IX FRENCH LIFE AND THE FRENCH STAGE (continued 2)
Reading edition
But it is the Hen Pheasant’s design to make Chantecler forget the dawn. He, of the farm-yard, has never heard the song of the nightingale. So glorious are her notes that Chantecler, the poet, the idealist, will be enraptured by them—and lose count of time.
And the nightingale sings; and Chantecler, enthralled, listens attentively—and as he stands there, spellbound, beneath the nightingale’s tree,—the sun rises and lights up the forest.
A peal of mocking laughter betrays the presence of the Blackbird. So it is not the imperious “Cocorico” who summons the sun! So the day breaks without Chantecler’s shrill crow! At first the Cock refuses to admit it: “That is the sun I summoned yesterday.” But when his illusions are gone he returns, humbled but not despairing, to the farm-yard. If he has not the supreme power to create the day, at least he can herald it.
When Chantecler has vanished, the Hen Pheasant, out of love for the Cock, deliberately flies into a trap set by the owner of the poultry yard. She remembers Chantecler having described the farmer as an admirable man:
Car le propriétaire est un végétarien. C’est un homme étonnant. Il adore les bêtes. Il leur donne des noms qu’il prend dans les poètes.
So the farmer, after releasing the Hen Pheasant from the trap, will restore her to Chantecler.
More and more golden becomes the forest. A strident “Cocorico” from the distance announces Chantecler’s return to the yard. When footsteps are heard, the birds stop singing. And the curtain falls.
It falls on a chef-d’œuvre.