Liberation and Modernity in the Wake of the War - Literature and Painting in Quebec: From Imagery to Identity - page 212

new character who, in a visual metaphor, hangs suspended from the
moon: 'Quel est le jeune homme qui tranche et retranche la forêt comme
un balancier d'horloge?' (20; Who is this young man who slices and
slices again through the forest like a clock pendulum? [21]) 8 The re-
sponse of the night voices is unequivocal: he is the new poet of the
night and the forest - 'Il est un nouveau Frédéric Chir de Houppelande'
- which causes the red lustre previously sown by Frédéric to disappear
from the trees.
Corvelle then addresses the new poet in terms that reveal the sense(s)
of the term 'reflets' from the title: 'Est-il vrai que de l'ineffable Frédéric
Chir de Houppelande tu as glané un reflet? … fais de moi deux ailes qui
te porteront au ciel, ente-moi au reflet de mon immortel idéal.' (20-1;
Is it true that you have gleaned a reflection from the ineffable Frederick
Chir de Houppelande? … make of me two wings to carry you to
heaven, graft me to the reflection of my immortal ideal [22].) Frédéric,
the former master, as the names Frédéric and Chir (repeated inces-
santly and hypnotically) suggest, is now as old-fashioned as the 'houp-
pelande,' a medieval gown that persists in clerical and academic garb; 9
recognizing vocal defeat by bringing his hands to his throat, he reluc-
tantly opens his cape and 'de sa poitrine sort un rayon de couleur
jaune qui monte vers les étoiles' (21; from his chest comes a ray of light
yellow in colour which rises towards the stars [22]). The 'reflets' or
'rayons,' then, are the streaks of libidinal energy that burst forth from the
inner depths and potentially, occasionally, attain consciousness, form,
and meaning through poetic expression. 10 To Corvelle's offer to carry
him to the heavens on her wings, the mysterious new poet, whose un-
recognizable name is Hurbur, responds categorically: 'Je n'ai pas besoin
des ailes, toutes les passerelles aux étoiles me sont soumises, mais tu
peux venir avec moi. Je travaille, je travaille sans cesse.' (21; I have no
need for wings, every footbridge to the stars is at my command, but
you can come with me. I work, I work endlessly [22].) The new poet
needs no exterior muse, since his inspiration comes from within, coaxed
out by hard work and constant struggle. Corvelle, now illuminated in
green light, suggesting life, joins Hurbur, and together they rise into the
heavens as if on a staircase or ladder. At the height of their ascent,
Hurbur proclaims 'J'ai soif' and quenches his thirst by drinking from a
star, yet another source of light. At that point, Frédéric silently and 're-
ligiously' lies down on the stage, his outstretched arms crossed above
his head, while from behind a passing cloud, Corvelle utters a gasp,
like that of a person falling asleep. With the dissipation of the cloud,