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We celebrate the Year of the Tiger with a legend of how the tiger got his stripes. The Chinese New Year falls on February 14th in 2010, and anyone born in this year will be lucky and brave (according to horoscopes).

You might also be interested in our story of how the Chinese years were named after animals. And if you like tigers, then try the poem. The Tyger (yes, it is spelt that way because it’s archaic), and our story from India, The Brahman, the Tiger, and the Jackel.

Read by Natasha. Version by Bertie. Duration: 7.01.

A long time ago, when animals still had the power of speech, a white, stripeless tiger, crept to the edge of the jungle and looked out at the paddy fields where the rice grew. He saw a man sitting under a banana tree eating his lunch. Not far away stood a buffalo who was also taking a rest from his work ploughing the fields. The great beast swished his tail to swipe away the flies.

The tiger crept forward on his belly, using his powerful arms to pull himself through the grass, and when he was just behind the buffalo he whispered. “Do not be afraid. I do not come to satisfy my hunger, but to seek your advice. Do tell me the answer to my question,” said the tiger, “For I am so curious to know. I have been observing the puny little man who is your master. He has no strength, no sharp sense of smell. His hands are not strong. His teeth are not sharp. And yet he rules you and makes you work for him. You, on the other hand, are magnificent beast of great and wonderful strength. You are twenty times his weight and size, and I know to my cost that you can put up a fair fight with the best of the beasts of the jungle. I haver heard that the source of man’s power is something called wisdom. So tell me, oh buffalo, what is wisdom, and where does the man get it from?”

The buffalo munched slowly on his grass for a while before answering. “Beats me. I’ve no idea. Why don’t you ask him?”

The tiger saw that he would not get a sensible answer from the buffalo, and so he sprang over the to the man in one great bound, and as he stood before the trembling farmer he said:

“Have no fear little man, for I have not come to satisfy my hunger. I am here in search of wisdom. Do answer my question, please, for it perplexes me. What this thing that men call wisdom? What does it look like? Where does it come from? Will you not share some of it with me?”

The man wiped the sweat of fear from his forehead and said as calmly as he could: “Wisdom is very precious. Must I really give some of it to you?”

“The choice is yours,” said the Tiger, “But do you hear that sound? It is my stomach rumbling. I have not slept or eaten for three days, so perplexed have I been by this question, but now I am starting to feel like I could do with a bite to eat. ”

And the man could indeed hear a low rumbling sound. He replied to the tiger:

“Well of course I will gladly share my wisdom with you. But I’m afraid I have left it at home today. I must go and fetch it for you. If you come back with me, I am afraid the villagers will take fright. Will you wait here while?”

The tiger walked around the man menacingly before giving his reply: “I will wait, but be sure to come back, or I will visit you in your field again tomorrow, and next time I might be more hungry than than inquisitive.”

The man started to walk out of the field, but he had taken only a few steps when he turned back and said:

“Please forgive me. I am troubled by the thought of leaving a hungry tiger here with my animals. Will you let me tie you to this tree while I am away fetching the wisdom? That way my fears will be at rest.”

The tiger was afraid that the man would change his mind about sharing his wisdom. He thought of the great power that only a little wisdom would give him — how with his strength, and with just a little of man’s wisdom, he would rule every creature that walked, slithered, swam or flew across the world. He wanted this prize so much that he agreed to let the man coil a rope around his body and his legs, and tie him to the trunk of the banana tree.

A little later, the man returned to the field with his three sons. Each carried armfuls of dry straw.

“Here, I have kept my side of the bargain. I have brought you wisdom” said the man, and he and his sons laid the straw on the ground beneath the tiger. Then the man set alight to it. Bright orange flames leapt up and burned the tiger. He roared with pain, until at last the fire seared through the ropes, and he sprang to freedom, and bounded for the river where he soothed his burnt fur in the cooling waters.

In time the wounds of the tiger healed, but for ever more his body bore orange stripes where the flames and burned him, and black ones where the ropes had bound him.

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A proud and haughty princess refuses to marry because no man is good enough for her. She mocks every suitor, especially a king whom she calls “Thrushbeard”. Her father devises a plot to make her less proud.

