light of all Beauty, all Health, all which wishes, in sunshine and joy, to see its work while doing it, and do it to be seen--And when I feel that vast call to the Day arising within me, I so expand my soul to make it more sonorous, by making it more spacious, that the great cry may still be increased in greatness; before giving it, I withold it in my soul a moment so piously; then, when, to expel it, I contract my soul, I am so convinced of accomplishing a great act, I have such faith that my song will make night crumble like the walls of Jericho-- THE PHEASANT-HEN [_Frightened._] Chantecler! CHANTECLER And sounding its victory beforehand, my song springs forth so clear, so proud, so peremptory, that the horizon, seized with a rosy trembling--_obeys!_ THE PHEASANT-HEN Chantecler! CHANTECLER I sing! Vainly Night offers to compromise, offers a dubious twilight--I sing again! And suddenly-- THE PHEASANT-HEN Chantecler! CHANTECLER I fall back, blinded by the red light bathing me, dazzled at having, I, the Cock, made the Sun to rise! THE PHEASANT-HEN Then the whole secret of your song--? CHANTECLER Is that I dare assume that the East without me must rest in idleness! I sing, not to hear the echo repeat, a shade fainter, my song! I think of light and not of glory! Singing is my fashion of waging war and bearing witness. And if my song is the proudest of songs, it is that I sing clearly to make the day rise clear! THE PHEASANT-HEN What he says sounds slightly mad!--You are responsible for the rising of-- CHANTECLER That which opens flower, eye, soul, and window! Certainly! My voice dispenses light! And when the sky is grey, the reason is that I have sung badly. 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!