The Tale of Chanticleer and Pertelote, Level C (Grade Level 2-3)

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.