_The same_, PATOU, _emerging for a moment from the brush._
CHANTECLER
[_To_ PATOU.] You! [_Reproachfully._] You have come to get him?
PATOU
[_Ashamed._] Forgive me! The poacher compels me--
CHANTECLER
[_Who had sprung before the body, to protect it, uncovers it._] A
Nightingale!
PATOU
[_Hanging his head._] Yes. The evil race of man loves to shower lead
into a singing tree.
CHANTECLER
See, the burying beetle has already come.
PATOU
[_Gently withdrawing._] I will make believe I found nothing.
THE PHEASANT-HEN
[_Watching the day break._] He has not noticed that night is nearly
over.
CHANTECLER
[_Bending over the grasses which begin to stir about the dead bird._]
Insect, where the body has fallen, be swift to come and open the earth.
The funereal necrophaga are the only grave-diggers who never carry the
dead elsewhere, believing that the least sad, and the most fitting tomb,
is the very clay whereon one fell into the final sleep. [_To the funeral
insects, while the_ NIGHTINGALE _begins gently to sink into the
ground._] Piously dig his grave! Light lie the earth upon him!
THE PHEASANT-HEN
[_Aside, looking at the horizon._] Over there--
CHANTECLER
Verily, verily, I say unto you, Bul-bul to-night shall see the Bird of
Paradise!
THE PHEASANT-HEN
[_Aside._] The sky is turning white! [_A whistle is heard in the
distance._]
PATOU
[_To_ CHANTECLER.] I will come back. He is whistling me. [_Disappears._]
THE PHEASANT-HEN
[_Restlessly dividing her attention between the horizon and the_ COCK.]
How can I conceal from him--[_She moves tenderly toward_ CHANTECLER,
_opening her wings so as to hide the brightening East, and taking
advantage of his grief._] Come and weep beneath my wing! [_With a sob he
lays his head beneath the comforting wing which is quickly clapped over
him. And the_ PHEASANT-HEN _gently lulls him, murmuring._] You see that
my wing is soft and comforting! You see--
CHANTECLER
[_In a smothered voice._] Yes!
THE PHEASANT-HEN
[_Gently rocks him, darting a glance now and then over her shoulder to
see how the dawn is progressing._] You see that a wing is an outspread
heart--[_Aside._] Day is breaking! [_To_ CHANTECLER.] You see
that--[_Aside._] The sky has paled! [_To_ CHANTECLER.]--that a wing
is--[_Aside._] The tree is steeped in rosy light! [_To_
CHANTECLER.]--partly a shield, and partly a cradle, partly a cloak and a
place of rest,--that a wing is a kiss which enfolds and covers you over.
You see that--[_With a backward leap, suddenly withdrawing her wings._]
the Day can break perfectly well without you!
CHANTECLER
[_With the greatest cry of anguish possible to created being._] Ah!
THE PHEASANT-HEN
[_Continuing inexorably._] That the mosses in a moment will be scarlet!
CHANTECLER
[_Running toward the moss._] Ah, no! No! Not without me! [_The moss
flushes red._] Ungrateful!
THE PHEASANT-HEN
The horizon--
CHANTECLER
[_Imploringly, to the horizon._] No!
THE PHEASANT-HEN
--is glowing gold!
CHANTECLER
[_Staggering._] Treachery!
THE PHEASANT-HEN
One may be all in all to another heart, you see, one can be nothing to
the sky!
CHANTECLER
[_Swooning._] It is true!
PATOU
[_Returning, cheery and cordial._] Here I am! I have come to tell you
that they are all mad over there, at the topsy-turvy farm, to have back
the Cock who orders the return of Day!
CHANTECLER
They believe that now I have ceased to believe it!
PATOU
[_Stopping short, amazed._] What do you mean?
THE PHEASANT-HEN
[_Bitterly pressing close to_ CHANTECLER.] You see that a heart pressing
against your own is better than a sky which does not in the very
least need you.
CHANTECLER
Yes!
THE PHEASANT-HEN
That darkness after all may be as sweet as light if there are two
close-clasped in the shade.
CHANTECLER
[_Wildly._] Yes! Yes! [_But suddenly leaving her side he raises his head
and in a ringing voice._] Cock-a-doodle-doo!
THE PHEASANT-HEN
[_Taken aback._] Why are you crowing?
CHANTECLER
As a warning to myself,--for thrice have I denied the thing I love!
THE PHEASANT-HEN
And what is that?
CHANTECLER
My life’s work! [_To_ PATOU.] Up and about! Come, let us go!
THE PHEASANT-HEN
What are you going to do?
CHANTECLER
Follow my calling.
THE PHEASANT-HEN
But what night is there for you to rout?
CHANTECLER
The night of the eyelid!
