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THE PHEASANT-HEN What?
CHANTECLER I am at once doing my duty, and making you more fair. I am gilding my valley, while brightening your wing. [_Tearing himself from love, and dashing toward the right._] But the shadow still fights all along the line of retreat. There is much to be done over there! c.o.c.k-a-doodle-doo!
THE PHEASANT-HEN [_Looking up at the sky._] Oh, look!
CHANTECLER [_Looking too, sadly._] How can I prevent it? The morning star is fading out!
THE PHEASANT-HEN [_In a tone of regret for the little bright spark which the growing light must necessarily quench._] It is fading out--
CHANTECLER Alas!--But shall we therefore despond? [_And tearing himself from melancholy, he springs toward the left._] There is still much to do over here. c.o.c.k-a--[_At this point the crowing of other_ c.o.c.kS _ascends from the valley._ CHANTECLER _listens, then softly._] Hark! Do you hear them now?
THE PHEASANT-HEN Who dare--?
CHANTECLER The other c.o.c.ks.
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!
THE PHEASANT-HEN How dare they sing when you are singing?
CHANTECLER Let them sing! Their songs acquire significance from mingling with mine, and their tardy but numerous cries unconsciously hasten the flight of the dark. [_Straightening upon his hillock, he calls to the distant_ c.o.c.kS.] Now, all together!
CHANTECLER AND ALL THE c.o.c.kS c.o.c.k-a-doodle-doo!
CHANTECLER [_Alone, with familiar cordiality._] Forward, forward, boldly, Day!
THE PHEASANT-HEN [_Beside him, stamping her feet._] Boldly, Day!
CHANTECLER [_Crying encouragements to the Light._] Yes, there, there before you, is a roof for you to gild! Come, come, a touch of green on that patch of waving hemp!
THE PHEASANT-HEN [_Beside herself with excitement._] A glimmer of white on that road!
CHANTECLER A wash of blue on the river!
THE PHEASANT-HEN [_In a great cry._] The Sun! Look, the Sun!
CHANTECLER There he is, I can see him, but we must hale him from that grove! [_And both of them, moving backward together, appear to be drawing something after them._ CHANTECLER _prolonging his crow as if to drag up the_ SUN _by it._] Cooooooo--
THE PHEASANT-HEN [_Shouting above_ CHANTECLER'S _crow._] There he comes--
CHANTECLER --oock-a--
THE PHEASANT-HEN --climbing--
CHANTECLER --doodle--
THE PHEASANT-HEN --above--
CHANTECLER --doooooo!
THE PHEASANT-HEN --the poplars!
CHANTECLER [_In a last, dry-throated, desperate crow._] c.o.c.k-a-doodle-doo [_Both stagger, suddenly flooded with light._] It is done! [_He adds, in a tone of satisfaction._] A proper Sun,--a giant! [_He totters toward a mossy rise and drops against it._]
THE PHEASANT-HEN [_Running to him, while all grows brighter and brighter._] One song now to greet the beautiful rising Sun!
CHANTECLER [_Very low._] I have no voice left. I spent it all. [_Hearing the other_ c.o.c.kS _crowing in the valley, he adds gently._] It matters not. He has the songs and praises of the others.
THE PHEASANT-HEN [_Surprised._] What? After he appears, he hears no more from you?
CHANTECLER No more.
THE PHEASANT-HEN [_Indignant._] But in that case, perhaps the Sun believes the other c.o.c.ks have made him rise?
CHANTECLER It matters not.
THE PHEASANT-HEN But--
CHANTECLER Hush! Come to my heart and let me thank you. Never has there been a lovelier dawn.
THE PHEASANT-HEN But what will repay you for all your pains?
CHANTECLER Echoes of awakening life down in the valley! [_Confused living noises are beginning to mount from below._] Tell me of them. I have not the strength to listen for myself.
THE PHEASANT-HEN [_Runs to the top of the rise, and listens._] I hear a finger knocking against the rim of a brazen sky--
CHANTECLER [_With closed eyes._] The Angelus.
THE PHEASANT-HEN Other strokes, which sound like a human Angelus after the divine--
CHANTECLER The forge-hammer.
THE PHEASANT-HEN Lowing,--then a song--
CHANTECLER The plow.
THE PHEASANT-HEN [_Continuing to listen._] Sounds as of a bird's nest fallen into the little street--
CHANTECLER [_With growing emotion._] The school!
THE PHEASANT-HEN Imps of whom I catch no glimpse buffet one another in the water--
CHANTECLER Women washing linen.
