Читать книгу Chantecler - Edmond Rostand - Страница 9

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CHANTECLER, the BLACKBIRD in his cage, the CAT still asleep on the wall, the GREY HEN behind the OLD HEN'S basket.

CHANTECLER [To himself, after a pause.] No, I will not trust a frivolous soul with such a weighty secret. Let me try rather to cast off the burden of it myself—forget and [Shaking his feathers.] just rejoice in being a rooster! [He struts up and down.] I am beautiful. I am proud. I walk—then I stand still. I give a skip or two, I tread a measure.—I shock the cart sometimes by my boldness with the fair, so that it raises scandalised shafts in horror to the sky!—Hang care!—A barleycorn—Eat and be merry.—The gear upon my head and under my eye is a far more gorgeous red, when I puff out my chest and strut, than any robin's waistcoat or finch's tie.—A fine day. All is well. I curvet—I blow my horn. Conscious of having done my duty, I may quite properly assume the swagger of a musketeer, and the calm commanding bearing of a cardinal. I can—

A VOICE [Loud and gruff.] Beware, Chantecler!

CHANTECLER

What silly beast is bidding me beware?