Chapters 15
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1 01 - A Child's Dream of a Star 8:56
A Child's Dream of a Star by Charles Dickens. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org.
Here was once a child, and he strolled about a good deal, and thought of a number of things. He had a sister, who was a child too, and is a constant companion. These two used to wander all day long. They wondered at the beauty of the flowers. They wondered at the height and the bluseness of the sky. They wondered at the depth of the bright water. They wondered at the goodness and the power of God, who made the lovely world.
They used to say to one another, sometimes, supposing all the children upon earth were to die. Would the flowers and the water and the sky be sorry? They believed they would be sorry. For, said they, the buds are the children of the flowers, and the little playful streams that gamble down the hillsides are the children of the water, and the maudless bride-specs playing at a high and sick in the sky all night must surely be the children of the stars. And they would all be grieved to see their playmates, the children from men, no more. There was one clear shining star that used to come out in the sky before the rest, near the church spire, above the graves. It was larger and more beautiful, they thought, than all the others, and every night they watched for it, standing hand in hand at the window.
Whoever saw it first cry out, I see the star, and often they cried out both together, knowing so well what it would rise and wear. So they grew to be such friends with it that, before lying down in their beds, they always looked out once again, to beat it good-night, and when they were turning around to sleep, they used to say, God bless the star.
But while she was still very young, oh, very, very young, the sister dropped and came to be so weak that she could no longer stand in the window at night. And then the child looked sadly out about himself, and when he saw the star, turned round and said to the patient pale face on the bed, I see the star. And then a smile would come up on the face, and the little weak voice used to say, God bless my brother and the star. And so the time came, all too soon, when the child looked out alone, and when there was no face on the bed, and when there was a little grave among the graves, not there before, and when the star made a long race down towards him. And he saw it throw his tears. Now, these rays were so bright, and they seemed to make such a shining way from her to heaven, that when the child went to his solitary bed, he dreamed about the star, and dreamed that, lying when he was, he saw a train of people taken up the sparkling road by angels, and the star, opening, showed him a great world of light.
Where many more such angels waited to receive them. All these angels, who were waiting, turned their beaming eyes upon the people who were carried up into the stair. And some came out from the long rows in which they stood, and fell upon the people's necks, and kissed them tenderly, and went away with them down avenues of light. And were so happy in their company that, lying in his bed, he wept for joy. But there were many angels who did not go with them, and among them one hew. The patient face that once had lain upon the bed was glorified and radiant, but his heart found out his sister among all the hosts. His sister Engel lingered near the entrance of the star and said to the leader among those who had brought the people's tither, Is my brother come?
And he said, No. She was turning openly away when the child stretched out his arms and cried, Oh, sister, I am here, take me. And then she turned her beaming eyes upon him, and it was night. And the star was shining into the room, making long rays down towards him, and he saw it through his tears. From that hour forth, the child looked out upon the star as on the home he was to go to, when his time should come, and he thought that he did not belong to the Earth alone, but to the star too, because of his sister, Ingers, gone before.
There was a baby born to be a brother to the child, and while he was so little that he never had a spoken word, he stretched his tiny form out on his bed, and died. Again, the child dreamed of the open star, and of the company of angels, and the train of people, and the row of angels with their beaming eyes all threw up on those people's faces. Said his sister angels to the leader, is my brother come? And he said, Not that one, but another. As the child beheld his brother's angel in her arms, he cried, Oh, sister, I am here, take me! And she turned a smile upon him, and the star was shining. He grew to be a young man, and was busy at his books when an old servant came to him and said, Thy mother is no more.
I bring her blessing on her darling son. Again at night he saw the star, and all that former company. Said his sister angles to the leader, Is my brother come? And he said, Thy mother. A mighty cry of joy went forth through all the star, because the mother was reunited with her two children. And he stretched out his arms and cried, O mother, sister and brother, I am here, take me. And they answered him, Not yet, and the star was shining. He grew to be a man, whose hair was torn gray, and he was sitting in his chair by the fire side, heavy with grief, and with his face bewitched with tears, when the star opened once again. Said his sister, angers to the leader, is my brother come? And he said, nigh, but his maiden daughter.
And the man who had been the child saw his daughter, knew it was lost to him, a celestial creature among those three. And he said, My daughter's head is on my sister's bosom, and her arm is round my mother's neck, and at her feet there is the baby of my whole time, and I can bear the parting from here. Good be price. And the star was shining. Thus the child came to be an old man, and his once smooth face was blinkered, and his steps were slow and flibble, and his back was bent. And one night, as he lay up on his bed, his children standing round, he cried, as he had cried so long ago, I see the star. They whispered one another, he is dying. And he said, I am. My age is falling from me like a garment, and I moved toward the star as a child.
And, oh my father, now I thank thee that it has too soft and open to receive those dear ones who await me. And the star was shining, and it shined upon his grave.
End of A Child's Dream of a Star by Charles Dickens
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2 02 - Cinderella 5:27
Cinderella by Anonymous.
There was, many years ago, a gentleman who had a charming lady for his wife. They had one daughter only, who was very dutiful to her parents. While she was still very young, her mamma died to the grief of her husband and daughter. After a time, the little girl's papa married another lady. Now, this lady was proud and haughty, and had two grown-up daughters as disagreeable as herself, so the poor girl found everything at home changed for the worse. But she bore all her troubles with patience, not even complaining to her father, and in spite of her hard toil, she grew more lovely in face and figure every year. Now, the king's son gave a grand ball, and all persons of quality were invited to it.
Our two young ladies were not overlooked. Nothing was now talked of but the rich dresses they were to wear. At last the happy day arrived. The two proud sisters set off in high spirits. Cinderella followed them with her eyes until the coach was out of sight. She then began to cry bitterly. While she was sobbing, her godmother, who was a fairy, appeared before her. "'Cinderella,' said the fairy, "'I am your godmother, and for the sake of your dear mamma, I am come to cheer you up. So dry your tears. You shall go to the grand ball tonight, but you must do just as I bid you.'" Go into the garden and bring me a pumpkin. Cinderella brought the finest that was there. Her godmother scooped it out very quickly, and then struck it with her wand, upon which it was changed into a beautiful coach.
Afterwards, the old lady peeped into the mouse trap, where she found six mice. She tapped them lightly with her wand, and each mouse became a fine horse. The rat trap contained two large rats. One of these she turned into a coachman, and the other into a postillion. The old lady then told Cinderella to go into the garden and seek for half a dozen lizards. These she changed into six footmen, dressed in the gayest livery. When all these things had been done, the kind godmother, touching her with her wand, changed her worn-out clothes into a beautiful ball-dress embroidered with pearls and silver. She then gave her a pair of glass slippers. That is, they were woven of the most delicate spun-glass, fine as the web of a spider.
When Cinderella was thus attired, her godmother made her get into her splendid coach, giving her a caution to leave the ball before the clock struck twelve. On her arrival, her beauty struck everybody with wonder. The gallant prince gave her a courteous welcome and led her into the ballroom, and the king and queen were as much enchanted with her as the prince conducted her to the supper-table, and was too much occupied in waiting upon her to partake of anything himself. While seated, Cinderella heard the clock strike three-quarters past eleven. She rose to leave, the prince pressing her to accept an invitation for the ball on the following evening. On reaching home, her godmother praised her for being so punctual, and agreed to let her go to the next night's ball.
Although she seemed to be tired, her sisters, instead of showing pity, teased her with glowing accounts of the splendid scene they had just left, and spoke particularly of the beautiful princess. Cinderella was delighted to hear all this, and asked them the name of the princess, but they replied nobody knew her. So much did they say in praise of the lady that Cinderella expressed a desire to go to the next ball to see the princess, but this only served to bring out their dislike of poor Cinderella still more, and they would not lend her the meanest of their dresses. The next evening the two sisters went to the ball, and Cinderella also, who was still more splendidly dressed than before. Her enjoyment was even greater than at the first ball, and she was so occupied with the prince's tender sayings that she was not so quick in marking the progress of time.
To her alarm, she heard the clock strike twelve. She fled from the ballroom, but in a moment the coach changed again to a pumpkin, the horse to mice, the coachman and the postillion to rats, the footman to lizards, and Cinderella's beautiful dress to old shabby clothes. In her haste, she dropped one of her glass slippers, and reached home, out of breath, with none of her godmother's fairy gifts but one glass slipper. When her sisters arrived after the ball, they spoke in terms of the rapture of the unknown princess, and told Cinderella about the little glass slipper she had dropped, and how the prince picked it up. It was evident to all the court that the prince was determined, if possible, to find out the owner of the slipper, And a few days afterwards, the royal herald proclaimed that the king's son would marry her, whose foot the glass slipper would be found exactly to fit.
This proclamation caused a great sensation. Ladies of all ranks were permitted to make a trial of the slipper, but it was of no use. Cinderella now said, Let me try. Perhaps it may fit me. It slipped on in a moment. Great was the vexation of the two sisters of this, but what was their astonishment when Cinderella took the fellow slipper out of her pocket? At that moment, the godmother appeared and touched Cinderella's clothes with her wand. Her sisters then saw that she was the beautiful lady they had met at the ball, and throwing themselves at her feet, craved her forgiveness. A short time after, she was married to the prince to the intense gratification of the whole court.
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3 03 - The Fox and the Crow 1:30
The Fox and the Crow by Aesop. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. The Fox and the Crow.
A crow had snatched a piece of cheese out of a cottage window and flew up with it into a high tree that she might eat it at her ease. A fox, having spied her, came and sat underneath, and began to pay the crow compliments on her beauty. "'Why,' said he, "'I never saw it before, but your feathers are of a more delicate white than any that ever I saw in my life. Ah! What a fine shape and graceful neck is there! And I have no doubt that you have a tolerable voice. If it is but as fine as your complexion, I do not know a bird that can match you.'" The crow. Tickled with this very civil language, nestled and wriggled about, and hardly knew where she was. But thinking the fox a little doubtful as to the quality of her voice, and having her mind to set him right in the matter, she began to sing, and in the same instant, down-dropped the cheese, which the fox presently chopped up, and then bade her remember that whatever he had said of her beauty, he had spoken nothing yet of her brains.
End of The Fox and the Crow By ESAP.
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4 04 - The Palace on the Floor 18:21
The Palace on the Floor by Evelyn Sharp. The Palace on the Floor. Prince Piketty had just built a fairy palace on the nursery floor, and he sat back on his heels and looked at it with pride. Surely no one had ever built so fine a palace before in the space of thirteen minutes and a half. Not only were there two lofty towers that soared proudly upwards until they were actually as tall as the prince himself, but there was a great arched doorway as well, with a flight of steps leading down from it, away under the nursery table. And there was even a drawbridge made of a single big brick and suspended by a piece of string. All this, however, might be found in anybody's palace. What made the prince's palace different from everyone else's was just the way the windows were built.
They were not built in rows like ordinary windows, so that anyone could guess how dull and square the rooms were inside, but they appeared here and there as if by accident, sometimes at a corner, sometimes on the top of another window, sometimes under the battlements, wherever, in fact, the little builder prince had felt inclined to put a window. And the most wonderful thing of all... Was that however much he tried to peep through them, he could not possibly see what the rooms were like beyond. So the palace he had built himself was full of beautiful halls and rooms and passages that no one would ever be able to see. No doubt, exclaimed Prince Piketty, this is the most wonderful palace that ever was built.
