“I am more than astonished you do not recognise me,” he said. “Are you not one of us?”
“In truth, sir,” I replied, “I do not know who I am myself, far less who you are. Every one asks me the same question, ‘Who are you?’ Who should I be if I am not one of nature’s practical jokes?”
“Come now, that will do; I am no green hand to be caught by chaff. Your coat suits you too well; you cannot disguise yourself, my brother. You certainly belong to the illustrious and ancient family called in Latin Cacuata, and in the vulgar tongue Cockatoo.”
“Indeed, sir? Since you have been good enough to find me a family and a name, may I inquire how a well-bred Cockatoo conducts his affairs?”
“We do nothing, and what is more, we are paid for doing nothing! I am the great poet Cacatogan—quite an exceptional member of my family. I have made long journeys, crossed arid plains, and made no end of cruel peregrinations. It seems but yesterday since I courted the Muses, and my attachment has been most unfortunate. I sang under Louis XVI., I clamoured for the Republic, I chanted under the Empire, discreetly praised the Reformation, and even made an effort in these degenerate days to meet the exigencies of this heartless century. I have tossed over the world clever distiches, sublime hymns, graceful dithyrambics, pious elegies, furious dramas, doubtful romances, and bloody tragedies. In a word, I flatter myself I have added some glorious festoons, gilded pinnacles, and choice arabesques to the temple of the Muses. Age has not bereft me of poetic fire. I was just composing a song when we came into collision, and you knocked the train of my ideas off the line. For all that, if I can be of any service to you I am heartily at your disposal.”
“You, sir, can serve me,” I replied, “for at this moment I too feel something of the poetic fire of which you speak, although, unlike yourself, laying no claims to poetic fame. I am naturally endowed with a voice and song which together violate all the old rules of art.”
“I myself have forgotten the rules. Genius may not be fettered, her flights are far beyond all that is stiff and formal in schools of art.”
“But, sir, my voice has a most unaccountable effect on those who listen to its melody, an effect similar to that of a certain Jean de Nivelle whom—— You know the rest.”
“Yes, yes,” said Cacatogan. “I myself suffer from a similar cause, thoroughly inexplicable, although the effect is incontestable.”