You may notice that this story by the Brothers Grimm has much in common with The Taming of the Shrew, the comedy by William Shakespeare.

Read by Natasha. Duration 10.34.

A king had a daughter who was beautiful beyond all measure, but so proud and haughty that no suitor was good enough for her. She sent away one after the other, and ridiculed them as well.

Once the king made a great feast and invited, from far and near, all the young men likely to marry. They were all marshaled in a row according to their rank and standing. First came the kings, then the grand-dukes, then the princes, the earls, the barons, and the gentry. Then the king’s daughter was led through the ranks, but to each one she had some objection to make. One was too fat, the wine-barrel, she said. Another was too tall,  and long and thin has little in. The third was too short,  and short and thick is never quick. The fourth was too pale, as pale as death. The fifth too red, a fighting cock. The sixth was not straight enough, a green log dried behind the stove.

So she had something to say against each one, but she made herself especially merry over a good king who stood quite high up in the row, and whose chin had grown a little crooked. Look, she cried and laughed, he has a chin like a thrush’s beak. And from that time he got the name of King Thrushbeard.

But the old king, when he saw that his daughter did nothing but mock the people, and despised all the suitors who were gathered there, was very angry, and swore that she should have for her husband the very first beggar that came to his doors.

A few days afterwards a fiddler came and sang beneath the windows, trying to earn a few pennies. When the king heard him he said, let him come up. So the fiddler came in, in his dirty, ragged clothes, and sang before the king and his daughter, and when he had ended he asked for a trifling gift. The king said, your song has pleased me so well that I will give you my daughter there, to wife.

The king’s daughter shuddered, but the king said, I have taken an oath to give you to the very first beggar-man and I will keep it. All she could say was in vain. The priest was brought, and she had to let herself be wedded to the fiddler on the spot. When that was done the king said, now it is not proper for you, a beggar-woman, to stay any longer in my palace, you may just go away with your husband.

The beggar-man led her out by the hand, and she was obliged to walk away on foot with him. When they came to a large forest she asked, to whom does that beautiful forest belong.

“It belongs to king Thrushbeard. If you had taken him, it would have been yours.”

“ Ah, unhappy girl that I am, if I had but taken king Thrushbeard.”

Afterwards they came to a meadow, and she asked again, to whom does this beautiful green meadow belong.

“It belongs to king Thrushbeard. If you had taken him, it would have been yours.”

“ Ah, unhappy girl that I am, if I had but taken king Thrushbeard.”

Then they came to a large town, and she asked again, to whom does this fine large town belong.

“It belongs to king Thrushbeard. If you had taken him, it would have been yours.”

“ Ah, unhappy girl that I am, if I had but taken king Thrushbeard.”

“ It does not please me”, said the fiddler, “to hear you always wishing for another husband. Am I not good enough for you?”

At last they came to a very little hut, and she said,

“Oh goodness. What a small house!  To whom does this miserable, tiny hovel belong?”

The fiddler answered, “That is my house and yours, where we shall live together.”

She had to stoop in order to go in at the low door. “Where are the servants?”, said the king’s daughter.

“What servants?” answered the beggar-man. “You must yourself do what you wish to have done. Just make a fire at once, and set on water to cook my supper, I am quite tired.”

But the king’s daughter knew nothing about lighting fires or cooking, and the beggar-man had to lend a hand himself to get anything fairly done. When they had finished their scanty meal they went to bed. But he forced her to get up quite early in the morning in order to look after the house.

For a few days they lived in this way as well as might be, and came to the end of all their provisions. Then the man said, wife, we cannot go on any longer eating and drinking here and earning nothing. You must make baskets. He went out, cut some willows, and brought them home. Then she began to make baskets, but the tough willows wounded her delicate hands.

“I see that this will not do”, said the man. “You had better spin, perhaps you can do that better.”
She sat down and tried to spin, but the hard thread soon cut her soft fingers so that the blood ran down.

“See, said the man, you are fit for no sort of work. I have made a bad bargain with you. Now I will try to make a business with pots and earthenware. You must sit in the market-place and sell the ware.”

