– It’s a horrible story! Exclaimed a chicken, in a part of town where the story had not happened. – It’s a horrible capoeira story! I dare not sleep alone tonight! Good thing we’re so many on the perch!
And told the story. He told it so much that the feathers of the other chickens rose and the rooster dropped the crest. It is absolutely true!
But let’s start at the beginning. Everything happened in a capoeira in the other point of the city. At sunset the chickens rose to the perch. One of them, with white feathers and short legs, which laid its eggs regularly and was a respected chicken, climbed to the perch and, when composing the feathers with its beak, dropped a small pen.
– Another one! – she said. – The more I compose myself, the prettier I am!
That was said in a jovial tone, for it was playful, though, as it was said, very respectable. Then fell asleep.
It was dark all around. The chickens in a row slept except the one closest to her. He listened and pretended not to hear, as one must do in this world to live in tranquility. But to the neighboring chicken said:
– Did you hear what they said? I do not say who, but there is a chicken that wants to tear the feathers to look beautiful! If I were the cock, I despised her!
Right above the chickens was the owl with the owl and the owls. Because they have keen ears, they heard every word that the neighboring chicken had said. They rolled their eyes and the mother owl flapped its wings:
– Don’t listen! But surely they listened too! I have listened with my own ears, and much will be heard before they close! One of the chickens has lost its composure in such a way that it is plucking all its feathers and allows the rooster to see it like this I
– “Prenez garde aux enfants!” Said the owl-father. – It’s not a subject for children.
“However I want to tell the neighboring front owl.” It’s such an esteemed owl in the neighborhood! – And the mother went flying.
– Uh-uh! Uh-hu – they both shouted down at the doves in the neighboring dovecote. – Did you hear? Did you hear? Uhuh! There is a chicken that plucked all the feathers because of the rooster! It’s freezing to death, if it hasn’t died already, uhuh!
– At where? At where? Cooed the doves.
– In the neighbor’s courtyard! I saw it with my own eyes! It’s almost a scandal! But it is absolutely true!
– We don’t doubt it! – said the doves and cooed to the capoeira below: – There is a chicken, yes, some even say that they are two, who plucked all the feathers not to look like the others and thus draw the attention of the rooster. It is a risky joke; you can catch a cold and die with a fever, and both are already dead!
– Wake up! Wake up! Sang the rooster and flew to the beam, still sleepy-eyed, but still managed to sing, “There are three dead chickens of unrequited love for a rooster!” They plucked all the feathers! It’s a shocking story, but I don’t want to keep it, make it run!
– Make her run! Cried the bats and the hens clucked and the roosters sang, “Make her run!”
And so the story went from capoeira to capoeira and eventually returned to the place from which it had started.
“There are five chickens,” it was said, “who plucked their feathers to show which one had grown thinner for love feathers for a rooster, and then pecked each other until they bled and fell dead, to the shame and disgrace of the large family. prejudice of the owner!
And the chicken, which had lost its pen, did not naturally recognize its own history and, as it was a respectable chicken, said:
– I despise such chickens! But there are many of the kind! One should not keep a secret from these things and I will make the story come written in the newspaper and run across the country. That’s what chickens deserve, and families too!
And it came in the paper and it was published, and it is absolutely true that a pen can well turn into five chickens.
Hans Christian Andersen Short stories Lisbon, Editorial Print, 1984 Adaptation