hen’s basket.
Chantecler
[To himself, after a pause.] No, I will not trust a frivolous soul with such a weighty secret. Let me try rather to cast off the burden of it myself—forget and [Shaking his feathers.] just rejoice in being a rooster! [He struts up and down.] I am beautiful. I am proud. I walk—then I stand still. ”

“ Fearing that the emissaries of the Nizam would find and steal the Chank, he buried it in some place in the Cinnamon Gardens—at least, that is the story. The secret of its hiding-place has, to all appearance, died with the old merchant; but a Cingalese, a friend of Bahajee's, told him only yesterday that the merchant had a mania on the subject, and was constantly repeating the secret of the hiding-place to himself. He lived alone, with only one companion, a large grey parrot. ”

“ Chantecler
All those Rabbits looking on make it a trifle—
The Pheasant-hen
[Suddenly flaps her wings; the frightened Rabbits start, on all sides white tails disappear into rabbit-holes. The Pheasant-hen coming back to Chantecler.] There! [They bill.] Do you love my forest?
Chantecler
I love it, for no sooner had I crossed its verdant border than I got back my song. Let us go to roost. I must sing very early to-morrow. ”

“ Chantecler
With power to see, capacity to suffer, one may come to understand all things. In an insect’s death are hinted all disasters. Through a knot-hole can be seen the sky and marching stars!
The Old Hen
[Appearing.] None knows the heavens like the water in the well!
Chantecler
[Presenting her to the Pheasant-hen before the basket-lid drops.] My foster-mother!
The Pheasant-hen
[Politely approaching.] Delighted!
The Old Hen
[Slyly winking at her.] He’s a fine Cock! ”

“ From that hour, unresting, acting the sparrow night and day, the sparrow even in sleep, self-condemned to play the sparrow without respite, you have appeared—famous jay!
The Blackbird
But—
Chantecler
Pathetic effort of a country birdkin, twisting his thick bill to talk with a city accent! Ah, you wish to bite off bits of slang? My friend, they are green! Every grape you pick breaks in your jaws, for city grapes are glass bubbles! Having taken from the sparrow only his make-up and grimace, you are just a clumsy understudy, a sort of vice-buffoon! ”

“ The Pheasant-hen
[Seeing Chantecler’s bleeding neck.] He bleeds, oh!
A Hen
[Rising on tiptoe behind the Golden Padua Cock.] I should like to see the blood!
The White Pile
[Increasing the fury of his onset.] I ll have your gizzard!
The Hen
[Trying to see.] The Padua Cock’s hat shuts off my view!
The Blackbird
Hats off!
A Voice
That was a stinger! On his comb!
Shrill Cries
[From the crowd.] Land him one! Do him up! Lay him out! Have his gore!
Patou
[Standing up in his wheelbarrow.] Will you stop behaving like human beings? ”

“ The chantarelle cannot be called very common, but it is abundant in many districts; its solid, ringless stem, fleshy body, thick swollen veins in the place of gills, and brilliant yellow colour, at once serve to distinguish it from every other species. “Its smell,” says Berkeley, “is like that of ripe apricots.” Sometimes (as I have frequently seen in Epping Forest and elsewhere) immense numbers grow together; at other times they are very few. ”

“ Cock-a— [At this point the crowing of other Cocks ascends from the valley. Chantecler listens, then softly.] Hark! Do you hear them now?
The Pheasant-hen
Who dare—?
Chantecler
The other Cocks.
The Pheasant-hen
[Bending above the plain.] They are singing in the rosy light—
Chantecler
Yes, they believe in the light as soon as they see it.
The Pheasant-hen
They sing all in a haze of blue—
Chantecler
I sang in total blackness. My song rose from the cheerless shade, and was the first to rise. It is when Night prevails that it’s fine to believe in the Light! ”

“ Chantecler
—from ripening on the vine. [Going toward the back with the Pheasant-hen.] Let us go! [Turning and coming again angrily toward the front.] But I wish furthermore to say to these H— [The Pheasant-hen lays her wing across his beak.] —ens that those unnatural Cocks will lightly take themselves away, back to the gilded mangers of their sole affection, the moment they hear the cry of Chick-chick-chick-chick-chick! [Imitating a servant girl calling Chickens to feed.] For all those charlatans are stalking appetites, and nothing more! ”

“ Chantecler
I am not Gallic if you give the word a base or ridiculous meaning. By Jove! Every Hen here knows whether my trumpet blast belongs to a soprano! But your perverse attempts to wring blushes from little baggages in convenient corners outrage my love of Love! It is true that I care more to retain love’s dream than these Cochin-Chinese, who, courting a giggle, use refinement in coarseness, research in vulgarity; true that my blood has swifter flow in a less ponderous body, and that I am not a feathered pig,—but a Cock!
The Pheasant-hen
Come, come away to the woods,—I love you! ”

“ If the Chank be the object of their devotion in health, so also it is the object of their superstitions in sickness and in death. The medicine administered by the Priest to his patient in the time of illness, from the spout of one of these shells, is considered of greater efficacy than if taken from any other drinking vessel; that from the spout of a reversed shell has a reputation inestimable. ”

“ Patou
—some Hen may get you too to go!
Chantecler
Me?
Patou
You!
Chantecler
Me?—
Patou
Led by the end of your beak.
Chantecler
[In high wrath.] Me?—
Patou
For when a new Hen heaves in sight, you can’t help yourself, you know—you lose your balance-wheel—
The Blackbird
You slowly circumambulate the fair one— [He imitates the Cock walking around a Hen.] “Yes, it’s me.—Here I am!” And you say, “Coa—”
Chantecler
I never knew a more idiotic bird!
The Blackbird
[Continuing to mimic him.] You let your wing hang, sentimentally—your foot performs a sort of stately jig— [A shot is heard.] Ha! ”

“ Die! [He utters a terrible cry, while Chantecler, avoiding the blow, springs aside.] Ah! [He drops to the ground. Cry of amazement.]
Several Voices
What is it?
The Blackbird
[Who has hopped up to the fallen Cock and examined him.] Nothing! Merely he has dexterously slashed his left claw with his right!
The Crowd
[Following and hooting the White Pile, who, having picked himself up, limps off.] Hoo! Hoo!
Patou and the Pheasant-hen [Laughing and weeping and talking, all in one, beside Chantecler, who stands motionless, utterly spent, with closed eyes.] Chantecler! It is we! The Pheasant-hen! ”

“ Unfortunately for all concerned, Cranmer, dazed and indubitably stark insane, chose to perform a strange travesty on fishing four miles to the west of his lodge—on the further border of Moccasin Swamp. His clothing had been torn to shreds, his hat was gone, and he was coated from head to foot with gluey mire. It was far from strange that the good folk of Shanksville, who never had glimpsed the eccentric millionaire, failed to associate him with Cranmer. ”

“ What the true story is has never been revealed, but the fact remains that the Chank disappeared. Suspicion pointed to my daughter, and the Nizam made a great fuss. Borrodale and his wife were obliged to leave Kalkana, and it was then proved that she had it in her possession. But before she arrived in England the shell was again stolen—by whom was never known. From that day to this the mystery remains unexplained; but one thing is certain, the Chank was never brought back to Kalkana. ”