Just then Dimples, the prime minister's little daughter, ran into the room. How absurd, she cried. Why, it isn't a real palace at all. It's real enough for me, said Prince Piketty. When I am grown up and a king, I shall have a palace exactly like this to live in. Dimples came and sat on the floor by the prince. I shouldn't like to live in a palace that would tumble down directly you pulled out the bottom brick, she observed, placing her fat little finger on the brick as she spoke. The prince seized her hand hastily. There will be no girls in my palace, he said with dignity. It is only girls who want to pull down other people's palaces. Dimples put her head to one side and examined the palace afresh.
How untidy your steps are, she remarked. The top one is shorter than the others, and there is a join in the middle of the second one. The prince felt a little hurt. It's not my fault if the bricks are not all the same length, he said. Besides, those things do not matter. Only look at my beautiful windows. Dimples looked and burst out laughing. What funny windows, she exclaimed. Why, you can't see into the rooms. What is the use of having a palace when you don't know what it is like inside? You don't understand, answered Prince Piketty. Anybody can see inside an ordinary palace. This is a particular palace, you see. Dimples did not see at all, so she changed the conversation. What are all those soldiers doing on the table, she asked.
They are not on the table, explained the prince. They have been marching since yesterday morning, and they are on the road to my fairy palace. He then began to station his soldiers on the battlements of the two lofty towers. I suppose you think your wooden soldiers are real, too, laughed the prime minister's daughter. Hush, whispered the prince. If you speak so loud, they will hear you, and it would never do for them to know that you called them wooden. Anything might happen if you made them really angry. You are only talking nonsense, said Dimples, which is what she always said when she did not understand what the prince meant. At the same time, she could not help being struck by the look on the face of the soldier that Prince Piketty had just picked up.
It was the captain of the little regiment, and as the prince placed him at the post of danger on the bottom brick of all, she felt sure that she saw a flush of anger on his painted wooden cheeks and a gleam of mischief in his round black eyes. He's only a toy soldier. Said Dimples, tossing her head, but she did not say it loud, and it is certain that she felt a little uncomfortable all the rest of that day about the look on the captain's face. Now, Dimples had come to stay with the prince for a few days, and it happened that the room in which she slept was next to the royal nursery. And right in the middle of the night, which, as everyone knows, is the time for wimps and fairies to be about, she awoke suddenly with a most unpleasant start.
There, by the side of her bed, stood one of the prince's wooden soldiers, shouldering his wooden gun as though he had never done anything else for the whole of his life, which was certainly the truth, and holding himself just for all the world as though he were glued together. He was certainly a most military-looking soldier, and if Dimples had not been a particularly brave little girl, she might have been decidedly frightened. What do you want? she asked, sitting up and rubbing her eyes. Follow me. Prince's palace. Captain's orders," said the little soldier in Three Jerks, and he turned round and marched stiffly toward the door. His tone was hard, but then, of course, his voice, like everything else about him, was made of wood.
Dimples made no fuss about obeying him, for she was always ready for an adventure. So out of bed she jumped without any more ado and followed him into the next room. It took them several minutes to get there, because the soldier walked so very slowly. But this, again, was not surprising. For people with wooden legs cannot be expected to walk as fast as ordinary folk. When they reached the nursery, Dimples gave a cry of surprise. It was evident that the prince's palace had sprung upwards since the afternoon, for the two towers were now far above her head. While as for the drawbridge, by the time she had crossed it and mounted the magnificent flight of steps, she found herself quite out of breath.
Perhaps it is a real palace after all, she said doubtfully. Don't mutter. Bad manners. Captain's prisoner," said the soldier and three jerks as before. Dimples did not answer, for at that moment she stepped inside the prince's palace, and was too breathless with excitement to utter a word. It was, indeed, no ordinary hall in which she found herself. It was built entirely of oak beams of different lengths, so that in one place the ceiling was low, and in another place it was high. In one corner there were several doors, and in another there were several windows. Here an arch tottered perilously over an opening, and there a solitary pillar blocked up the whole of a doorway. It was truly a wonderful palace, as the prince had said, but it was a little surprising at first sight.
Dimples, however, had no time to think about it, for at that moment a stern voice was heard coming from below the floor of the hall. Dimples looked through a hole in the floor, which was not difficult as the floor was full of holes. And there, on the bottom brick of all, stood the toy captain. "'Come along, bottom brick, captain waiting,' said her guide, and with some difficulty, for it is not easy to jump from beam to beam when one is accustomed to solid floors." She scrambled after him and arrived in front of the terrible captain. "'Oh ho,' said the captain, grasping his sword as tightly as he could. Which was very tight as it happened, because his fingers were glued to it. Who is the real person now, you or I?
The question was a puzzling one, but Dimples did her best to answer it truthfully. Well, she said, I suppose you're real, though I didn't think so before, and I suppose I am real too, but it is all rather confusing, isn't it? Not at all confusing, said the captain, a little rudely. It must be owned. It is quite clear that I am real, of course. But as for you... Why, you are not even painted. No, said Dimples, as politely as she could. I am not painted, and I don't think I want to be painted, thank you. Why, I should never feel safe for a moment if I had a face that anybody could wash off with a sponge. At this, the toy captain was so furious that he shook with anger from head to foot. Do you know, he said, that I have only to pull out the brick on which I am standing, and this whole palace will tumble down on your head?
Of course I know, laughed Dimples. Who was growing less frightened every minute. But if you do, it will tumble down on your head as well as mine. That is true, said the toy captain, but I am a real person, and I am made of wood, so it would make no difference to me. Dimples was obliged to own that there was something in what the captain said, and as she disliked nothing so much as being beaten in an argument, she at once pretended not to be listening. Oh dear, how hungry I am, she said, yawning. If you were real and not made up, said the toy captain, you would never get hungry at all. However, he called out to a soldier who was mounting guard on the top of the pillar just over his head, and ordered him to bring the prisoners some food.
In a few minutes, Dimples found herself in front of a curious meal, served on round cardboard dishes, and consisting of one red jelly, two raw mutton chops, a bunch of grapes, and a slice of salmon. But they won't come off the dishes, will they? asked Dimples, who had fed her dolls for years on the very things that were now placed before her. Of course not, said the Toy Captain. They would have been lost long ago if they had not been stuck on. What more can you want? If you are a real person, as you pretend to be, your appetite would be taken away by the mere sight of dishes like those. This, in fact, was what had already happened to Dimples, for there was nothing very enticing about a jelly from which she remembered sucking the paint only a week ago.
While, as for the other things, even her youngest and most favorite doll was beginning to grow tired of their monotony, so she made no objection when the captain ordered the dishes removed. Now, you have satisfied your hunger, continued the captain. I will order you to be taken upstairs to the dungeon. Upstairs, exclaimed Dimples. What a funny place for a dungeon. Funny? Not in the least, said the captain severely. In a palace of this kind, you must take the rooms as you find them. You will find the dungeon squeezed between the drawing room and the kitchen at the very top of the left-hand tower. There, you will have to stop until the king comes. Who is the king? asked Dimples, curiously. Before the toy captain had time to answer, the band of the regiment struck up an inspiriting march.
To be sure, there were only two wooden drummer boys and two wooden trumpeters, of whom one had lost his trumpet, and was therefore obliged to blow continually through his stiffened fingers. But for all that, they made quite a cheerful noise, and in the middle of it, the king mounted the steps and entered the palace. "'Hurrah! The king! It is the king!' shouted the whole regiment in twenty wooden voices. "'The king!' repeated Dimples. "'Why, it's the prince!' "'Don't talk nonsense,' said the captain gruffly. "'Do you suppose we would allow ourselves to be commanded by a mere prince?' "'This is a real king, I can tell you. Though he isn't made of wood, more's the pity.'" And when Dimples saw the dignified way in which the little king walked into the palace, she could not help agreeing that he was a very real king.
Indeed, she found it difficult to believe that he was nothing but her playfellow, the Prince Piketty, for never before had she seen him look so happy and triumphant. There was no doubt that the little king had found his kingdom, and Dimples, remembering that she was really his prisoner, began to wish she had not teased him so much about his toy palace and his toy soldiers. But the king did not even see her. He walked straight into the great hall and then stood still and drew a long breath of satisfaction. It is the most wonderful palace that ever was built, he murmured to himself. It is much, much more wonderful than I thought. Then his eyes fell upon Dimples, who was trying to hide behind the stiff figure of the toy captain on the bottom brick of all.
What is that girl doing in my palace? asked the king, frowning. "'Please, Your Majesty. It is Your Majesty's prisoner,' answered the Captain. "'She is waiting for Your Majesty to decide on her punishment.' "'What has the prisoner done?' asked the King, in as dignified a manner as he could assume, considering that he stood on a tottering brick at the edge of the abyss in which the Captain and his prisoner awaited him. "'Please, Your Majesty. She was heard to say that Your Majesty's army was not a real army, and that I, Your Majesty, I, was nothing but a toy soldier,' said the Captain." And he again shook with anger from head to foot, which, after all, was the only way he could shake, because he was made all in one piece.
Send the prisoner here, commended the king. It is not safe to keep a prisoner on the bottom brick, especially when she is a girl. So Dimples, wishing from the bottom of her heart that the little playfellow she had teased had not been suddenly changed into a king, clambered up again into the hall. Prince Piketty, she said in an anxious undertone as soon as she was near him. I do think it is a real palace now, I do, really. Why, it's only Dimples, exclaimed the king, and he nearly tumbled off the edge of the floor in his surprise. Then he remembered that he was a king and tried to become dignified again, which, of course, was exceedingly difficult now that the prime minister's daughter was there to see.
As for Dimples, she had not played with the prince all her life for nothing, and she quite ceased to be frightened of him as soon as she came face to face with him. If you let that nasty captain punish me, I'll tell them all you're only a little boy and not a king at all, she whispered, and her round little face twinkled with merriment. The king wavered. I always said I would have no girls in my palace, he murmured sorrowfully. Will you promise? persisted Dimples. The king avoided her eyes. It was very hard not to give in and smile, too, when Dimples looked like that. After all, he reflected, if Dimples was a girl and did not understand things properly, she made an excellent playfellow, and the most wonderful palace in the world might grow a little dull if there were only wooden soldiers to share it with.
So the king made up his mind and took the prisoner by one hand, and waved his other in a royal manner to the captain. I will talk it over with the prisoner, he announced, so do not let us be disturbed. And you need not take any more prisoners without consulting me, he added hastily. For he really feared that his nurse might be the next prisoner, and then where would be the fun of being a king at all? Now let us go and explore your palace, said Dimples impatiently, and the captain was left on the bottom brick to get over his disappointment. It would be impossible to describe how the two children wandered over the fairy palace that the prince had built, how they climbed from one floor to another, how they dropped from arch to pillar.
How they wound their way in and out of delightful passages, finding fresh, secret rooms as they went. How from one window they looked down on the vast nursery table-land, and from another caught a glimpse of the towering rocking horse. How they quite forgot they were king and prisoner, and stood at last hand-in-hand on the battlements of the highest tower, and told each other what fun it was to play in a real fairy palace. The toy captain, however, had not forgotten anything. And when he saw them talking in this familiar manner on the battlements, which he could easily do from his position on the bottom brick, so cleverly was this wonderful palace built, he felt it was high time to interfere.
Has your majesty decided how to punish the prisoner? asks the toy captain, holding himself in his very stiffest manner and raising his voice sufficiently to be heard on the battlements. The king looked at the prisoner, and the prisoner laughed at the king. Well, said Dimples demurely, Has your Majesty made up his mind? Oh, don't, whispered his Majesty crossly. You know I can't behave like a king if you laugh at me. Then he folded his arms and looked down at the captain. I have decided not to punish the prisoner at all, he said solemnly. What? cried the captain furiously. You are not going to punish the prisoner at all? No, said his Majesty, growing bolder. And what is more, I'm going to have you beheaded for interfering in the King's private affairs.