“Alas”, thought she, “if any of the people from my father’s kingdom come to the market and see me sitting there, selling, how they will mock me.”  But it was of no use, she had to yield unless she chose to die of hunger. For the first time she succeeded well, for the people were glad to buy the woman’s wares because she was good-looking, and they paid her what she asked. Many even gave her the money and left the pots with her as well. So they lived on what she had earned as long as it lasted, then the husband bought a lot of new crockery. With this she sat down at the corner of the market-place, and set it out round about her ready for sale. But suddenly there came a drunken hussar galloping along, and he rode right amongst the pots so that they were all broken into a thousand bits. She began to weep, and did now know what to do for fear.

“Alas, what will happen to me?”, cried she. “What will my husband say to this? She ran home and told him of the misfortune.

“Who would seat herself at a corner of the market-place with crockery?” said the man. “Leave off crying, I see very well that you cannot do any ordinary work, so I have been to our king’s palace and have asked whether they cannot find a place for a kitchen-maid, and they have promised me to take you. In that way you will get your food for nothing.”

The king’s daughter was now a kitchen-maid, and had to be at the cook’s beck and call, and do the dirtiest work. In both her pockets she fastened a little jar, in which she took home her share of the leavings, and upon this they lived.

It happened that the wedding of the king’s eldest son was to be celebrated, so the poor woman went up and placed herself by the door of the hall to look on. When all the candles were lit, and people, each more beautiful than the other, entered, and all was full of pomp and splendor, she thought of her lot with a sad heart, and cursed the pride and haughtiness which had humbled her and brought her to so great poverty.

The smell of the delicious dishes which were being taken in and out reached her, and now and then the servants threw her a few morsels of them. These she put in her jars to take home.

All at once the king’s son entered, clothed in velvet and silk, with gold chains about his neck. And when he saw the beautiful woman standing by the door he seized her by the hand, and would have danced with her. But she refused and shrank with fear, for she saw that it was King Thrushbeard, her suitor whom she had driven away with scorn. Her struggles were of no avail, he drew her into the hall. But the string by which her pockets were hung broke, the pots fell down, the soup ran out, and the scraps were scattered all about. And when the people saw it, there arose general laughter and derision, and she was so ashamed that she would rather have been a thousand fathoms below the ground. She sprang to the door and would have run away, but on the stairs a man caught her and brought her back. And when she looked at him it was king Thrushbeard again. He said to her kindly,

“Do not be afraid, I and the fiddler who has been living with you in that wretched hovel are one. For love of you I disguised myself so. And I also was the hussar who rode through your crockery. This was all done to humble your proud spirit, and to punish you for the insolence with which you mocked me.”

Then she wept bitterly and said, I have done great wrong, and am not worthy to be your wife. But he said, be comforted, the evil days are past. Now we will celebrate our wedding. Then the maids-in-waiting came and put on her the most splendid clothing, and her father and his whole court came and wished her happiness in her marriage with king Thrushbeard, and the joy now began in earnest. I wish you and I had been there too.

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This tale from Ancient Egypt was written down in hieroglyphics 4000 years ago. It’s one of the oldest stories to have come down to us. In fact, it is really several stories all framed within a story.

A ship returns to Egypt from a long voyage. The merchant owner of the shipper is afraid that the Pharaoh will be angry with him because his business has not prospered. His attendant tells him a story of an earlier journey, in which he was shipwrecked and met a giant serpent. The attendant means to show that it’s not so much what you do, but how you tell it that counts. The master is not so sure.

Read by Natasha. Duration 9.50

Four thousand years ago, a ship glided into its home harbour in the land of Egypt. A sailor jumped ashore with the rope and tied it to the mooring post. His comrades rejoiced and embraced one another, so glad they were to have survived their long journey at sea, and to know that soon they would be filling their arms with their children and kissing their wives.

But as the ship’s owner stepped ashore, dark, anxious lines crossed his brow.
His business in the lands of Wawat and Biga had not prospered, and he feared the anger of the great Pharaoh who ruled the land of Egypt. He had an attendant, a smart young fellow, who understood what was troubling his master’s mind. As they stepped off the boat, he tried to give his master words of assurance.

