The
Tale of Chanticleer and Pertelote
Once there was an old woman who lived on
a little farm. Her husband was dead and she was very poor. She had only three
pigs, three cows, some chickens, and a sheep named Molly.
The woman didn’t eat much. She never had
a tasty sauce or dainty bit of food. Her meals were mostly milk and bread.
Sometimes she would eat bit of bacon or an egg or two. Still, she worked hard
and was merry.
The old woman had a little yard. Around
it were a ditch and a fence made of sticks. That is where she kept her
chickens.
The pride of her farm was her rooster.
His name was Chanticleer. Chanticleer was a marvel of a bird. In all the land
there was no match for his crowing. His voice was merrier than the church
organ. It was loud and clear. He sang at each hour on the hour. He was never a
second off.
Chanticleer was also a handsome bird.
The comb on the top of his head was redder than coral. It was shaped like the
top of a castle wall. His black bill shone like ink. His legs and feet were
blue like azure. His nails were white as lilies. His feathers were like gold.
Chanticleer had seven hens, and they all
looked very much like him. But the most beautiful of the hens was Pertelote.
She was polite, kind, giving, and
friendly. She was so good that Chanticleer had loved her since they were
chicks. The love between them made them very happy. It was a joy to wake up to
them singing love songs in the rising sun.
One morning just before dawn Chanticleer
slept on his perch. He slept next to the fair Pertelote. He began to groan
terribly. When Pertelote heard this she woke him up, saying:
“Oh, dear heart! What is wrong? A fine
sleeper you are!”
“Madame,” he said, “I have had such a
bad dream that even now my heart is sorely frightened! I dreamed that as I
roamed about our yard, I saw a great beast like a dog. He wished to catch me
and kill me. He was orange, with black on the tips of his tail and ears, and a
long slender snout and glowing eyes. Even now his looks frighten me almost to death.”
“Oh, you coward!” said Pertelote. “You
have lost all my love. Scared of a dream! Didn’t Cato say, ‘Don’t listen to
dreams’?” (Cato was a Roman writer of long ago. Pertelote was a very well-read
hen.)
“Cato is wise,” said Chanticleer, “but
there are others who are wiser. I heard once that there was a man who dreamed
that his friend would be killed. The friend begged for help. The man woke with
a start. But he rolled over and went back to sleep. He didn’t think the dream
meant anything. But the next day he found his friend killed, just like in the
dream.”
“Fie!” said Pertelote.
“I heard another story,” said
Chanticleer, “about two men who were preparing to sail across the sea. The
night before they left, the first man had a dream. The dream warned that if he
set sail the next day, he would drown. When he woke up he told his friend about
his dream. The second man laughed. ‘The wind is good!’ he said. ‘I will not let
a silly dream keep me from my work!’ And so the second man set sail alone. But
before he was half-way there, the bottom tore out from his boat. He was swept
into the waves.”
“Fie!” said Pertelote.
“Look at Joseph, then,” said
Chanticleer. “He did not think that dreams were useless. Remember the king’s
dream, of the seven fat cows and the seven skinny cows? He called for someone
who could tell him what it meant. Joseph said that the cows meant there would
be seven years with much food and then seven years of little food. If the king
had not listened and saved up food, his people would have starved.”
“Oh, fie!” said Pertelote yet again.
Chanticleer felt a bit silly.
“Well, I say the dream has meaning,” he
told her, “but let us talk of something merry! When I see you all my fear melts
away.”
And with that he flew down from his
rafter. All his hens followed, because it was day now. He strutted up and down
the yard on his toes. Whenever he clucked his hens would gather around him.
He looked as grand as a prince or a
lion, and knew it. He held Pertelote in his wing twenty times. At nine o’clock
he was dancing about the yard with his hens beside him. He cast his face up to
the sun to call the time.
“Pertelote, my heart’s bliss,” said
Chanticleer, “listen to how the happy birds sing. See how the flowers spring up
from the wet ground! It is April, and my heart is light and full of joy.”
That, dear reader, is what we call irony.
For as Chanticleer sang of how wonderful life was, a sly fox lay among the
cabbages. He had sneaked into the yard that very night. Now he was waiting for
his chance to catch Chanticleer and eat him for his supper.
Pertelote and the other hens lay in the
warm sun. Chanticleer kept marching about the yard. He sang better than the
mermaids of the sea, and mermaids are very good singers.
Then he saw a butterfly making its way
toward the cabbages. He watched it land on a plant. Then he saw the hiding fox.
Chanticleer no longer wanted to crow. He
shrieked “Caw! Caw!” instead. He started up with terror in his heart. All
beasts know to run from those who will eat them, even when they have never seen
them before. And Chanticleer would have flown to the henhouse and safety if the
fox had not spoken.
“Alas, gentle sir!” said the fox. “Where
are you going? Are you afraid of me? I am your own dear friend. I do not mean you
any harm. I only came to listen to your singing. It is as beautiful as the
voice of an angel.”
Chanticleer stayed on the dirt, but he
still did not trust the fox.
“I am Don Russel. I knew your dear
father,” said the fox, “and your mother too. I was happy to have both of them
in my house. Surely, all that your father sang came from his heart. He would
stand up on his toes, and close his eyes, and stretch out his long, slender
neck. Then he could sing even better. I have read of many good singers. None
was as good as your father. Tell me, can you sing like him?”
Chanticleer had begun to flap his wings
happily. He was very pleased with Don Russel’s flattery. And he stood high on
his toes, and stretched out his neck, and closed his eyes, and began to crow
loudly.
Up started Don Russel. He grabbed
Chanticleer by the neck. Then he dashed into the woods.
Ladies have never cried as loudly as the
hens then. And above all Pertelote shrieked. The other animals joined in. The
ducks quacked. The geese flew high over the trees. The bees buzzed out of their
hive. The birds and beasts and the old widow ran shouting after the fox. They
made a noise that even an angry army cannot make.
“If I were you,” said Chanticleer, “I
would say, ‘Turn back! I have reached the woods. You will never catch me now. I
will eat this rooster for my supper.’”
“Haha!” said the fox, looking back.
“Turn back! I have reached the woods. You will never catch me now. I will eat
this rooster for my supper!”
But when Don Russel opened his mouth,
Chanticleer freed himself and flew up to a tree.
When Don Russel saw that Chanticleer had
got away, he thought fast. He looked up at Chanticleer and said, “Alas! I have
done wrong to scare you. Come down from the tree. I will show you that I meant
no harm.”
“Fool me once, shame on you,” said
Chanticleer. “But fool me twice, shame on me! Never again will your flattery
make me sing and close my two eyes. For he who willfully shuts his eyes where
he should see, may God never let him thrive.”
“May God give him bad fortune who speaks
when he should keep his peace,” said the fox, and slunk away.
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