Even Dimples felt a little nervous when she saw the look that crept over the captain's face. Oh, dear, she whispered to the Prince. That is how he looked yesterday when I said he wasn't real. Would it not be wiser to make friends with him? But her little playfellow was looking as he had looked when he had first entered the palace. A king, he said grandly, makes neither friends nor enemies. The captain is only my toy, and I can do as I will with him. The captain's fury knew no bounds when he overheard this. That is what comes of having a king who is not made of wood, he said. But you have forgotten one thing, your majesty. And what is that? asked the king, smiling. The bottom brick, said the toy captain, as he stooped and pulled it out.
Truly, there had never been such a shatter and a clatter and a tumble as when the toy captain pulled out the bottom brick of the prince's palace, and in the midst of it all, the children felt themselves falling and falling and falling, and louder than it all sounded the mocking laughter of the toy captain. Some people would say it was only a dream, observed the prince Piketty the next morning as they stood over the ruins on the nursery floor. It can have been a dream, answered Dimples, who was always practical. "'Because here's the head of the toy captain.' "'And here,' added the prince, bending down, "'is his body. So he was beheaded after all.' "'I wish,' sighed Dimples, "'that it could all come over again.
"'It will someday,' the prince assured her, "'when I am king and have built another palace like this one.' "'But I shall not be there,' pouted Dimples, "'because you won't have any girls in your palace.' "'Prince Piketty kicked the headless captain "'about the floor thoughtfully.' Well, I'm not quite sure, he said, growing a little red. Perhaps I'll have one girl. Will you? laughed Dimples. But what if she pulls down your wonderful palace? Ah, said Prince Piketty gravely, I shall not tell her about the bottom brick.
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5 05 - Rumpelstiltzkin 6:40
Rumpelstiltskin by the Brothers Grimm Rumpelstiltskin. There was once upon a time a poor miller who had a very beautiful daughter. Now it happened one day that he had an audience with the king, and in order to appear a person of some importance, He told him that he had a daughter who could spin straw into gold. Now that's a talent worth having, said the king to the miller. If your daughter is as clever as you say, bring her to my palace tomorrow, and I'll put her to the test. When the girl was brought to him, he led her into a room full of straw, gave her a spinning wheel and a spindle, and said, Now set to work and spin all night till early dawn, and if by that time you haven't spun the straw into gold, you shall die.
Then he closed the door behind him and left her alone inside. So the poor Miller's daughter sat down and didn't know what in the world she was to do. She hadn't the last idea of how to spin straw into gold, and became at last so miserable that she began to cry. Suddenly the door opened and in stepped a tiny little man, and said, "'Good evening, Miss Miller made. Why are you crying so bitterly?' "'Oh,' answered the girl, I have to spin straw into gold, and haven't a notion how it's done. What will you give me if I spin it for you? asked the mannequin. My necklace, replied the girl. The little man took the necklace, sat himself down at the wheel, and whirr, whirr, whirr, the wheel went round three times, and the bobbin was full.
Then he put on another, and whirr, whirr, whirr, the wheel went round three times, and the second, too, was full. And so it went on till the morning, when all the straw was spun away, and all the bobbins were full of gold. As soon as the sun rose, the king came, and when he perceived the gold he was astonished and delighted, but his heart only lusted more than ever after the precious metal. He had the miller's daughter put into another room full of straw, much bigger than the first, and bade her, if she valued her life, spin it all into gold before the following morning. The girl didn't know what to do, and began to cry. Then the door opened as before, and the tiny little man appeared and said, "'What'll you give me if I spin the straw into gold for you?' "'The ring from my finger,' answered the girl.
The manikin took the ring, and whirr. Round went the spinning wheel again, and when morning broke he had spun all the straw into glittering gold. The king was pleased beyond measure at the sights, but his greed for gold was still not satisfied. And he had the miller's daughter brought into a yet bigger room full of straw, and said, You must spin all this way in the night. But if you succeed this time, you shall become my wife. She's only a miller's daughter, it's true, he thought, but I couldn't find a richer wife if I were to search the whole world over. When the girl was alone, the little man appeared for the third time, and said, What'll you give me if I spin the straw for you once again? "'I've nothing more to give,' answered the girl.
"'Then promise me, when you are queen, to give me your first child.' "'Who knows what may not happen before that?' thought the miller's daughter. And besides, she saw no other way out of it. So she promised the mannequin what he demanded, and he set to work once more, and spun the straw into gold. When the king came in the morning, and found everything as he had desired, he straightaway made her his wife, and the miller's daughter became a queen.'" When a year had passed, a beautiful son was born to her, and she thought no more of the little man, till all of a sudden one day he stepped into her room and said, Now give me what you promised. The queen was in a great state, and offered the little man all the riches in her kingdom, if he would only leave her the child.
But the mannequin said, No, a living creature is dearer to me than all the treasures in the world. Then the queen began to cry and sob so bitterly that the little man was sorry for her, and said, "'I'll give you three days to guess my name, and if you find it out in that time you may keep your child.' Then the queen pondered the whole night over all the names she had ever heard, and sent a messenger to scour the land and to pick up far and near any names he could come across. When the little man arrived, on the following day she began with Caspar, Melcher, Baljazar, and all the other names she knew in a string, but at each one the mannequin called out, That's not my name. The next day she sent to inquire the names of all the people in the neighborhood, and had a long list of the most uncommon and extraordinary for the little man when he made his appearance.
Is your name, perhaps, Sheepshanks, Crookshanks, Spindleshanks? But he always replied, That's not my name. On the third day the messenger returned and announced, I have not been able to find any new names, but as I came upon a high hill round the corner of the wood, where the foxes and hares bid each other good night, I saw a little house, and in front of the house burned a fire, and round the fire sprang the most grotesque little man hopping on one leg and crying. Tomorrow I brew, today I bake, and then the child away I'll take. For little deems my royal dame that Rumpelstiltskin is my name. You can imagine the Queen's delight at hearing the name, and when the little man stepped in shortly afterward and asked, Now, my Lady Queen, what's my name?
She asked first, Is your name Conrad? No. Is your name Harry? No. Is your name, perhaps, Rumpelstiltskin? Some demon has told you that. Some demon has told you that. Screamed the little man, and in his rage drove his right foot so far into the ground that it sank in up to his waist. Then, in a passion, he seized the left foot with both hands and tore himself in two.
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6 06 - The Story the Swallow Didn't Tell 11:42
The Story The Swallow Didn't Tell by Clara Dillingham Pearson. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information, or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org.
Listen, said the Nioxx, don't you hear some friends coming? The off-ox raised his head from the grass and stopped to brush away a fly, for you never could hurry either of the brothers. "'I don't hear any footfalls,' he said. "'You should listen for wings, not feet,' said the nigh-ox. "'And for voices, too.' Even as he spoke, there floated down from the clear air overhead a soft "'Tiddle-iddle-iddle-lee!' As though some bird were laughing for happiness. There was not a cloud in the sky, and the meadow was covered with thousands and thousands of green grass blades, each so small and tender, and yet together making a most beautiful carpet for the feet of the farmyard people, and offering them sweet and juicy food after their winter fare of hay and grain.
Truly, it was a day to make one laugh aloud for joy. The alder tassels fluttered and danced in the spring breeze, while the smallest and shyest of the willow pussies crept from their little brown houses on the branches to grow in the sunshine. Tiddle-iddle-iddle-iddle-lee! Tiddle-iddle-iddle-lee! And this time it was louder and clearer than before. The Swallows! cried the oxen to each other. Then they straightened their strong necks and bellowed to the horses, who were drawing the plow in the field beyond. The swallows are coming! As soon as the horses reached the end of the furrow and could rest a minute, they tossed their heads and whinnied with delight. Then they looked around at the farmer, and wished that he knew enough of the farmyard language.
To understand what they wanted to tell him. They knew he would be glad to hear of their friend's return, for had they not seen him pick up a young swallow one day and put him in a safer place? Tiddle-iddle-iddle-lee! And there was a sudden darkening of the sky above their heads, a whirr of many wings, a chattering and laughing of soft voices, and the swallows had come. Perched on the ridge pole of the big barn they rested and visited, and heard all the news. The doves were there, walking up and down the sloping sides of the roof, and cooing to each other about the simple things of everyday life. You know the doves stay at home all winter, and so it makes a great change when their neighbors, the swallows, return.
They are firm friends in spite of their very different ways of living. There was never a dove who would be a swallow if he could. Yet, the plump, quiet, gray, and white doves dearly love the dashing swallows, and happy is the squab who can get a swallow to tell him stories of the great world. "'Isn't it good to be home, home, home?' sang one swallow. I never set my claws on another ridgepole as comfortable as this. I'm going to look at my old nest, said a young swallow, as she suddenly flew down to the eaves. I think I'll go, too, said another young swallow, springing away from his perch. He was a handsome fellow, with a glistening dark blue head and back, a long forked tail which showed a white stripe on the underside.
A rich buff vest, and a deep blue collar, all of the finest feathers. He loved the young swallow whom he was following, and he wanted to tell her so. "'There is the nest where I was hatched,' she said. "'Would you think I was ever crowded in there with five brothers and sisters? It was a comfortable nest, too, before the winter winds and snow wore it away.'" I wonder how it would seem to be a fledgling again. She snuggled down in the old nest until he could see only her forked tail and her dainty head over the edge. Her vest was quite hidden, and the only light feathers that showed were the reddish buff ones on throat and face. These were not so bright as his, but still she was beautiful to him.
He loved every feather on her body. "'I don't want you to be a fledgling again,' he cried. "'I want you to help me make a home under the eaves, a lovely little nest of mud and straw, where you can rest, as you are now doing, while I bring food to you. Will you?' "'Yes!' she cried. "'Tiddle-iddle-iddle-iddle-ee! Oh, tiddle-iddle-iddle-ee!' And she flew far up into the blue sky while he followed her, twittering and singing. "'Where are those young people going?' said an older swallow. "'I should think they had flown far enough for today without circling around for the fun of it.' "'Don't you remember the days when you were young?' said the swallow next to him. "'When I was young,' he answered. "'My dear, I am young now.
I shall always be young in the springtime. I shall never be old except when I am molting.'" Just then, a family of doves came pattering over the roof, swaying their heads at every step. "'We are so glad to see you back,' said the father. "'We had a long, cold winter, and we thought often of you.' "'A very cold winter,' cooed his plump little wife. "'Tell me a story,' said a young dove, their son. "'Hush, hush,' said the father dove. "'This is our son.'" He added. And this is his sister. We think them quite a pair. Our last brood, you know. Tell us a story, said the young dove again. Hush, dear. You mustn't tease the swallow, said his mother. They are so fond of stories, she cooed, and they have heard that your family are great travelers.
But I want him to tell us a story, said the young dove. I think he might. This made the swallow feel very uncomfortable, for he could see that the children had been badly brought up, and he did not want to tell them a story just then. Perhaps you would like to hear about our journey south, said he. Last fall, when the maples began to show red and yellow leaves among the green, we felt like flying away. It was quite warm weather. And the forest birds were still here, but when we feel like flying south, we always begin to get ready. I never feel like flying south, said the young dove. I don't see why you should. That is because I am a swallow, and you are a farmyard dove. We talked about it to each other, and one day we were ready to start.
