_] 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.
THE PHEASANT-HEN
And suddenly, on all sides, what are they--iron locusts rubbing their
wings together?
CHANTECLER
[_Half rising, in the fullness of pride._] Ah, if scythes are whetting,
the reapers will soon be harvesting the golden grain! [_The sounds
increase and mingle: bells, hammers, washer-women's wooden spades,
laughter, singing, grinding of steel, cracking of whips._] All at work!
And I have done that!--Oh, impossible!--Pheasant-hen, help me! This is
the dreadful moment! [_He looks wildly about him._] I made the sunrise!
I did! Wherefore And how? And where? No sooner does my reason
return--than I go mad! For I who believe I have power to rekindle the
celestial gold--I--well--oh, it is dreadful--
THE PHEASANT-HEN
What is?
CHANTECLER
I am humble-minded, modest! You will never tell?
THE PHEASANT-HEN
No, no!
CHANTECLER
You promise? Ah! let my enemies never know!
THE PHEASANT-HEN
[_Moved.
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