“Be satisfied, oh my lord, for we have returned in good health, and not a single one of us is lost. You may go and tell the tale of our journey to the Pharaoh. Choose your words carefully, trust in your eloquence, and all will be well.”

But the master was only irritated by these words, and he spoke angrily to his attendant.

“You are home, but your mind is still wandering. A man’s mouth may save him, but so it may also get him into trouble. Do you always say out loud any thought that flies into your head? If you must babble such nonsense, pray say it quietly, to yourself.”

The smart young man was not offended by this rebuke. Instead he replied to his master with a story about another adventure that he had once undertaken. And this is what he told him.

“I was on a journey across great green sea to the mines of the Pharaoh. We had a 120 sailors, the best in Egypt, their hearts fiercer than lions. They had seen many skies, they had seen many lands, they could tell a storm before it came, and gale before it happened.

“As we approached the land the wind arose, and threw up enormous waves. Our ship split in two, and all the mortal souls within were at the mercy of the great green sea. I grabbed a plank of cedar wood and stayed afloat. A wave picked me up and placed me down on the shore of an island. After I had lain for three days, all alone in some bushes, I arose and looked for something for my mouth. I found it in abundance: figs and grapes, all manner of good herbs, berries and grain, melons of all kinds, fishes and birds. Indeed, the island did not lack for any good thing. After I had satisfied my hunger, I dug a pit, lit a fire, and made a burnt offering to the gods.

“Suddenly I heard a crashing sound, which I took to be a wave crashing against the land. The trees shook and the earth moved. I uncovered my eyes, and I saw that an enormous snake was slithering towards me. He was the size of a temple building. His face was that of a man, and he wore a beard as tall as as a pillar. His skin was as blue as true Lapis Lazuli and he was overlaid with gold.

“I threw myself on my belly before him, before he he opened his mouth and said:

“Who brought you, who brought you? o commoner, who brought you? If you delay your reply it shall be the worse for you. Your life shall be extinguished like the flickering flame of a candle.”

“I lay still, stunned, silent, my mouth full of sand. When the serpent saw that could get no reply out of me, he scooped me up in his mouth and carried me to his cave where he laid me down. Again he asked:

“Who brought you, who brought you, o commoner, who brought you to this island of the great green sea whose two sides are lapped by waves?”

And then I, realising that my life depended on my words, replied to him:

“I was on a mission, sent by the Pharaoh. We had a 120 sailors, the best in Egypt, their hearts fiercer than lions. They had seen many skies, they had seen many lands, they could tell a storm before it came, and gale before it happened. Each one was no less strong or fierce than his companion, and there was not a single fool among us.

“ As we approached the land the wind arose, and threw up enormous waves. Our ship was split in two, and of all who were on board, I alone was saved. And behold, here I am at your side…… … I was brought to this island by a wave of the great green sea.”

It seemed that my words soothed the anger of the great man-serpent for he smiled gently and replied to me.

“Fear not, o commoner, do not be pale, for it is God who has let you live, and has brought you to me. You will spend four months on this island of the blest, which does not lack for any good thing. At that end of that period a ship will arrive and taken you home to your wife and family, and you shall live and finally die in your own town.

“Now since you have survived this accident, let me tell you of a tale of calamity that befell me. I once lived on this island with my family – 75 serpents in all without counting an orphan girl who was brought to me by chance and who was dear to my heart. And then one night a star came crashing down from heaven and they all went up in flames. Only I was spared, and behold, here I am, utterly alone.

“But you, if you are brave and overcome your fears, you will fill your arms with your children and kiss your wife, you will see your house and live among your family.”

And when I heard this prophesy of my salvation, I wept and bowed and touched the ground before him, and said.

“On my return I shall tell the Pharaoh all about you and your greatness. I will bring you sacred oils and perfumes, and incense with which the gods are honoured in the temples. I shall slay animals for you in sacrifice, I shall bring you birds, and ships full of all kinds of treasures from Egypt and they shall speak of you in the councils and honour you through out the land.”