We all had on our new feathers and felt strong and well. We started out together, but the young birds and their mothers could not keep up with the rest, so we went on ahead. Ahead of whom? said the young dove, who had been preening his feathers when he should have been listening. Ahead of the mothers and their fledglings. We flew over farms where there were doves like you. Over rivers where the wild ducks were feeding by the shore, and over towns where crowds of boys and girls were going into large buildings, while on top of these buildings were large bells singing ding dong, ding dong, ding dong. I don't think that was a very pretty song, said the young doe. Hush, said his mother. You mustn't interrupt the swallow.
And at last we came to a great lake," said the Swallow. It was so great that when we had flown over it for a while, we could not see land at all, and our eyes would not tell us which way to go. We just went on as birds must in such places, flying as we felt we ought, and not stopping to ask why or to wonder if we were right. Of course, we Swallows never stopped to eat. For we catch our food as we fly. But we did sometimes stop to rest. Just after we had crossed this great lake, we alighted. It was then that a very queer thing happened, and this is really the story that I started to tell. Oh, said the young dove and his sister, how very exciting! But wait just a minute while we peep over the edge of the roof and see what the farmer is doing.
And before anybody could say a word, they had pattered away to look. The birds who were there say that the Swallow seemed quite disgusted, and surely nobody could blame him if he did. "'You must excuse them,' cooed their mother. "'They are really hardly more than squabs yet, and I can't bear to speak severely to them. I'm sure they didn't mean to be rude.' "'Certainly, certainly,' said the Swallow. I will excuse them, and you must excuse me. I wish to see a few of my old friends before the sun goes down. Good afternoon. And he darted away. The young doves came pattering back, swaying their heads as they walked. Why, where is the swallow? They cried. What made him go away? Right at the best part of the story, too.
We don't see why folks are so disagreeable. People never are as nice to us as they are to other young doves. Hush," said their mother. "'You mustn't talk that way. Fly off for something to eat, and never mind about the rest of the story.' When they were gone, she said to her husband, "'I wonder if they did hurt the swallow's feelings. But then they are so young, hardly more than squabs.' She forgot that even squabs should be thoughtful of others, and that no dove ever amounts to anything unless he begins in the right way as a squab.
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7 07 - The Tale of Two Bad Mice 5:58
The Tale of Two Bad Mice by Beatrix Potter. This is a LibriBox recording. All LibriBox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriBox.org.
Once upon a time, there was a very beautiful doll's house. It was red brick with wide windows and it had real muslin curtains, and a front door and a chimney. It belonged to two adults called Lucinda and Jane. At least it belonged to Lucinda, but she never ordered meals. Jane was the cook, but she never did any cooking, because the dinner had been bought ready-made in a box full of shavings. There were two red lobsters and a ham, a fish, a pudding and some pears and oranges. They would not come off the plates, but they were extremely beautiful. One morning Lucinda and Jane had gone out for a drive in the doll's perambulator. There was no one in the nursery, and it was very quiet. Presently there was a little scuffling, scratching noise in a corner near the fireplace, where there was a hole under the sketching board.
Tom Fom put out his head for a moment, and then popped it in again. Tom Fom was a mouse. A minute afterwards, Honka Monka, his wife, Put her head out to, and when she saw that there was no one in the nursery, she ventured out on the old cloth under the coal-box. The doll's house stood at the other side of the fireplace. Town Farm and Hunga-Munga went cautiously across the hard rock. They pushed the front door. It was not fast. Town Farm and Hunga-Munga went upstairs and peeped into the dining-room. Then they squeaked with joy. Such a lovely dinner was laid out upon the table. There were tin spoons and lead knives and forks, and two dolly chairs, all so convenient. Tom Fom set to work at once to carve the ham.
It was a beautiful, shiny yellow streak with red. The knife crumpled up and hurt him. He put his finger in his mouth. It is not boiling off. It is hard. You have a try, Hunkamunkah. Hunga Monka stood up in her chair and chopped up the ham with another lead knife. It's as hard as the ham's of the cheesemongers, said Hunga Monka. The ham broke off the plate with a jerk and rolled under the table. Let it alone, said Tom Pham. Give me some fish, Hunga Monka. Hunga Monka tried every tiny spoon in turn. The fish was glued to the dish. Then Tom Pham lost his temper. He put the ham in the middle of the floor and hit it with the tongs and with the shovel. Bang, bang, smash, smash. The ham flew all into pieces, for underneath the shiny paint, it was made of nothing but plaster.
Then there was no end to the rage and disappointment of Tom Fon and Hunga Munga. They broke up the pudding, the lobsters, the pears, and the oranges. As the fish would not come off the plate, They put it into the red hot crinkly pepper fire in the kitchen, but it would not burn either. Tong Phong went up the kitchen chimney and looked out at the top, there was no suit. While Tong Phong was up the chimney, Hunga Munga had another disappointment. She found some tiny canisters upon the trestle, labeled rice, coffee, sago. But when she turned them upside down, There was nothing inside that said red and blue beads. Then those mice said to her to do all the mischief they could, especially Tomfam. He took Jane's clothes out of the chest of drawers in her bedroom and he threw them out of the top floor window.
But Hunga Munga had a frugal mind. After pulling half the feathers out of Lucinda's bolster, she remembered that she herself was in want of a feather bed. With Tom Pham's assistance, she carried the bolster downstairs and across the hard rock. It was difficult to squeeze the bolster into the mouse hole, but they managed it somehow. Then Hunga Monka went back and fetched a chair, a burcase, a birdcage, and several small odds and ends. The burcase and the birdcage refused to go into the mouse hole. Hunga Monka left them behind the call box and went to fetch a cradle. Unca-munca was just returning with another chair, when suddenly there was a noise of talking outside upon the landing. The mice rushed back to the hall, and the dolls came into the nursery.
What a sight met the eyes of Jane and Lucinda. Lucinda sat upon the opposite kitchen stove and stared, and Jane leaned against the kitchen dresser and smiled, but neither of them made any remark. The bouquets and the burrow-cage were rescued from under the coal-box, But Hunga Munka has got the cradle and some of Lucinda's clothes. She also has some useful paws and pants, and several other things. The little girl at the doll's house belonged to said, I will get a doll dressed like a policeman. But the nurse said, I will set a mouse trap. So that is the story of the two bad mice. But they were not so very, very naughty after all, because Tom Pham paid for everything he broke. He found a crooked sixpence under the hard rug, and upon Christmas Eve, he and Hunca Munca stuffed it into one of the stockings of Lucinda and Jane.
And very early every morning, before anybody is awake, Hunca Munca comes with her dustpan and her broom to sweep the dolly's house.
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8 08 - The Butterfly's Ball 31:15
The Butterfly's Ball, written by R. M. Ballantine. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information, or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. The Butterfly's Ball, Chapter One. The Butterfly's Ball and the Grasshopper's Feast. Come, take up your hats, and away let us haste. To the butterfly's ball and the grasshopper's feast. For the trumpeter Godfly has summoned his crew, and the rebels are now only waiting for you. On the smooth-shaven grass by the side of the wood, beneath a broad oak that for ages has stood, see the children of earth and the tenants of air, for an evening's amusements together repair. And there came the beetle, so blind and so black, who carried the emmet his friend on his back.
And there came the gnat and the dragonfly, too, and all their relations, green, orange, and blue. And there came the moth, with her plumaged of down, and the hornet, with jacket of yellow and brown, who with him the wasp his companion did bring. They promised that evening to lay by their sting. Then the sly little dormouse peeped out of his hole and led to the feast his blind cousin, the mole, and the snail with her horns peeping out from her shell came fatigued with the distance the length of an L. A mushroom the table, and on it was spread a water-dock leaf, which their tablecloth made. The viands were various to each of their taste. And the bee brought the honey to sweeten the feast. With steps more majestic, the snail did advance, and he promised the gazers a menuet dance.
But they all laughed so loudly, he pulled in his head and went in his own little chamber to bed. Then as evening gave way to the shadows of night, their watchman, the glow-warm, came out with his light. So home, let us hasten, while yet we can see, for no watchman is waiting for you or for me.
Chapter Two. The Butterfly's Ball and the Grasshopper's Feast. Come, take up your hats, and away let us haste, to the butterfly's ball and the grasshopper's feast. For the trumpeter, Godfly, has summoned his crew, and the rebels are now only waiting for you. On the smooth-shaven grass, by the side of the wood, beneath a broad oak that for ages has stood, see the children of earth and the tenants of air, for an evening's amusement together repair. It was very early, one delightful morning in summer, when the trumpeter godfly sounded his horn, inviting all the insects in the forest to the butterflies' ball and the grasshopper's feast. The sun shone brightly, the air was mild and soft, and the scent of wildflowers delicious, so that not one of the insects thought of staying at home.
Butterflies, beetles, bees, wasps, snails, Grasshoppers, ants, all put on their best coats and frocks, all put on their sweetest smiles, and all hurried off in little bands to the ball, talking and laughing and humming and buzzing by the way as if they were the happiest creatures in the wide world. Even the old beetle that had been run over by a cartwheel and squeezed nearly to death got out of bed. When he heard what was going on, and lived along with the rest, though he had been confined to the house for six months before. One or two butterflies that were never known to go out, except in the very finest weather, and even then carefully wrapped up, determined to venture. They were long in making up their minds about it.
One thought it looked a very little like rain. Another feared that the light breeze might give them a cold. However, they put on a great many cloaks and went. From all directions they came and assembled on a smooth grassy spot under an old oak tree where the revels were to take place. Some crawled slowly along the ground. Some bounded quickly over hill and dale. Some came running and tumbling, jumping and hitting against things in their haste. Some came swiftly through the air and alighted so suddenly as to tumble head over heels. Others flew quietly to the scene and fluttered lightly about, admiring the gay company they were about to join. And there came the beetle, so blind and so black, who carried the Emmet, his friend, on his back.
And there came the net, and the dragonfly, too, and all their relations, green, orange, and blue. The black beetle was the first to make his appearance. He carried his dear friend, the emmet, on his back, and a sad journey they had of it. To be sure, being very blind, the beetle was constantly falling over twigs, knocking his shins against the edges of leaves, and tumbling into ditches, so that the poor Emmet had many terrible falls. And once the great beetle fell on the top of him and crushed him a good deal, but it was very pleasant to see how cheerful they were under all this. On getting up after a fall, the beetle always laughs. So boisterously that the tears ran down his cheeks, and his black sides nearly cracked, while the little Emmett said gaily, "'Ah, my friend, accidents will happen.
Not hurt, I hope. Come, get along once more.' And then he jumped up on his friend's back again, and away they went, as merrily as ever. A gnat and a dragonfly, with a great many of their relations, arrived about the same time with the beetle. They looked quite charming in their brilliant dresses, the colors of which were chiefly green, orange, and blue. A large blue bottle fly, with a very light waist coat, and a hat stuck on the one side of his head, said that the dragonflies were lovely, and that Miss Gnat was quite killing. This was an odd thing to say, but Mr. Bluebottom meant by it that she was very beautiful. Indeed, it was said that he fell in love with Miss Nat, for he danced with nobody else during the whole afternoon.
And there came the moth, with her plumage of down, and the hornet with jacket of yellow and brown. Who with him the wasp his companion did bring, they promised that evening to lay by their sting. The moth was sound asleep when the godfly blew his trumpet. She had sat up too late the night before, and owing to having indulged this bad habit, had overslept herself the following morning. However, she tried by her activity to make up for the lost time. She saw the other insects hurrying past her house in crowds, so she threw on her clothes as fast as possible. The moth was prettily dressed in a soft garment of down, and as she was a modest creature, everyone loved her. On leaving home, she observed the wasp and the hornet passing.