THE PHEASANT-HEN
[_Pointing toward the growing glory of the dawn._] Very well, you will
rouse sleepers--
CHANTECLER
And Saint Peter!
THE PHEASANT-HEN
But can you not see that Day has risen without the benefit of your
crowing?
CHANTECLER
I am more sure of my destiny than of the daylight before my eyes.
THE PHEASANT-HEN
[_Pointing at the_ NIGHTINGALE _who has already half disappeared into
the earth._] Your faith can no more return to life than can that
dead bird.
[_From the tree above their heads suddenly rings forth the
heart-stirring, limpid, characteristic note: Tio! Tio!_]
THE PHEASANT-HEN
[_Struck with amazement._] Is it another singing?
PATOU
[_With quivering ear._] And singing still better, if possible.
THE PHEASANT-HEN
[_Looking up in a sort of terror at the foliage, and then down at the
little grave._] Another takes up the song when this one disappears?
THE VOICE
In the forest must always be a Nightingale!
CHANTECLER
[_With exaltation._] And in the soul a faith so faithful that it comes
back even after it has been slain.
THE PHEASANT-HEN
But if the Sun is climbing up the sky?
CHANTECLER
There must have been left in the air some power from my yesterday’s
song.
[_Flights of noiseless grey wings pass among the trees._]
THE OWLS
[_Hooting joyfully._] He kept still!
PATOU
[_Raising his head and looking after them._] The Owls, fleeing from the
newly risen light, are coming home to the woods.
THE OWLS
[_Returning to their holes in the old trees._] He kept still!
CHANTECLER
[_With all his strength come back to him._] The proof that I was serving
the cause of light when I sang is that the Owls are glad of my silence.
[_Going to the_ PHEASANT-HEN, _with defiance in his mien._] I make the
Dawn appear, and I do more than that!
THE PHEASANT-HEN
[_Choking._] You do--
CHANTECLER
On grey mornings, when poor creatures waking in the twilight dare not
believe in the day, the bright copper of my song takes the place of the
sun! [_Turning to go._] Back to our work!
THE PHEASANT-HEN
But how find courage to work after doubting the work’s value?
CHANTECLER
Buckle down to work!
THE PHEASANT-HEN
[_With angry stubbornness._] But if you have nothing whatever to do with
making the morning?
CHANTECLER
Then I am just the Cock of a remoter Sun! My cries so affect the night
that it lets certain beams of the day pierce through its black tent, and
those are what we call the stars. I shall not live to see shining upon
the steeples that final total light composed of stars clustered in
unbroken mass; but if I sing faithfully and sonorously and if, long
after me, and long after that, in every farmyard its Cock sings
faithfully, sonorously, I truly believe there will be no more night!
THE PHEASANT-HEN
When will that be?
CHANTECLER
One Day!
THE PHEASANT-HEN
Go, go, and forget our forest!
CHANTECLER
No, I shall never forget the noble green forest where I learned that he
who has witnessed the death of his dream must either die at once or else
arise stronger than before.
THE PHEASANT-HEN
[_In a voice which she does her best to make insulting._] Go and get
into your hen-house by the way of a ladder.
CHANTECLER
The birds have taught me that I can use my wings to go in.
THE PHEASANT-HEN
Go and see your old Hen in her old broken basket.
CHANTECLER
Ah, forest of the Toads, forest of the Poacher, forest of the
Nightingale, and of the Pheasant-hen, when my old peasant mother sees me
home again, back from your green recesses where pain is so interwoven
with love, what will she say?
PATOU
[_Imitating the_ OLD HEN’S _affectionate quaver._] How that Chick has
grown!
CHANTECLER
[_Emphatically._] Of course she will! [_Turning to leave._]
THE PHEASANT-HEN
He is going! When faithless they turn to leave, oh, that we had arms,
arms to hold them fast,--but we have only wings!
CHANTECLER
[_Stops short and looks at her, troubled._] She weeps?
PATOU
[_Hastily, pushing him along with his paw._] Hurry up!
CHANTECLER
[_To_ PATOU.] Wait a moment.
PATOU
I am willing. Nothing can sit so patiently and watch the dropping of
tears as an old dog.
THE PHEASANT-HEN
[_Crying to_ CHANTECLER, _with a leap toward him._] Take me with you!
CHANTECLER
[_Turns and in an inflexible voice._] Will you consent to stand second
to the Dawn?
THE PHEASANT-HEN
[_Fiercely drawing back._] Never!
CHANTECLER
Then farewell!
THE PHEASANT-HEN
I hate you!
CHANTECLER
[_Already at some distance among the brush._] I love you, but I should
poorly serve the work to which I devote myself anew at the side of one
to whom it were less than the greatest thing in the world! [_He
disappears._]