And when he heard this he laughed and rebuked me:

“Do not trouble yourself with incense, for you are not rich in perfumes . As for me, I am a prince of the land of Punt, and I have all the richest scents. But you need not return, for after you depart, this island shall be covered by the sea.”

And my rescue and salvation came true exactly as he said. After four months had gone by, I climbed a tall tree, and behold ! I saw a ship on the horizon. It came to rescue me, and as I took my leave of my serpentine host, he said : “Go to your house. See your children. Spread my good name in your city. This my due from you”

And he gave me gifts of incense, myrrh and balsam, tails of giraffes, and elephants tusks.

And as I departed, I and all who were on board the ship, gave our praises to the Serpent God. We sailed Northwards, and two months later I came before the Pharaoh and presented him with the tribute of gifts I had brought from the Island. I told him of my adventures and he thanked me before the council and rewarded me with a position in his court.”

And with these words the attendant finished his story of his shipwreck and survival. The master of the ship had waited patiently on the quay by the side of the ship, and had listened carefully. But he was not pleased by the story… and he said:

“Save your smart words my young friend. Such drops of hope do me no good. Who gives water to a goose in the morning, when it is due to be slaughtered in the afternoon?”

And that was the Tale of the Shipwrecked Sailor as written down by the cunning fingers of the scribe Imen-Ah, Son of Imeny, life, prosperity, health.

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This story tells how the delicious fruit the watermelon came to Vietnam many centuries ago.

The hero of the legend is Prince Mai An Tiem who was adopted by the King of Vietnam. His brother grew envious of him, and started to plot against him. If you want to know how watermelons come into it all – well you had better listen to the story.

Today watermelons re associated with the New Year in Vietnam – called the Tet festival. People eat roast watermelon seeds at the time of the festival.

Read by Natasha. Version by Bertie. Duration 10.10.

The Watermelon Prince

Many centuries ago, a gale blew across the land of Vietnam. It leant on the palm trees so that they bent their branches to the ground, and it grabbed red tiles from the roof of the great palace and chucked them across the courtyard. Out at sea, great waves made war on the cliffs, pounding them with all the force of nature. Most of the local fisherman had seen the storm coming from afar, and had pulled their boats well back from the shore, and tied them fast to the ground. But a merchant ship was caught in the storm, and its hull was dashed to splinters on the rocks. Everyone on board was drowned, except for one. By some miracle, the waves carried a basket containing a newly born baby, and they deposited it on the beach not far from the great palace. The morning after the storm, a fisherman’s wife was out walking along along the beach and searching through the debris for anything of value. She heard the baby’s cries, and discovered its basket under some torn-off palm leaves. She knew from the swaddling clothes of the child that he belonged to a rich family, and not knowing what else to do, she took him to the palace in search of a reward.

When the king heard of this infant who had been saved from the storm by a miracle, he thought that it must be a very special child indeed. He adopted him as his own, and he grew up to be Prince Mai An Tiem.

Mai An Tiem proved to be a popular young man, with wisdom and knowledge beyond his years. Often the king’s councilors would consult his opinion before reaching an decision, because he understood the king’s heart and his wishes better than anyone else. His adopted father loved him as much, if not more, than his natural sons.

When Mai An Tiem turned twe nty years old, the king arranged for him to marry one of his daughters, Princess Co Ba, who had been his friend since childhood. The celebration was the most extravagant of the King’s reign. So much so, that the king’s own son, Prince Hau, grew envious, for the lavishness of the wedding party far exceeded his own.

“My father means to adopt Mai An Tiem as his successor,” he thought to himself. “I must stop this.”

And so Prince Hau bought a large bribe to the head of the King’s body guard, and a slightly smaller bribe to the head of his household. In return for this payment, these officials started to spread ugly rumours about Main An Tiem.

He grows arrogant.
The king’s favoritism has gone to his head.
He is plotting a coup.

And the further the rumours spread, the less clear it was where they had began. Eventually the head of the body guard came to the king and said that Mai An Tiem had tried to recruit his services to overthrow the king. At first the king would not believe this lie against his adopted son, but soon others in the palace, who confused rumour for fact, backed it up. With great sorrow in his heart the King decreed that Mai An Tiem was guilty of plotting treason, and must be banished from the kingdom for evermore. His wife, Princess Co Ba, swore that she would follow him to the ends of the earth. And soon the couple boarded a ship, which took them far out to sea, and deposit d them on a desert island.