They were dressed in rich suits of brown and yellow. At sight of them, she was a little frightened and endeavored to run back to her house until they should pass by. But they caught sight of her and immediately gave chase, screaming out loud, Oh dear Mrs. Moth, pray don't be alarmed. We have laid by our stings for today, and won't hurt you. They soon caught her, although she ran as fast as she could. So the wasp and the hornet each offered her an arm, and obliged her to walk between them while they danced along, shouting and singing and winking waggishly to their friends they passed on the road. The poor moth blushed very much at being seen by all her friends in the company of two such wild creatures—a caterpillar and a long-legged beetle, Besides, one or two other insects that chanced to be near laughed very heartily on seeing what had happened, but the moth soon recovered her spirits, and when they arrived at the oak tree, she was walking along with a sprightly step, first talking to the hornet and then chatting to the wasp as if they were the dearest friends.
Then the sly little dormouse peeped out of his hole and led to the feast his blind cousin, the mole. And the snail, with her horns peeping out from her shell, came fatigued with the distance, the length of an L. Come along, you lazy fellow, cried the little Dormouse, knocking with his ivy-headed cane at the door of a molehill. Ay, ay, cousin, shouted the mole. I'll be there in a minute. So the Dormouse stood impatiently tapping his boots till the mole should be ready. The Dormouse was dressed in the height of fashion, and thought himself a rather handsome fellow. Some people said that he was conceited, and indeed a spider that was near at hand plainly told him so. But whether this was true or not, there is no doubt that he was a very kind little fellow, because he came to lead his poor blind cousin to the feast.
What a time you have been, old boy, he said, as the mole appeared, dusting the earth off his coat and white hat. The mole answered that he had been very busy all morning making a new tunnel between his bedroom and the drawing room. He then took his friend's arm, and away they went over the green meadows, where the cowslips and the buttercups grew, making the grass look as if it were dotted all over with gold. Sometimes the two friends stopped by the way to rest under a buttercup and sip a little morning dew, but seeing everyone hasten past them while they wasted their time, the Dormouse jumped up again and cast a sly look at his blind friend as he asked him what he thought of the fine view. Don't make jokes about me being blind, said the Mole, pretending to be angry.
Just at that moment, they both ran into Spider's Web. Oh, how stupid of me, cried the Dormouse. I wasn't looking before me at the time. You might as well be without eyes if you don't use them, said the Mole, as they cleared away the threads of the net, and, making a low bow to the spider, went on their way. Now all this time the snail had been slowly creeping over the stones and winding round the blades of grass and flowers that stood her path to the place of meeting, but she was so long of getting there that the guests began to be impatient and said that perhaps she was not coming at all. She lived under the next tree and had only about four feet to walk, but she was so very slow that she took a long, long time to it.
And at last the grasshopper whispered to the butterfly that she should go and meet her. Away went the butterfly on her gaudy wings, and alighting by the snail's side, began to urge her to make haste. During the butterfly's absence, the wasp, who was always making spiteful remarks, said that it was shameful in the snail to keep them waiting. But the humble bee, who was walking up and down, Conversing with the midge, turned around and said, Remember, you wasp, that you have not brought your sting with you today, so pray do not give way to your spiteful nature. The poor snail has to carry her house on her back, so we should not be angry at her slowness. Some of the other insects said that this was no excuse for the snail, because she knew that she walked very slowly, and should therefore have sat out sooner.
Come, come, cried a young frog, jumping forward. No fighting today, ladies and gentlemen. We have come here to be happy, and here comes the snail at last. As he spoke, the butterfly flew towards them, and the snail crawled in, took off her bonnet, put on her spectacles, and sat down, while the waiters bustled about, placed stools for the guests, and brought in the repast. A mushroomed the table, and on it was spread. A water-dark leaf, which their table-cloth made. The viands were various to each of their tastes, and the bee brought the honey to sweeten the feast. It was perhaps the strangest dinner party that ever was seen. There was such a multitude of odd creatures, of all shapes and sizes and colors, some of whom were by nature bitter enemies and would have fought and killed each other had they met in the woods while taking a walk, but were quite civil and polite to one another now that they met as guests in the butterfly's bower.
Indeed, many of them wished that they could be such good friends at all times as they were then. All the party had now arrived, and there was a great deal of talking and buzzing and humming and jesting as they sat round the table and feasted on good things placed before them. The table was a mushroom covered with a tablecloth of water dock leaf, and on it were placed all the delicious dishes of the woods. The Dormouse brought a good deal of wheat, oats, and barley. The Squirrel brought a bag full of nuts. The Humblebee brought a quantity of fine honey in the comb, which was declared to be the most excellent. In short, everyone brought something or other, so that, when all was spread out beside the good things supplied by Mrs.
Butterfly and Mr. Grasshopper, it seemed the grandest feast that ever was heard of. Such fun there was, to be sure, and such a multitude of voices talking all at once. My dear, cried the butterfly across the table to the grasshopper, I hope you are attending to your friends there. See that you give them enough to eat and plenty of Mountain Dew to drink. Yes, yes, my love, replied the grasshopper. As well as he could for laughing at the jokes of a bloated old spider that sat beside him, then the grasshopper called to the butterfly to send him a slice of wheat. But as the noise prevented his being heard, he jumped over the table at one bound, helped himself, and bounded back again. Two or three young crickets and five or six midgets sat.
At a little side mushroom, they made more noise than all of the grown-up people, but together, and the lady butterfly looked round at them with a smile once or twice, quite delighted to see them so happy and to hear their merry voices ringing through the woods. With steps more majestic, the snail did advance, and he promised the gazers a menuet dance. And they all laughed so loudly he pulled in his head and went in his own little chamber to bed. After dinner, the ball began, and it was the strangest ball that ever was seen. The trumpeter Godfly and a number of his relations, besides several grasshoppers and bees, were the chief musicians. They wanted a bass very much at first, but the bullfrog offered his services.
Although he confessed that he was accustomed to sing alone, then the gentlemen drew on their gloves, flattened their wings, pulled up their collars, and coiled away their tails, while the ladies tightened their garters, ruffled their feathers, and put out their feelers. Oh, how they did dance! Reels were nothing to it. The greatest difficulty was to keep the grasshoppers in order. They became so excited that they sprang quite out of sight every moment. And so lost their partners, and ran against everybody in searching for them. Then the Bullfrog, who sang bass, got a little too much of due, and sang so loudly that he quite drowned all the other players. So Mrs. Butterfly put her claws in her ears, and running up to him said, Oh dear, Mr.
Bullfrog, pray do not sing quite so loudly. The poor bullfrog was almost weeping with joy at the merry scene before him, but he blushed very green on hearing this, and said he had forgotten what he was doing, but would try to be more careful. However, in five minutes more he was worse than ever, so they sent a few hundred beasts to sing trouble beside him and tried to keep him in order. In the middle of all this there was a sudden stop, and a snail stepping forward offered to dance a minuet. This was received with such a roar of laughter that the poor snail, half frightened, half angry, drew in his horns and went to bed on the spot, and the dance was begun anew. By this time the gnats and the midges and some of the other flies had left the ground and retired to enjoy a cool dance in the air.
Two or three spiders mounted up into the oak and fastened threads to some of the branches, by which they dropped suddenly down among the dancers, and seizing their partners round the waist, carried them screaming in among the leaves. So the fun and the noise became louder and louder. On the ground, under the bushes, among the branches of the trees, and in the air, the dancers bounded. Skip laughed, singed, shouted, and flew in a way that had never been seen or heard of before. The merry old bullfrog became quite absurd. He sang and roared like a lion, took up all the young insects in his arms and hugged them, tumbled over the other musicians, and, in short, did so many wild things that they were at length obliged to tie him to the paddock stool, where they left him to enjoy himself.
Then as evening gave way to the shadows of night, their watchman, the glow-worm, came out with his light. So home let us hasten, while yet we can see, for no watchman is waiting for you or for me. The sun went down at last, but still the dancers continued their sport under the old oak tree, when suddenly a clear, beautiful light streamed across the turf. It was the glow-worm's light. How charming, exclaimed the butterfly. It is such a sweet, subdued light. Rather too much subdued, growled the blundering black beetle as he tripped over a twig and pulled his partner, a humble bee, down with him. Couldn't you shine a little brighter, eh? The glowworm shook his head. Couldn't give you another ray to save my life, he said.
But if you send for a few of my friends, they will be happy to come and help me, no doubt. A good suggestion, said the black beetle, assisting his partner to rise. Oh, my poor frock, cried the humble bee, gazing sadly at a long rent in the skirt. Never mind. Let's have it again, cried the beetle, seizing her round the waist and blundering on again in a furious gallop of his own invention. Whom shall I send for the glowworm's relations, muttered the butterfly to herself. "'Send the snail,' said a lively young cricket, who had devoted himself to doing mischief during the whole evening. "'Peace, little goose,' replied the butterfly, tapping the cricket on the nose with her fan, and hastening towards the grasshopper, who was still enthralled and convulsed by the bloated old spider.
"'Whom should we send, my dear?' said the grasshopper, in reply to the butterfly's question. The fly-footman, to be sure, and pray tell him to be smart about it, for I've been run down half a dozen times already by the dancers since the sunset. One lamp is too little for our ballroom. That blind mole has run high. There he comes again. Look out! As he spoke, the mole came, bearing down towards them in a furious Portuguese waltz, with a horrified dragonfly struggling in his arms. The grasshopper made a bound to get out of the way, but at that moment the lively young cricket laid hold of his leg and held him fast. The consequence was that the mole tumbled over him, fell on top of the bloated spider, and hit his head so violently on the breast of the bullfrog that he stopped his noise immediately.
This sudden stoppage of the bass brought the other musicians to a stand. And as a matter of course, stopped the dancing abruptly, with the exception of the deaf squirrel, who had failed to find a partner, and who went on revolving slowly by himself as if nothing had happened. Dear me, exclaimed everybody except the squirrel, what has happened? Oh, nothing worth mentioning, said the grasshopper, getting up with the limp. You young rascal. What? Why? There? Take that. Oh, sobbed the young cricket, pointing with a look of surprise at the spider. What a sight! He might well say so, for the bloated old spider had been flattened out by the weight of the mole to nearly twice her size, and was apparently quite dead.
In great concern, the host and the hostess ran to raise her. Are you hurt, dears? asked the butterfly anxiously. Hurt, exclaimed the grasshopper. Pushing her aside, don't you see she's burst? Oh me, I'm so sorry, exclaimed the mole, wringling his forepaws. At that moment, there was a shout of eager expectation, for the spider was seen to move. The butterfly knelt at her side and bending down, said tenderly, tell me dear, has he burst you? No, not quite, answered the spider faintly. I'm only flattened. Let some of you squeeze my sides. Immediately a dozen of the young crickets surrounded the old lady and pressed her sides with all their might. This had the effect of raising her back a little and enabling her to draw a good long breath, which speedily raised her up to her original size.
There, I'm all right now, she said in a cheerful voice. I'm used to accidents of that sort, and they never leave any bad effects beyond a little stiffness of the lungs. Come, Grasshopper, I'll finish that story. Get on with your dancing, good people. Nobody inquires after me, croaked the bullfrog, rubbing his chest. I had no idea a mole's head was so hard. Have some Mountain Dew, said the butterfly, gracefully handing him a bluebell filled with the precious liquid. It has been gathered on the Scottish hills by a native bee who has just arrived laden with heather honey. The Bullfrog accepted the goblet and drained it to the bottom. "'It is strong,' he said, coughing and smacking his lips. "'Oo-ay,' observed the Scotch Bee.
