“A bird! That’s what I am! That’s what she means, Badger old chap! Isn’t she delightful?”
The Badger frowned at this and let it pass. He was concerned by the reference to birds and flight, for he knew how Toad longed to do many things, flying among them, and how necessary it was for his own safety, and that of all along the River Bank, to restrain him. The constant constraints of his friends rather than self-restraint were what kept Toad from disaster — that the Badger knew.
Then Toad, exhausted, came to a heaving, puffing stop before the Madame, who had done likewise.
“Am I?” said Toad with hopeful obedience. “Am I like a bird?”
“A bold bird,” said she, unknowingly feeding his vanity and love, even as he began to swell his chest and preen and parade before her like a peacock, “and a noble bird!”
“I am!” concurred Toad with sudden conviction.
“Is ‘e not?” she cried, appealing to the Badger for confirmation.
“He can be,” averred the Badger reluctantly eyeing the strutting Toad with distaste, “I suppose.”
He hoped that Toad might heed the warning note in his voice and calm down once more. He knew what little encouragement it needed for Toad to swell his chest, and how little more for him to strut about seeking to look as important as he felt. With the Madame encouraging him to think of himself as a bold bird, even a noble one, he had flown in a matter of moments from disappointment that his earlier declarations seemed to have gone unnoticed by her, to flights of fancy that gyred ever higher on the winds of her admiration.
“Where is my art to be erected?” she asked again.
“My sculpture? Me?”
“Yes,” she breathed. “Show me, Cousin; show me now!” With an extraordinary movement of arms and hands, much like a provincial actor making his first entrance on the stage in a part far beyond his range, experience and abilities, and driven by an impulse to wish to impress his audience, Toad strode across to the plinth upon which he so looked forward to seeing a sculpture of himself erected, double size.
“I shall be here eternally!” said he.
“O, Monsieur Toad, strike a pose!” she cried after him. “Be noble, be most bold! Inspire my Art with the immortality of your Spirit!”
Toad tried his best to do so, and after some experimentation — for despite considerable secret practice in previous days, he had not found it easy to strike a dramatic pose that did not very soon lead to fatigue and a loss of balance and dignity — he stood with his arms, hands and finally his fingers extended as nobly and as boldly as he could.
The Madame regarded him gravely for quite some time, and then came to a sudden and most startling conclusion.
“‘E must be, ‘e is, an Emperor,” said Madame d’Albert with sudden decision. “That is what ‘e conveys to me: nothing less than an Emperor.”
“An Emperor,” gasped Toad, feeling suddenly weak and faint, for it was physically taxing to be so bold and so noble of body for so long.
“And yet —” said Madame in a quiet and timorous way as if some thought almost too awesome to contemplate had suddenly occurred to her, though the Badger suspected she had it all along, “— yet I wonder — Monsieur Badger,” she said, grasping his arm and drawing him into the circle of decision, “‘ave you never looked at your friend Monsieur Toad and seen ‘im as ‘e might truly be?”
“As he is, yes,” said the Badger, finding that the resistance he was able offer through his greater height was less than the force she was able to apply as a result of her greater weight, so that he was drawn forward towards Toad and forced to look up at him, “as he might be, rarely.”
“Then look now,” she said with a grand gesture towards the perspiring Toad, who was now in desperate straits as he tried to retain his extraordinary pose and his dignity; “look, and what do you see?”
“I see —” The Badger was reluctant
The Badger frowned at this and let it pass. He was concerned by the reference to birds and flight, for he knew how Toad longed to do many things, flying among them, and how necessary it was for his own safety, and that of all along the River Bank, to restrain him. The constant constraints of his friends rather than self-restraint were what kept Toad from disaster — that the Badger knew.
Then Toad, exhausted, came to a heaving, puffing stop before the Madame, who had done likewise.
“Am I?” said Toad with hopeful obedience. “Am I like a bird?”
“A bold bird,” said she, unknowingly feeding his vanity and love, even as he began to swell his chest and preen and parade before her like a peacock, “and a noble bird!”
“I am!” concurred Toad with sudden conviction.
“Is ‘e not?” she cried, appealing to the Badger for confirmation.
“He can be,” averred the Badger reluctantly eyeing the strutting Toad with distaste, “I suppose.”
He hoped that Toad might heed the warning note in his voice and calm down once more. He knew what little encouragement it needed for Toad to swell his chest, and how little more for him to strut about seeking to look as important as he felt. With the Madame encouraging him to think of himself as a bold bird, even a noble one, he had flown in a matter of moments from disappointment that his earlier declarations seemed to have gone unnoticed by her, to flights of fancy that gyred ever higher on the winds of her admiration.
“Where is my art to be erected?” she asked again.
“My sculpture? Me?”
“Yes,” she breathed. “Show me, Cousin; show me now!” With an extraordinary movement of arms and hands, much like a provincial actor making his first entrance on the stage in a part far beyond his range, experience and abilities, and driven by an impulse to wish to impress his audience, Toad strode across to the plinth upon which he so looked forward to seeing a sculpture of himself erected, double size.
“I shall be here eternally!” said he.
“O, Monsieur Toad, strike a pose!” she cried after him. “Be noble, be most bold! Inspire my Art with the immortality of your Spirit!”
Toad tried his best to do so, and after some experimentation — for despite considerable secret practice in previous days, he had not found it easy to strike a dramatic pose that did not very soon lead to fatigue and a loss of balance and dignity — he stood with his arms, hands and finally his fingers extended as nobly and as boldly as he could.
The Madame regarded him gravely for quite some time, and then came to a sudden and most startling conclusion.
“‘E must be, ‘e is, an Emperor,” said Madame d’Albert with sudden decision. “That is what ‘e conveys to me: nothing less than an Emperor.”
“An Emperor,” gasped Toad, feeling suddenly weak and faint, for it was physically taxing to be so bold and so noble of body for so long.
“And yet —” said Madame in a quiet and timorous way as if some thought almost too awesome to contemplate had suddenly occurred to her, though the Badger suspected she had it all along, “— yet I wonder — Monsieur Badger,” she said, grasping his arm and drawing him into the circle of decision, “‘ave you never looked at your friend Monsieur Toad and seen ‘im as ‘e might truly be?”
“As he is, yes,” said the Badger, finding that the resistance he was able offer through his greater height was less than the force she was able to apply as a result of her greater weight, so that he was drawn forward towards Toad and forced to look up at him, “as he might be, rarely.”
“Then look now,” she said with a grand gesture towards the perspiring Toad, who was now in desperate straits as he tried to retain his extraordinary pose and his dignity; “look, and what do you see?”
“I see —” The Badger was reluctant
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