But Mai An Tiem and Co Ba did not despair, for although they had lost all the privileges, friends, and comforts, they had at least, each other. They found a stream with fresh water, and they built a hut for themselves out of leaves and branches. They made nets for fishing and they learned how to climb trees to pick bananas and shake down coco-nuts. But although everything they ate was fresh and good, their diet lacked anything that you might call a special treat. Co Ba began to dream of sumptuous banquets.

One day, after they had been on the island for several years, Mai An Tiem was walking along the cliffs when he saw a flock of birds, squabbling excitedly amongst themselves. As he drew closer, he saw that the cause of all their excitement were some black seeds. He picked up a handful, and when he reached home, he scattered them on the ground around their hut and along the stream.

Many months later, during one of the hottest times of the year, he noticed that some unusual plants had began to sprout on the spot where he had spread the seeds. Over the coming weeks, they spread like a vine along the ground, and then some fruits started to bud under the leaves. These grew into enormous green fruits, the likes of which he had never seen before. On cutting them open, he discovered within, soft, red flesh. He cut off a piece and popped it into his mouth, and it melted on his tongue like no other. When, a little later, Co Ba, tasted the fruit, she was enormously happy and pleased. It was her first treat in seven years.

The couple decided to call the fruit, red melon, and the were careful to spread the seeds and grow a second crop. The red melons – which we know as watermelons – were one of the greatest joys of their life on the island.

One day, when Mai An Tiem was sitting on the beach, contemplating the vast ocean, and the way his life had turned out. He idly carved his name on a watermelon, and tossed it into the waves, wondering where it would wash up. Perhaps some one in some far away land would be lucky enough to find the delicious fruit, and would for for ever more thank the name of Mai An Tiem that was engraved on its skin.

And just as the ocean tide had been a friend to Mai An Tiem when he was a baby, so it proved now. The current carried the watermelon back to the Kingdom of Vietnam. A fisherman’s wife found the wondrous fruit on the beach, and she took it to the palace in hope of a reward. When the king saw the name that was carved on the fruit, he marveled at the reminder of his long banished son. He tasted the red flesh of the fruit inside, and it was so delicious that he thought it was the greatest present that could be bestowed on a king, who was so wealthy that he had every other pleasure that a human being could desire. He thought with love of Mai An Tiem and in his heart he forgave him. And two weeks after that, a ship sent by the King, came to the desert island to bring Mai An Tiem and Ko Ba back to the palace. Eventually Mai An Tiem became king of Vietnam and he ruled wisely to the end of his days.

Version by Bertie of Storynory

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We bring you a single chapter from The Wonderful Wizard of Oz by y L. Frank Baum. This quintessentially American fairy tale was first published in 1900. Perhaps you have seen the extremely famous musical film staring Judy Garland (made in 1939).

We chose this chapter in the spirit of Halloween – so expect a few scary moments when with wolves, bees, crows, and winged monkeys.

As we are starting in the middle, we had better tell you the story so far.

Dorothy is an orphan who lives on a farm in the America, in the sate of Kansas. One day the farm house, with Dorothy and her little dog (Toto) inside, is picked up by a giant wind called a cyclone and she is swept away to the land of Oz. She walks down a yellow brick road and meets a scare crow, a tin woodman, and a cowardly lion. They are all on their way to the Emerald City seek help from the Wonderful wizard of Ox. The Wizard agrees to help them, but firs they must kill the Wicked Witch of the West. And this is the story of how they set out to do just that.

Read by Natasha. Duration 28.37.

The soldier with the green whiskers led them through the streets of the Emerald City until they reached the room where the Guardian of the Gates lived. This officer unlocked their spectacles to put them back in his great box, and then he politely opened the gate for our friends.

“Which road leads to the Wicked Witch of the West?” asked Dorothy.

“There is no road,” answered the Guardian of the Gates. “No one ever wishes to go that way.”

“How, then, are we to find her?” inquired the girl.