"'It's good the credit o'been a wee thing nippy.' Under the influence of the dew, the Bullfrog began to sing bass, lustily. The other musicians chimed in. The dancers seized each other by waist and hand, or by tail and wing. Those that happened to have no waist or hands. And the ball was about to go on when the grasshopper shouted, Stop! Your money or your life, added the lively young cricket. Silence, pert monkey. Let us wait a few moments, my friends, for here come our lamps. As she spoke, a soft light was seen in the far distance, Gleaming upon the stems of the trees and steadily advancing. Your relations, Mr. Glowworm, I presume, said the butterfly in a sweet silvery voice. It is so very kind of you to send for them, and so obliging in them to come.
Really, I cannot find words to express my gratitude. The continents of the Glowworm lighted up with pleasure at these words. As the newcomers drew near, they appeared like a great galaxy of minute stars. As if a mass of the Milky Way had been cut off and hurled down to the earth. There were several hundreds of them. As they approached, the whole forest lighted up, and when at last they descended upon the scene of the ball and ranged themselves in a circle round the gay party, it seemed as if the sun himself had risen again to give them light. Only the radiance was softer and more mysteriously tender than that of the sun. Strong light has always an enlivening effect on creatures, whether human or otherwise.
It cheered up the guests of Mrs. Butterfly so much that they gave vent to an irresistible cheer, called for the music, and went on to dancing with more zest and energy than ever, insomuch that the attendant glowworms smiled to each other and nodded their heads. Now it happened that every time the glowworms smiled, their light increased. The lively young cricket observed this, and began to wonder whether their light would increase still more if they were to laugh. "'I'll try to find out,' said he, going up to the small glow-worm, apparently a young one, and requesting her to step aside with him for a moment. The little glow-worm immediately became grave, in other words, dim, and went with him a little way into the woods.
"'Now,' said the lively young cricket, stopping, "'can you laugh?' "'What?' said the little glowworm, smiling, and, of course, lighting up. Yes, that's it. Smile away, but do it harder. I want you to laugh outright. Can't you laugh? Oh, yes, when there is anything to laugh at. Well, do it now. But I can't, please. No, then I'll make you. So saying, the young cricket seized the little glowworm round the waist and tickled her. Of course, she laughed at first, and to the cricket's delight her face became wonderfully bright for a moment, but suddenly it became dim, for he heard her, and she began to cry. You rascal, exclaimed an angry voice, as the grasshopper gave the cricket a kick that sent him head over heels into the grass.
I felt sure you were after mischief, and I was right. Oh, please don't kick him, pleaded the little glow worm. He didn't mean to hurt me. No matter. Get up, sir, and beg her pardon. The young cricket got up at once, and did what he was bid, for he really did not mean mischief, and was sorry he had hurt her. And little Miss Glowworm rewarded him with a smile so radiant that illuminated the spot where they stood quite brilliantly, and sparkled through the tears with rainbow hues. Now, I would laugh to please you if I could," said Miss Glowworm, again smiling. Oh, never mind, my dear. I'll make you and all your kindred laugh before the ball is over," said the lively young cricket, hurrying away and going straight up to the Scotch Bee, who was clad in a tartan plaid and kilt.
Bee," said the cricket, can you dance the Highland Fling? Ay, she can do that. I could show you a better fling than the Highland one," said the cricket. Ho, could ye? Ye must be very clever. Well, yeah, let her see it. Yes, if you'll dance the Highland Fling first, will you do it if Miss Butterfly asks you? The Scotch Bee good-naturedly agreed. Of course, the Cricket had no difficulty in persuading the hostess to ask him. The musicians could not play a reel, but this mattered not, for the bee could hum to himself. Great was the delight and the surprise of the company when they beheld The scotch bee twirling his legs, snapping his fingers, and humming a reel of tolac, while the tartans fluttered round him like shreds of a shattered rainbow.
The dance waxed more and more furious, and the plaudettes of the company grew louder when suddenly the lively young cricket ran in between the bee's legs, tripped him up, and set him sprawling on the grass. A wild shout of laughter burst from the company. Glowworms included, and the ballroom brightened up for a few moments, as if it had been set on fire. That's the fling I spoke of, cried the cricket, leaping up and running away. The Scotch bee sprang up, drew his dirk, and gave chase. But Mr. Grasshopper caught him by the arm and dragged him off. Ho, friends! Supper! Supper! This way! Don't sheath your dirk. I have a haggis ready for you to sheath it in. Come along. "'Give your arm to that bloated old spider there.
She'll keep you in spirits.' The bee was mollified. He gave his arm to the spider. Then all the company went off to sup in a neighboring glade. Shall we describe the supper? We think not. It was beyond description. Delightful. Just as if it was finished, the moon rose from behind a cloud, so the company knew that it was time to go home." Before going away, they all assembled at the foot of the oak, and shook claws with Lady Butterfly and Mr. Grasshopper, saying that they were charmed with the delightful evening they had spent, and that they hoped to be soon invited again. In a few minutes they were all gone. The sounds of their laughing voices, as they returned home, died gradually away, and the shadows of the night spread over the quiet forest and the happy little creatures that slumbered there.
The End The Butterfly's Ball by R.M.
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9 09 - The Elves and the Shoesmaker 3:47
The Elves and the Shoemaker.
A shoemaker, by no fault of his own, had become so poor that at last he had nothing left but leather for one pair of shoes. So in the evening he cut out the shoes which he wished to make the next morning, and as he had a good conscience, he lay down quietly in his bed, commended himself to God, and fell asleep. In the morning, after he had said his prayers and was just going to sit down to work, lo, both shoes stood all finished on his table. He was astounded, and did not know what to say. He took the shoes in his hands to examine them closer, and they were so neatly made that there was no one bad stitch in them, just as if they were meant for a masterpiece. Soon after, a buyer came in, and as the shoes pleased him well, he paid more for them than was customary, and with the money, the shoemaker was able to purchase leather for two pairs of shoes.
He cut them out at night, and next morning was about to set to work with fresh courage, But he had no need to do so, for when he got up, they were already made, and buyers also were not wanting, who gave him money enough to buy leather for four pairs of shoes. The following morning, too, he found the four pairs made, and so it went on constantly. What he cut out in the evening was finished by morning, and so that he soon had his honest living again, and at last became a wealthy man. Now it befell that, one evening, not long before Christmas, when the man had been cutting out, He said to his wife, before going to bed, "'What think you if we were to stay up to-night to see who it is that lends us this helping hand?' The women lighted the idea and lit a candle, and then they hid themselves in a corner of the room, behind some clothes which were hanging there, and watched.
When it was midnight, two pretty, tiny, naked little men came, sat down by the shoemaker's table, took all the work which was cut out before them, and began to stitch, sew, and hammer, so skillfully and so quickly with their little fingers that the shoemaker could not turn away his eyes for astonishment. They did not stop until all was done, and stood finished on the table, and then they ran quickly away. Next morning the woman said, The little men have made us rich, and we really must show that we are grateful for it. They run about so much and have nothing on. It must be cold. I'll tell you what I'll do. I will make them little shirts, coats, vests, and trousers, and knit them both a pair of stockings.
Do you make them two little pairs of shoes? The man said, I shall be very glad to do it. And one night, when everything was ready, they laid their presents. Instead of cut out work, all together on the table, they concealed themselves to see how the little men would behave. At midnight they came bounding in and wanted to get to work at once, but as they did not find any leather cut out, only the pretty little articles of clothing, they were at first astonished, and then they showed intense delight. They dressed themselves with the greatest rapidity, putting the pretty clothes on and singing, Now we are boys so fine to see. Why should we longer cobblers be? Then they danced and skipped and leapt over chairs and benches.
At last they danced out the doors. From that time forward they came no more, but as long as the shoemaker lived, all went well with him, and all his undertakings prospered. End of the Elves and the Shoemaker by Jacob and Wilhelm Grimm.
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10 10 - The Little Red Hen 8:10
The Little Red Hen by Florence White Williams. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. A little red hen lived in a barnyard. She spent almost all of her time walking about the barnyard in her pickety-peckety fashion, scratching everywhere for worms. She dearly loved fat, delicious worms and felt they were Absolutely necessary to the health of her children. As often as she found a worm, she would call, chuck, chuck, chuck, to her chickies. When they were gathered about her, she would distribute choice morsels of her tidbit. A busy little body was she. A cat usually napped lazily in the barn door, not even bothering herself to scare the rat who ran here and there as he pleased.
And as for the pig who lived in the sty, He did not care what happened so long as he could eat and grow fat. One day, the little red hen found a seed. It was a wheat seed, but the little red hen was so accustomed to bugs and worms that she supposed this to be some new and perhaps very delicious kind of meat. She bit it gently and found that it resembled a worm in no way whatsoever as to taste. Although, because it was long and slender, a little red hen might easily be fooled by its appearance. Carrying it about, she made many inquiries as to what it might be. She found it was a wheat seed, and that if planted, it would grow up, and when ripe, it could be made into flour and then into bread. When she discovered that, she knew it ought to be planted.
She was so busy hunting food for herself and her family that naturally she thought she ought not to take time to plant it.
So she thought of the pig, upon whom time must hang heavily, and of the cat, who had nothing to do, and of the great fat rat with his idle hours. And she called loudly, Who will plant the seed? But the pig said, Not I. And the cat said, Not I. And the rat said, Not I.
Well then, said the little red hen, I will. And she did. Then she went on with her daily duties through the long summer days, scratching for worms and feeding her chicks, while the pig grew fat, and the cat grew fat, and the rat grew fat, and the wheat grew tall and ready for harvest. So one day the little red hen chanced to notice how large the wheat was, and that the grain was ripe, so she ran about calling briskly, who will cut the wheat? The pig said, not I. The cat said, not I. And the rest said, not I. Well then, said the little red hen, I will. And she did. She got the sickle from among the farmer's tools in the barn, and proceeded to cut off all of the big plant of wheat. On the ground lay the nicely cut wheat, ready to be gathered and threshed.
But the newest and yellowest and downiest of Miss Hens' chicks set up a peep-peep-peeping in their most vigorous fashion, proclaiming to the world at large, but most particularly to their mother. That she was neglecting them. Poor little red hen. She felt quite bewildered and hardly knew where to turn. Her tension was sorely divided between her duty to her children and her duty to the wheat, for which she felt responsible. So, again, in a very hopeful tone, she called out, Who will fresh the wheat? But the pig with a grunt said, Not I. And the cat with a meow said, Meow. Not I. And the rat, with a squeak, said, squeak, squeak, not I. So the little red hen, looking it must be a minute, rather discouraged, said, well, I will then.
And she did. Of course she had to feed her babies first, though, and when she had gotten them all to sleep for their afternoon nap, she went out and threshed the wheat. Then she called out, who will carry the wheat to the mill to be ground? Turning their backs with snippy glee, that pig said, Not I. And that cat said, Not I. And that rat said, Not I. So the good little red hen could do nothing but say, I will then. And she did. Carrying the sack of wheat, she trudged off to the distant mill. There she ordered the wheat ground into beautiful white flour. When the miller brought her the flower, she walked slowly back all the way to her own barnyard in her own pickety-peckety fashion.
She even managed, in spite of her load, to catch a nice juicy worm now and then, and had one left for the babies when she reached them. Those cunning little fluffballs were so glad to see their mother. For the first time, they really appreciated her.
