Scene Fifth
Chantecler, the Pheasant-hen, hidden in the tree, and the Toads.
A Big Toad
[Rearing himself in the grass.] We have come—[Other Toads become visible behind him.]
Chantecler
Ye gods, how ugly they are!
The Big Toad
[Obsequiously.]—in behalf of all the thinking contingency of the Forest, to the author of so many songs—[He places his hand on his heart.]
Chantecler
[With disgust.] Oh, that hand spread over his paunch!
The Big Toad
[With a hop toward Chantecler.]—at once novel,—
Another Toad
[Same business.] Pellucid!
Another
[Same business.] Succinct!
Another
[Same business.] Vital!
Another
[Same business.] Pure!
Another
[Same business.] Great!
Chantecler
Gentlemen, pray be seated. [They seat themselves around a large toadstool.]
The Big Toad
True, we are ugly—
Chantecler
[Politely.] You have fine eyes.
The Big Toad
[Raising himself by bearing with both hands upon the rim of the toadstool.] But, Knights of this fungoid Round Table, we desire to do homage to the Parsifal who has given to the world a sublime song—
Second Toad
A true song!
The Big Toad
And a celestial!
Third Toad
And a no less terrestrial!
The Big Toad
[With authority.] A song by comparison with which the song of the Nightingale sinks into insignificance!
Chantecler
[Astonished.] The Nightingale’s song?
Second Toad
[In a tone of finality.] Is not a circumstance to yours!
The Big Toad
[With a hop.] It was high time that a new singer—
Another
[Same business.] And a new song—
Fifth Toad
[Quickly, to his neighbour.] And a song by a stranger—
The Big Toad
Came to change conditions here.
Chantecler
Ah, I shall change conditions?
All
Glory to the Cock!
Chantecler
I do not see that the forest thinks so poorly of me after all!
The Big Toad
Played out, the Nightingale!
Chantecler
[More and more surprised.] Really?
Second Toad
More and more his song confesses itself effete—
The Big Toad
Mawkish!
Third Toad
Null!
Fourth
[Contemptuously.] And his old-fashioned pretense of inspiration!
Fifth Toad
And the name he has adopted: Bul-bul!
All the Toads
[Puffing with laughter.] Bul-bul!
The Big Toad
This is the way he goes on: [Parodying the song of the Nightingale.] Tio! Tio!
Second Toad
His solitary idea is an old silver trill copied from the bubbling spring. [He imitates in grotesque fashion the singing of the Nightingale.] Tio! Tio!
Chantecler
But—
The Big Toad
[Quickly.] Do not attempt, you, the Renovator of Art, to defend that ancient high authority on sentimental gargling!
Second Toad
That superannuated tenor quavering out his cavatinas to the glory of minor poetry and the edification of fogydom!
Third Toad
The Harp that twanged through Tara’s hall, and insists on twanging still!
Chantecler
[Indulgently.] But why should he not, after all, if he enjoys it?
The Big Toad
Endeavouring to impose on a suffering and surfeited public the musty old fashion of ingenious fioritura!
Chantecler
Audiences nowadays, of course, look for a different sort of thing.
Third Toad
Your song has exposed the artificiality of his.
All
[In an explosion.] Down with Bul-bul!
Chantecler
[Whom the Toads have gradually surrounded.] Gentlemen and honored Batrachians, my voice, it is true, gives forth natural notes—
The Big Toad
Yes, notes which lend us wings—
Chantecler
[Modestly.] Oh!
All
[Waggling their bodies as if about to fly.] Wings!
The Big Toad
Their secret being that they sing Life!
Chantecler
That is true.
Second Toad
Yes, my dear fellow, Life!
Chantecler
[With careless complacency.] My crest for that reason is flesh and blood!
All the Toads
[Clapping their little hands.] Good, very good!
The Big Toad
That formula is a programme.
Second Toad
Since we are assembled around a table, why should we not offer to the Chief—
Chantecler
[Modestly, hanging back from the suggested honour.]Gentlemen—
Second Toad
—to the Chief of whom we stood in notable need, a banquet?
All
[Beating enthusiastically upon the toadstool.] A banquet!
The Pheasant-hen
[Looking out from the tree.] What is the matter?
Chantecler
[In spite of all, rather flattered.] A banquet!
The Pheasant-hen
[Slightly ironical.] Shall you accept?
Chantecler
You see, my dear—the new tendencies—Art,—the thinking contingency of the Forest—[Indicating the Toads.] Yes, I have lent wings to—[In a light and careless tone.] It’s all up with the Nightingale, you see. Musty old method! Antiquated trill! This is the way he goes on—[To the Toads.] How was it you said he went on?
All the Toads
[Comically.] Tio! Tio!
Chantecler
[To the Pheasant-hen, with pitying indulgence.] He goes on like this: Tio! Tio! And I believe I need not scruple to accept—
A Voice
[In the tree above him breaks forth in a long note, limpid, and heart-moving.] Tio! [Silence.]
Chantecler
[Startled, raising his head.] What was that?
The Big Toad
[Quickly, visibly embarrassed.] Nothing! It is he!
The Voice
[Slowly and wonderfully, with the sigh of a soul in every note.] Tio! Tio! Tio! Tio!
Chantecler
[Turning upon the Toads.] Scum of the earth!
The Toads
[Backing away from him.] What—?