“That will be easy,” replied the man, “for when she knows you are in the country of the Winkies she will find you, and make you all her slaves.”

“Perhaps not,” said the Scarecrow, “for we mean to destroy her.”

“Oh, that is different,” said the Guardian of the Gates. “No one has ever destroyed her before, so I naturally thought she would make slaves of you, as she has of the rest. But take care; for she is wicked and fierce, and may not allow you to destroy her. Keep to the West, where the sun sets, and you cannot fail to find her.”

They thanked him and bade him good-bye, and turned toward the West, walking over fields of soft grass dotted here and there with daisies and buttercups. Dorothy still wore the pretty silk dress she had put on in the palace, but now, to her surprise, she found it was no longer green, but pure white. The ribbon around Toto’s neck had also lost its green color and was as white as Dorothy’s dress.

The Emerald City was soon left far behind. As they advanced the ground became rougher and hillier, for there were no farms nor houses in this country of the West, and the ground was untilled.

In the afternoon the sun shone hot in their faces, for there were no trees to offer them shade; so that before night Dorothy and Toto and the Lion were tired, and lay down upon the grass and fell asleep, with the Woodman and the Scarecrow keeping watch.

Now the Wicked Witch of the West had but one eye, yet that was as powerful as a telescope, and could see everywhere. So, as she sat in the door of her castle, she happened to look around and saw Dorothy lying asleep, with her friends all about her. They were a long distance off, but the Wicked Witch was angry to find them in her country; so she blew upon a silver whistle that hung around her neck.

At once there came running to her from all directions a pack of great wolves. They had long legs and fierce eyes and sharp teeth.

“Go to those people,” said the Witch, “and tear them to pieces.”

“Are you not going to make them your slaves?” asked the leader of the wolves.

“No,” she answered, “one is of tin, and one of straw; one is a girl and another a Lion. None of them is fit to work, so you may tear them into small pieces.”

“Very well,” said the wolf, and he dashed away at full speed, followed by the others.

It was lucky the Scarecrow and the Woodman were wide awake and heard the wolves coming.

“This is my fight,” said the Woodman, “so get behind me and I will meet them as they come.”

He seized his axe, which he had made very sharp, and as the leader of the wolves came on the Tin Woodman swung his arm and chopped the wolf’s head from its body, so that it immediately died. As soon as he could raise his axe another wolf came up, and he also fell under the sharp edge of the Tin Woodman’s weapon. There were forty wolves, and forty times a wolf was killed, so that at last they all lay dead in a heap before the Woodman.

Then he put down his axe and sat beside the Scarecrow, who said, “It was a good fight, friend.”

They waited until Dorothy awoke the next morning. The little girl was quite frightened when she saw the great pile of shaggy wolves, but the Tin Woodman told her all. She thanked him for saving them and sat down to breakfast, after which they started again upon their journey.

Now this same morning the Wicked Witch came to the door of her castle and looked out with her one eye that could see far off. She saw all her wolves lying dead, and the strangers still traveling through her country. This made her angrier than before, and she blew her silver whistle twice.

Straightway a great flock of wild crows came flying toward her, enough to darken the sky.

And the Wicked Witch said to the King Crow, “Fly at once to the strangers; peck out their eyes and tear them to pieces.”

The wild crows flew in one great flock toward Dorothy and her companions. When the little girl saw them coming she was afraid.

But the Scarecrow said, “This is my battle, so lie down beside me and you will not be harmed.”

So they all lay upon the ground except the Scarecrow, and he stood up and stretched out his arms. And when the crows saw him they were frightened, as these birds always are by scarecrows, and did not dare to come any nearer. But the King Crow said:

“It is only a stuffed man. I will peck his eyes out.”

The King Crow flew at the Scarecrow, who caught it by the head and twisted its neck until it died. And then another crow flew at him, and the Scarecrow twisted its neck also. There were forty crows, and forty times the Scarecrow twisted a neck, until at last all were lying dead beside him. Then he called to his companions to rise, and again they went upon their journey.

When the Wicked Witch looked out again and saw all her crows lying in a heap, she got into a terrible rage, and blew three times upon her silver whistle.

