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 wood-pecker’s bill has rapped out the three strokes! ACT I