"Chantecler," then, is a scathing arraignment of the emptiness of our so-called wise and cultured, of the meanness of our conventional lies, the petty jealousies of the human breed in relation to each other. At the same time "Chantecler" characterizes the lack of understanding for, and appreciation of, the ideal and the idealists--the mob spirit, whether on top or at the bottom, using the most cruel and contemptible methods to drag the idealist down; to revile and persecute him--aye, even to kill him--for the unpardonable sin of proclaiming the ideal. They cannot forgive _Chantecler_ for worshiping the sun: _Chantecler._ Blaze forth in glory!... O thou that driest the tears of the meanest among weeds And dost of a dead flower make a living butterfly-- Thy miracle, wherever almond-trees Shower down the wind their scented shreds, Dead petals dancing in a living swarm-- I worship thee, O Sun! whose ample light, Blessing every forehead, ripening every fruit, Entering every flower and every hovel, Pours itself forth and yet is never less, Still spending and unspent--like mother's love! I sing of thee, and will be thy high priest, Who disdainest not to glass thy shining face In the humble basin of blue suds, Or see the lightning of thy last farewell Reflected in an humble cottage pane! ... Glory to thee in the vineyards! Glory to thee in the fields! Glory among the grass and on the roofs, In eyes of lizards and on wings of swans,-- Artist who making splendid the great things Forgets not to make exquisite the small! 'Tis thou that, cutting out a silhouette, To all thou beamest on dost fasten this dark twin, Doubling the number of delightful shapes, Appointing to each thing its shadow, More charming often than itself. I praise thee, Sun! Thou sheddest roses on the air, Diamonds on the stream, enchantment on the hill; A poor dull tree thou takest and turnest to green rapture, O Sun, without whose golden magic--things Would be no more than what they are! In the atmosphere of persecution and hatred _Chantecler_ continues to hope and to work for his sublime mission of bringing the golden day. But his passion for the _pheasant hen_ proves his Waterloo. It is through her that he grows weak, disclosing his secret. Because of her he attends the silly five o'clock function at the _guinea hen's_, and is involved in a prize fight. His passion teaches him to understand life and the frailties of his fellow creatures. He learns the greatest of all truths,--that "it is the struggle for, rather than the attainment of, the ideal, which must forever inspire the sincere, honest idealist." Indeed, it is life which teaches _Chantecler_ that if he cannot wake the dawn, he must rouse mankind to greet the sun.