After this really strenuous day, Miss Hen retired to her slumbers earlier than usual, indeed before the colors came into the sky to herald the setting of the sun, her usual bedtime hour. She would have liked to sleep late in the morning, but her chicks joining in the morning chorus of the hen yard drove away all hopes of such a luxury. Even as she sleepily half opened one eye, the thought came to her that today that She was not in the habit of making bread, although, of course, anyone can make it if he or she follows the recipe with care, and she knew perfectly well that she could do it if necessary. So after her children were fed and made sweet and fresh for the day, she hunted up the pig, the cat, and the rat.
Still confident they would surely help her someday, she sang out, Who will make the bread? Alas for the little red hen! Once more her hopes were dashed. For the pig said, Not I. The cat said, Not I. And the rat said, Not I. So the little red hen said once more, I will then. And she did. Feeling that she might have known all the time that she would have to do it all herself, she went and put on a fresh apron and spotless cook's cap. First of all, she said the dough. As was proper. When it was time, she brought out the molding board and the baking tins, molded the bread, divided it into loaves, and put them into the oven to bake. All while the cat sat lazily by, giggling and chuckling.
And close at hand, the vain rat powdered his nose and admired himself in a mirror. In the distance could be heard the long-drawn snores of the dozing pig. At last the great moment arrived. A delicious odor was wafted upon the autumn breeze. Everywhere the barnyard citizens sniffed the air with delight.
The red hen ambled in her pickety-peckety way towards the source of all this excitement. Although she appeared to be perfectly calm, in reality she could only with difficulty restrain an impulse to dance and sing. For had she not done all the work on this wonderful bread? Small wonder that she was the most excited person in the barn. She did not know whether the bread would be fit to eat, but, joy of joys, when the lovely brown loaves came out of the oven, they were done to perfection. Then, probably because she had acquired the habit, the red hen called out, "'Who will eat the bread?' All the animals in the barnyard were watching hungrily, smacking their lips in anticipation. And the pig said, I will!
And the cat said, I will! And the rat said, I will! But the little red hen said, No, you won't. I will. And she did. End of The Little Red Hen by Florence White Williams
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11 11 - The Nine Lives of a Cat 4:43
The Nine Lives of a Cat, A Tale of Wonder by Charles Bennett. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information, or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. The Nine Lives of a Cat, A Tale of Wonder by Charles Bennett. How many lives has the cat got? Nine! But when she was young, poor kitty was hung. So how many lives has the cat got? Yes, Kitty was hung when she was so young, but as you would hope, she pulled a knife out of her side pocket, and before you could count one, two, three, cut right through the rope. How many lives has the cat got? Eight, but when she was rounder, a boy tried to drown her. So how many lives has the cat got? Yes, a boy tried to drown her, when fatter and rounder, but as you would wish, she slipped the stone off her neck, and before you could count one, two, three, swam like a fish.
How many lives has the cat got? Seven, but as I have learned, poor pussy was burnt, so how many lives has the cat got? Yes, pussy was burnt. As I, too, have learned. But as you will read, she jumped into the water, but before you could count one, two, three, she did indeed. How many lives has the cat got? Six! But she fell off the house running after a mouse, so how many lives has the cat got? Yes, she fell off the house running after a mouse, but as life is sweet, before you could count one, two, three, she came on her feet. How many lives has the cat got? Five. But I hear she has not, for they say she was shot. So how many lives has the cat got? Yes, with a gun she was shot and a trigger it had got.
I saw the man pull it, but Pussy held up her paws like the Wizard of the North, and before you could count one, two, three, caught the bullet. How many lives has the cat got? Four, but people all say she was poisoned one day. So how many lives has the cat got? Yes, it's true. People say she was poisoned one day, and very much it shocked her. But the moment she felt ill, and before you could count one, two, three, she was off to the doctor. How many lives has the cat got? Three. But then the old wall crushed her in its fall. So how many lives has the cat got? Yes. I know the old wall flattened Puss in its fall, and a dozen of her fellows, but Pussy walked sideways into the kitchen, and before you could count, one, two, three, blew herself out with the bellows.
How many lives has the cat got? Two. But bit by a dog, she is dead as a log. So how many lives has the cat got? Yes, bit by a dog, but not dead as a log, as you'll gladly find, for she climbed up the apple tree before you could count one, two, three, and left the dog behind. How many lives has the cat got? One. But then she's grown old and has caught a bad cold, so how many lives has the cat got? Yes, she has grown old and has caught a bad cold. Only bread and milk she touches, except a little gruel. But she burns a great deal of fuel, and you may count one, two, three, a great many times while she hobbles across the room on her crutches. How many lives has the cat got? None. Is it true then, as they said, that poor old puss is dead?
So many lives as she'd got? Yes, the song has all been said, and poor old puss is dead. Let it never be forgot, although not one, two, three, but nine lives she had got. The End. The Nine Lives of a Cat. A Tale of Wonder by Charles Bennett. Read by Pam. Split.
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12 12 - The Real Princess 3:13
The Real Princess by Hans Christian Andersen. The Real Princess by Hans Christian Andersen There was once a prince, and he wanted a princess. But then she must be a real princess. He traveled right round the world to find one, but there was always something wrong. There were plenty of princesses, but whether they were real princesses, he had great difficulty in discovering. There was always something which was not quite right about them. So at last, he had come home again. And he was very sad because he wanted a real princess so badly. One evening, there was a terrible storm. It thundered, and lightened, and rain poured down in torrents. Indeed, it was a fearful night. In the middle of the storm, somebody knocked at the town gate, and the old king himself went to open it.
It was a princess who stood outside. But she was in a terrible state from the rain and the storm. The water streamed out of her hair and clothes. It ran in at the top of her shoes and out at the heel. But she said that she was a real princess. Well, we shall soon see if that is true, thought the old queen. But she said nothing. She went into the bedroom, took all the bedclothes off, and laid a pee on the bedstead. Then she took twenty mattresses and piled them on top of the pea, and then twenty feather beds on top of the mattresses. This was where the princess was to sleep that night. In the morning, they asked her how she had slept. "'Oh, terribly badly,' said the princess. "'I have hardly closed my eyes the whole night.
Heaven knows what was in the bed. I seem to be lying upon some hard thing.'" And my whole body is black and blue this morning. It is terrible. They saw at once that she must be a real princess when she had felt the pea through twenty mattresses and twenty feather beds. Nobody but a real princess could have such a delicate skin. So the prince took her to be his wife. For now, he was sure that he had found a real princess, and the pea was put into a museum, where it may still be seen. If no one has stolen it, now this is a true story.
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13 13 - The Silly Jelly-Fish 6:31
The Silly Jellyfish by B. H. Chamberlain.
The Silly Jellyfish. Once upon a time, the king of the dragons, who had till then lived as a bachelor, took it into his head to get married. His bride was a young dragonette. Just sixteen years old, lovely enough, in very sooth to become the wife of a king. Great were the rejoicings on the occasion. The fishes, both great and small, came to pay their respects and to offer gifts to the newly wedded pair, and for some days all was feasting and merriment. But alas, even dragons have their trials. Before a month had passed, the young dragon queen fell ill. The doctors dosed her with every medicine that was known to them, but all to no purpose. At last they shook their heads, declaring that there was nothing more to be done.
The illness must take its course, and she would probably die. But the sick queen said to her husband, I know of something that will cure me. Only fetch me a live monkey's liver to eat, and I shall get well at once. A live monkey's liver, exclaimed the king. What are you thinking of, my dear? Why, you forget that we dragons live in the sea, while monkeys live far away from here, among the forest trees on land? A monkey's liver? Why, darling, you must be mad. Hereupon, the young dragon queen burst into tears. I only ask you for one small thing, whimpered she, and you won't get it for me. I always thought you didn't really love me. Oh, I wish I would have stayed at home with my own mama and my own papa.
Here, her voice choked with sobs, and she could say no more. Well, of course, the Dragon King did not like to have it thought that he was unkind to his beautiful young wife, so he sent for her trusty servant, the Jellyfish, and said, It is a rather difficult job. But what I want you to try to do is to swim across to land and persuade a live monkey to come here with you. In order to make the monkey willing to come, you can tell him how much nicer everything is here in Dragon Land than away where he lives. But what I really want him for is to cut out his liver and use it as medicine for your young mistress, who, as you know, is dangerously ill. So the jellyfish went off on his strange errand. In those days, he was just like any other fish, with eyes and fins and a tail.
He even had little feet, which made him able to walk on land as well as to swim in the water. It did not take him many hours to swim across to the country where the monkeys lived, and fortunately there just happened to be a fine monkey skipping about among the branches of the trees near the place where the jellyfish landed. So the jellyfish said, Mr. Monkey, I have come to tell you of a country far more beautiful than this. It lies beyond the waves and is called Dragon Land. There is pleasant weather there all year round. There is always plenty of ripe fruit on the trees, and there are none of those mischievous creatures called men. If you will come with me, I will take you there. Just get on my back.
The monkey thought it would be fun to see a new country, so he leaped onto the jellyfish's back, and off they started across the water. But when they had gone about halfway, he began to fear that perhaps there might be some hidden danger. It seemed so odd to be fetched suddenly in that way by a stranger. So he said to the jellyfish, What made you think of coming for me? The jellyfish answered, My master, the king of the dragons, wants you in order to cut out your liver and give it as medicine to his wife, the queen, who is sick. Oh, that's your game, is it? thought the monkey. But he kept his thoughts to himself and only said, Nothing could please me better than to be of service to their majesties.
But it so happens that I left my liver hanging to a branch of that big chestnut tree, which you found me skipping about on. A liver is a thing that weighs a good deal, so I generally take it out and play about without it during the day. We must go back for it. The jellyfish agreed that there was nothing else to be done under the circumstances. For, silly creature that he was, he did not see that the monkey was telling a story in order to avoid getting killed and having his liver used as medicine for the fanciful young dragon queen. When they reached the shore of Monkey Land again, the monkey bounded off the jellyfish's back and up to the topmost branch of the chestnut tree in less than no time.
Then he said, I do not see my liver here. Perhaps somebody has taken it away, but I will look for it. You, meantime, had better go back and tell your master what has happened. He might be anxious about you if you did not get home before dark. So the jellyfish started off a second time, and when he got home, he told the Dragon King everything just as it had happened. But the king flew into a passion with him for his stupidity, and allude to his officers, saying, Away with this fellow. Take him and beat him to a jelly. Don't let a single bone remain unbroken in his body. So the officer seized him and beat him as the king had commanded. That is the reason why, to this very day, jellyfishes have no bones, but are just nothing more than a mass of pulp.
As for the dragon queen, when she found she could not have the monkey's liver, why? She made up her mind that the only thing to do was to get well without it. The End The Silly Jellyfish by B. H.
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14 14 - The Story of a Mother 10:44
A mother sat there with her little child. She was so downcast, so afraid that it should die. It was so pale, the small eyes had closed themselves, and it drew its breath so softly, now and then, with a deep respiration, as if it sighed, and the mother looked still more sorrowfully on the little creature. Then a knocking was heard at the door, and in came a poor old man wrapped up as in a large horse-cloth, for it warms one, and he needed it, as it was the cold winter season. Everything out of doors was covered with ice and snow, and the wind blew so that it cut the face. As the old man trembled with cold and the little child slept a moment, the mother went and poured some ale into a pot and set it on the stove, that it might be warm for him.
The old man sat and rocked the cradle, and the mother sat down on a chair close by him and looked at her little sick child that drew its breath so deep and raised its little hand. "'Do you not think that I shall save him?' she said. Our Lord will not take him from me. And the old man, it was Death himself, he nodded so strangely, it could just as well signify yes or no. And the mother looked down in her lap, and the tears ran down over her cheeks. Her head became so heavy, she had not closed her eyes for three days and nights, and now she slept but only for a moment, when she started up and trembled with cold. What was that? said she, and looked on all sides. But the old man was gone, and her little child was gone.
