_] 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.
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