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THE PHEASANT-HEN
But when you sing by day?
CHANTECLER
I am practising, or else promising the ploughshare, the hoe, the harrow,
the scythe, not to neglect my duty of waking them.
THE PHEASANT-HEN
But what wakens you?
CHANTECLER
The fear of forgetting.
THE PHEASANT-HEN
And you believe that at the sound of your voice the whole world is
suffused--?
CHANTECLER
I have no clear idea of the whole world. But I sing for my own valley,
and desire that every Cock may do the same for his.
THE PHEASANT-HEN
Still--
CHANTECLER
But here I stand, explaining, perorating, and forgetting altogether to
make my dawn.
THE PHEASANT-HEN
His dawn!
CHANTECLER
Ah, what I say sounds mad? I will make the dawn before your very eyes!
And the wish to please you adding its ardour to the ordinary forces of
my soul, I shall rise in singing, as I feel, to unusual heights, and the
dawn will rise more fair to-day than ever it rose before!
THE PHEASANT-HEN
More fair?
CHANTECLER
Assuredly,--in just the measure that strength is added to the song by
the knowledge of listeners, boldness to the exploit by the consciousness
of lovely watching eyes--[Taking his stand upon a hillock at the back,
overlooking the valley.] Now, Madam!
THE PHEASANT-HEN
[Gazing at his outline against the sky.] How beautiful he is!
CHANTECLER
Look attentively at the sky. Already it has paled. The reason is that a
short while back, with my earliest crow I ordered the sun to stand in
readiness just below the horizon.
THE PHEASANT-HEN
He is so beautiful that what he says almost seems possible!
CHANTECLER
[Talking toward the horizon.] Ha, Sun, I feel you just behind there,
stirring--and I laugh with pride and joy amidst my scarlet
wattles--[Rising on tiptoe suddenly, in a voice of startling
loudness.] Cock-a-doodle-doo!
THE PHEASANT-HEN
What great breath lifts his breast-feathers?
CHANTECLER
[Toward the east.] Obey!--I am the Earth, and I am Labour! My comb is
the pattern of a forge fire, and the voice of the furrow rises to my
throat! [Whispering mysteriously.] Yes, yes, month of July--
THE PHEASANT-HEN
To whom is he speaking?
CHANTECLER
You shall have it earlier than April! [Bending to right and left,
encouragingly.] Yes, Bramble!--Yes, Brake!
THE PHEASANT-HEN
He is magnificent!
CHANTECLER
[To the PHEASANT-HEN.] You see, I must at all times
remember--[Stroking the earth with his wing.] Yes, dear
Grass!--remember the humble prayers whose interpreter I become.
[Talking to invisible things.] The golden ladder?--I understand! that
you may all dance on it together!
THE PHEASANT-HEN
To whom are you promising a ladder?
CHANTECLER
To the Motes--Cock-a-doodle-doo!
THE PHEASANT-HEN
[Watching the sky and landscape.] A shiver of blue runs across the
thatched roofs.--A star went out just then--
CHANTECLER
No, it veiled itself. Even by daylight the stars are there.
THE PHEASANT-HEN
You do not extinguish them?
CHANTECLER
I extinguish nothing! But you shall see how great I am at kindling!
THE PHEASANT-HEN
Oh, I see a dawning of--
CHANTECLER
What do you see?
THE PHEASANT-HEN
The blue is no longer blue!
CHANTECLER
I told you! It is already green!
THE PHEASANT-HEN
The green is turning to orange--
CHANTECLER
You will have been the first this morning to see the transformation!
[The distant plain takes on velvety purplish hues.]
THE PHEASANT-HEN
It all seems to end in leagues of purple heather.
CHANTECLER
[Whose crow is beginning to tire.] Cock-a-doo--
THE PHEASANT-HEN
Oh--yellow among the pine trees!
CHANTECLER
Gold it ought to be,--gold!
THE PHEASANT-HEN
And pearly grey--
CHANTECLER
It shall be white!--I haven't done it yet! Cock-a-doodle-doo--It's very
bad so far, but I won't give up!
THE PHEASANT-HEN
Every hollow in every tree is pink as a wild rose--
CHANTECLER
[With growing enthusiasm.] Since love lends me strength in addition to
faith, I say the Day to-day shall be more beautiful that the Day!--Do
you see? Do you see the eastern sky at my voice dappling itself
with light?
THE PHEASANT-HEN
[Lured along and half persuaded by the madness of the COCK.] Such a
thing might be, after all, since love is involved in the mystery!
CHANTECLER
Resume, horizon, at my command, your fringe of little poplars!
THE PHEASANT-HEN
[Bending over the valley.] There emerges from the shadow, gradually, a
world of your creation--
CHANTECLER
Sacred things you are witnessing--To sacred things I am initiating
you!--Define your outlines, distant hills! Pheasant-hen, do you love me?
THE PHEASANT-HEN
We shall always love to be in the secret of the Makers of Dawn!
CHANTECLER
You help me to sing better. Come closer. Collaborate.
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Rostand, Edmond, 1868-1918 - Chantecler