THE PHEASANT-HEN
To whom is he speaking?

CHANTECLER
You shall have it earlier than April! [Bending to right and left,
encouragingly.] Yes, Bramble!—­Yes, Brake!

THE PHEASANT-HEN
He is magnificent!

CHANTECLER [To the PHEASANT-HEN.] You see, I must at all times remember—­[Stroking the earth with his wing.] Yes, dear Grass!—­remember the humble prayers whose interpreter I become. [Talking to invisible things.] The golden ladder?—­I understand! that you may all dance on it together!

THE PHEASANT-HEN
To whom are you promising a ladder?

CHANTECLER
To the Motes—­Cock-a-doodle-doo!

THE PHEASANT-HEN [Watching the sky and landscape.] A shiver of blue runs across the thatched roofs.—­A star went out just then—­

CHANTECLER
No, it veiled itself.  Even by daylight the stars are there.

THE PHEASANT-HEN
You do not extinguish them?

CHANTECLER
I extinguish nothing!  But you shall see how great I am at kindling!

THE PHEASANT-HEN
Oh, I see a dawning of—­

CHANTECLER
What do you see?

THE PHEASANT-HEN
The blue is no longer blue!

CHANTECLER
I told you!  It is already green!

THE PHEASANT-HEN
The green is turning to orange—­

CHANTECLER
You will have been the first this morning to see the transformation!

[The distant plain takes on velvety purplish hues.]

THE PHEASANT-HEN
It all seems to end in leagues of purple heather.

CHANTECLER
[Whose crow is beginning to tire.] Cock-a-doo—­

THE PHEASANT-HEN
Oh—­yellow among the pine trees!

CHANTECLER
Gold it ought to be,—­gold!

THE PHEASANT-HEN
And pearly grey—­

CHANTECLER
It shall be white!—­I haven’t done it yet!  Cock-a-doodle-doo—­It’s very
bad so far, but I won’t give up!

THE PHEASANT-HEN
Every hollow in every tree is pink as a wild rose—­

CHANTECLER [With growing enthusiasm.] Since love lends me strength in addition to faith, I say the Day to-day shall be more beautiful that the Day!—­Do you see?  Do you see the eastern sky at my voice dappling itself with light?

THE PHEASANT-HEN [Lured along and half persuaded by the madness of the COCK.] Such a thing might be, after all, since love is involved in the mystery!

CHANTECLER
Resume, horizon, at my command, your fringe of little poplars!

THE PHEASANT-HEN [Bending over the valley.] There emerges from the shadow, gradually, a world of your creation—­

CHANTECLER
Sacred things you are witnessing—­To sacred things I am initiating
you!—­Define your outlines, distant hills!  Pheasant-hen, do you love me?

THE PHEASANT-HEN
We shall always love to be in the secret of the Makers of Dawn!