He had taken it with him, and the old clock in the corner burred and burred. The great laden weight ran down to the floor. Bump! And then the clock also stood still. But the poor mother ran out of the house and cried aloud for her child. Out there, in the midst of the snow, there sat a woman in long black clothes, and she said, Death has been in thy chamber, and I saw him hasten away with thy little child. He goes faster than the wind, and he never brings back what he takes. Oh, only tell me which way he went, said the mother. Tell me the way, and I shall find him. I know it, said the woman in the black clothes, but before I tell it, thou must first sing for me all the songs thou hast sung for thy child.
I am fond of them. I have heard them before. I am night. I saw thy tears whilst thou sang them. "'I will sing them all—all,' said the mother, "'but do not stop me now. I may overtake him. I may find my child.' But Knight stood still and mute. Then the mother wrung her hands, sang and wept, and there were many songs, but yet many more tears. And then Knight said, "'Go to the right into the dark pine forest. Thither I saw death take his way with thy little child.' The roads crossed each other in the depths of the forest, and she no longer knew whither she should go. Then there stood a thorn-bush. There was neither leaf nor flower on it. It was also in the cold winter season, and ice-flakes hung on the branches.
Hast thou not seen death go past with my little child, said the mother? Yes, said the thorn-bush, but I will not tell thee which way he took, unless thou wilt first warm me up at thy heart. I am freezing to death. I shall become a lump of ice. As she pressed the thorn-bush to her breast, so firmly that it might be thoroughly warmed, and the thorns went right into her flesh, and her blood flowed in large drops, but the thorn-bush shot forth fresh green leaves, and there came flowers on it in the cold winter night, and the heart of the afflicted mother was so warm, and the thorn-bush told her the way she should go. Then she came to a large lake, where there was neither ship nor boat. The lake was not frozen sufficiently to bear her, neither was it open nor low enough that she could wade through it, and across it she must go if she would find her child.
Then she lay down to drink up the lake, and that was an impossibility for a human being, but the afflicted mother thought that a miracle might happen nevertheless. "'Oh, what would I not give to come to my child?' said the weeping mother, and she wept still more, and her eyes sunk down in the depths of the waters, and became two precious pearls. But the water bore her up, as if she sat in a swing, and she flew in the rocking waves to the shore on the opposite side, where there stood a mild, broad, strange house. One knew not if it were a mountain with forests and caverns, or if it were built up.' But the poor mother could not see it, and she had wept her eyes out. "'Where shall I find Death, who took away my little child?' she said.
"'He has not come here yet,' said the old, grave woman, who was appointed to look after Death's great greenhouse. "'How have you been able to find the way hither, and who has helped you?' "'Our Lord has helped me,' she said. "'He is merciful, and you will also be so. Where shall I find my little child?' "'Nay, I know not,' said the woman, "'and you cannot see. Many flowers and trees have withered this night. Death will soon come and plant them over again. You certainly know that every person has his or her life's tree or flower, just as every one happens to be settled. They look like other plants, but they have pulsations of the heart. Children's hearts can also be. Go after yours. Perhaps you may know your child's.
But what will you give me if I tell you what you shall do more?' "'I have nothing to give,' said the afflicted mother, "'but I will go to the world's end for you.' "'Nay, I have nothing to do there,' said the woman. "'But you can give me your long black hair. You know yourself that it is fine, and that I like. You shall have my white hair instead, and that's always something.' "'Do you demand nothing else?' said she. "'That I will gladly give you.' And she gave her her fine black hair, and got the old woman's snow-white hair instead." So they went into death's great greenhouse, where flowers and trees grew strainedly into one another. There stood fine hyacinths under glass bells, and there stood strong-stemmed peonies, and there grew water plants, some so fresh, others half sick.
The water-snakes lay down on them, and black crabs pinched their stalks. There stood beautiful palm-trees, oaks, Plantains, there stood parsley and flowering thyme. Every tree and every flower had its name. Each of them was a human life. The human frame still lived. One in China and another in Greenland, round about in the world. There were large trees and small pots, so they stood so stunted in growth and ready to burst the pots. In other places, there was a little dull flower in rich mold. With moss round about it, and it was so petted and nursed. But the distressed mother bent down over all the smallest plants, and heard within them how the human heart beat, and amongst millions she knew her child's.
There it is, cried she, and stretched her hands out over a little blue crocus that hung quite sickly on one side. Don't touch the flower, said the old woman. But place yourself here, and when death comes, I expect him every moment. Do not let him pluck the flower up, but threaten him that you will do the same with the others. Then he will be afraid. He is responsible for them to our Lord, and no one dares to pluck them up before he gives leave. All at once an icy cold rushed through the great hall, and the blind mother could feel that it was death that came. How hast thou been able to find thy way hither? He asked. How couldst thou come quicker than I? "'I am a mother,' said she, and Death stretched out his long hand towards the fine little flower, but she held her hands fast around his, so tight, and yet afraid that she should touch one of the leaves.
Then Death blew on her hands, and she felt that it was cooler and colder than the wind, and her hands fell down powerless. "'Thou canst do anything against me,' said Death. "'But our Lord can,' said she. "'I only do his bidding,' said Death. I am his gardener. I take all his flowers and trees and plant them out in the great garden of paradise in the unknown land. But how they grow there, and how it is there, I dare not tell thee. Give me back, my child, said the mother, and she wept and prayed. At once she seized hold of two beautiful flowers close by, with each hand, and cried out to death, I will tear all thy flowers off, for I am in despair. Touch them not, said death. Thou say'st thou art so unhappy, and now thou wilt make another mother equally unhappy.
Another mother? said the poor woman, and directly let go her hold of both of the flowers. There, thou hast thine eyes, said Death. I fished them up from the lake, they shone so bright. I knew not they were thine. Take them again, they are now brighter than before. Now look down into the deep well close by. I shall tell thee the names of the two flowers, Thou wouldst have torn up, and thou wilt see their whole future life, their whole human existence, and see what thou wast about to disturb and destroy. And she looked down into the well, and it was a happiness to see the one became a blessing to the world, to see how much happiness and joy were felt everywhere. And she saw the other's life, and it was sorrow and distress, horror and wretchedness.
Both of them are God's will, said Death. Which of them is Miss Fortune's flower, and which is that of happiness? asked she. That I will not tell thee, said Death. This shall know from me, that the one flower was thy own child. It was thy child's fate, thou sawest thy own child's future life. Then the mother screamed with terror. Which of them was my child? Tell me. Save the innocent. Save my child from all that misery. Rather take it away. Take it into God's kingdom. Forget my tears, forget my prayers and all that I have done. I do not understand thee, said Death. Wilt thou have thy child again, or shall I go with it there, where thou dost not know? Then the mother wrung her hands, fell on her knees, and prayed to our Lord.
Oh, hear me not when I pray against thy will, which is the best. Hear me not, hear me not. And she bowed her head down in her lap. And death took her child and went with it into the unknown land.
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15 15 - The Tale Of Peter Rabbit 7:03
The Tale of Peter Rabbit by Beatrix Potter. This is a LivriVox recording. All LivriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LivriVox.org. Once upon a time, there were four little rabbits, and their names were Flopsy, Mopsy, Cottontail, and Peter. They lived with their mother in a sandbank. underneath the root of a very big fir tree. "'Now, my dears,' said old Mrs. Rabbit one morning, "'you may go into the fields or down the lane, "'but don't go into Mr. McGregor's garden. "'Your father had an accident there. "'He was put in a pie by Miss McGregor. "'Now run along and don't get into mischief. "'I am going out.' Then old Miss Rabbit took a basket and her umbrella and went through the wood to the baker's.
She bought a loaf of bread and five currant buns. Flopsy, Mopsy, and Cottontail, who were good little bunnies, went down the lane together to gather blackberries. But Peter, who was very naughty, ran straight away to Mr. McGregor's garden. and squeezed under the gate. First he ate some lettuces and some French beans, and then he ate some radishes, and then, feeling rather sick, he went to look for some parsley. But round the end of the cucumber frame, who should he meet but Mr. McGregor? Mr. McGregor was on his hands and knees, planting out young cabbages. But he jumped up and ran after Peter, waving a rake and calling out, Stop! Thief! Peter was most dreadfully frightened. He rushed all over the garden, for he had forgotten the way back to the gate.
He lost one shoe among the cabbages, and the other amongst the potatoes. After losing them, he ran on four legs and went faster. So I think he might have gotten away altogether. If he had not unfortunately run into a gooseberry net, and got caught by the large buttons on his jacket, it was a blue jacket with brass buttons, quite new. Peter gave himself up for lost and shed big tears, but his sobs were overheard by some friendly sparrows, who flew to him in great excitement and implored him to exert himself. Mr. McGregor came up with a sieve, which he intended to pop on the top of Peter, but Peter wiggled out just in time, leaving his jacket behind him. He rushed into the tool shed and jumped into a can.
It would have been a beautiful thing to hide in if it had not so much water in it. Mr. McGregor was quite sure that Peter was somewhere in the tool shed, perhaps hidden underneath a flower pot. He began to turn them over carefully, looking under each. Presently, Peter sneezed. Cursed shoe! Mr. McGregor was after him in no time, and tried to put his foot upon Peter, who jumped out a window, upsetting three plants. Peter sat down to rest. He was out of breath and trembling with fright, and he had not the least idea which way to go. Also, he was very damp with sitting in that can. After a time, he began to wander about, going lippity-lippity, not very fast, and looking all around. He found a door in the wall, but it was locked, and there was no room for a fat little rabbit to squeeze underneath.
An old mouse was running in and out over the stone doorstep, carrying peas and beans to her family in the wood. Peter asked her the way to the gate, but she had such a large pea in her mouth, she could not answer. She only shook her head at him. Peter began to cry. Then he tried to find his way straight across the garden, but he became more and more puzzled. Presently, he came to a pond where Mr. McGregor filled his water cans. A white cat was staring at some goldfish. She sat very, very still, but now and then the tip of her tail twitched as if it were alive. Peter thought it best to go away without speaking to her. He had heard about cats from his cousin, Little Benjamin Bunny. He went backwards towards the tool shed, but suddenly, quite close to him, He heard the noise of a hoe.
Screech! Scratch! Scratch! Screech! Peter scuttered underneath the bushes, but presently, as nothing happened, he came out and climbed upon a wheelbarrow and peeped over. The first thing he saw was Mr. McGregor hoeing onions. His back was turned towards Peter, and beyond him was the gate. Peter got down very quietly off the wheelbarrow and started running as fast as he could along the straight walk behind some black currant bushes. Mr. McGregor caught sight of him at the corner, but Peter did not care. He slipped underneath the gate and was safe at last in the wood outside the garden. Mr. McGregor hung up the little jacket and the shoes for a scarecrow to frighten the blackbirds. Peter never stopped running or looked behind him till he got home to the big fir-tree.
He was so tired that he flopped down upon the nice soft sand on the floor of the rabbit hole and shut his eyes. His mother was busy cooking. She wondered what he had done with his clothes. It was the second little jacket and pair of shoes that Peter had lost in a fortnight. I'm sorry to say that Peter was not well during the evening. His mother put him to bed and made some chamomile tea, and she gave a dose of it to Peter. One teaspoonful to be taken at bedtime, but Flopsy, Mopsy, and Cottontail had bread and milk and blackberries for supper.