Forthwith there was heard a great buzzing in the air, and a swarm of black bees came flying toward her.

“Go to the strangers and sting them to death!” commanded the Witch, and the bees turned and flew rapidly until they came to where Dorothy and her friends were walking. But the Woodman had seen them coming, and the Scarecrow had decided what to do.

“Take out my straw and scatter it over the little girl and the dog and the Lion,” he said to the Woodman, “and the bees cannot sting them.” This the Woodman did, and as Dorothy lay close beside the Lion and held Toto in her arms, the straw covered them entirely.

The bees came and found no one but the Woodman to sting, so they flew at him and broke off all their stings against the tin, without hurting the Woodman at all. And as bees cannot live when their stings are broken that was the end of the black bees, and they lay scattered thick about the Woodman, like little heaps of fine coal.

Then Dorothy and the Lion got up, and the girl helped the Tin Woodman put the straw back into the Scarecrow again, until he was as good as ever. So they started upon their journey once more.

The Wicked Witch was so angry when she saw her black bees in little heaps like fine coal that she stamped her foot and tore her hair and gnashed her teeth. And then she called a dozen of her slaves, who were the Winkies, and gave them sharp spears, telling them to go to the strangers and destroy them.

The Winkies were not a brave people, but they had to do as they were told. So they marched away until they came near to Dorothy. Then the Lion gave a great roar and sprang towards them, and the poor Winkies were so frightened that they ran back as fast as they could.

When they returned to the castle the Wicked Witch beat them well with a strap, and sent them back to their work, after which she sat down to think what she should do next. She could not understand how all her plans to destroy these strangers had failed; but she was a powerful Witch, as well as a wicked one, and she soon made up her mind how to act.

There was, in her cupboard, a Golden Cap, with a circle of diamonds and rubies running round it. This Golden Cap had a charm. Whoever owned it could call three times upon the Winged Monkeys, who would obey any order they were given. But no person could command these strange creatures more than three times. Twice already the Wicked Witch had used the charm of the Cap. Once was when she had made the Winkies her slaves, and set herself to rule over their country. The Winged Monkeys had helped her do this. The second time was when she had fought against the Great Oz himself, and driven him out of the land of the West. The Winged Monkeys had also helped her in doing this. Only once more could she use this Golden Cap, for which reason she did not like to do so until all her other powers were exhausted. But now that her fierce wolves and her wild crows and her stinging bees were gone, and her slaves had been scared away by the Cowardly Lion, she saw there was only one way left to destroy Dorothy and her friends.

So the Wicked Witch took the Golden Cap from her cupboard and placed it upon her head. Then she stood upon her left foot and said slowly:

“Ep-pe, pep-pe, kak-ke!”

Next she stood upon her right foot and said:

“Hil-lo, hol-lo, hel-lo!”

After this she stood upon both feet and cried in a loud voice:

“Ziz-zy, zuz-zy, zik!”

Now the charm began to work. The sky was darkened, and a low rumbling sound was heard in the air. There was a rushing of many wings, a great chattering and laughing, and the sun came out of the dark sky to show the Wicked Witch surrounded by a crowd of monkeys, each with a pair of immense and powerful wings on his shoulders.

One, much bigger than the others, seemed to be their leader. He flew close to the Witch and said, “You have called us for the third and last time. What do you command?”

“Go to the strangers who are within my land and destroy them all except the Lion,” said the Wicked Witch. “Bring that beast to me, for I have a mind to harness him like a horse, and make him work.”

“Your commands shall be obeyed,” said the leader. Then, with a great deal of chattering and noise, the Winged Monkeys flew away to the place where Dorothy and her friends were walking.

Some of the Monkeys seized the Tin Woodman and carried him through the air until they were over a country thickly covered with sharp rocks. Here they dropped the poor Woodman, who fell a great distance to the rocks, where he lay so battered and dented that he could neither move nor groan.

Others of the Monkeys caught the Scarecrow, and with their long fingers pulled all of the straw out of his clothes and head. They made his hat and boots and clothes into a small bundle and threw it into the top branches of a tall tree.

The remaining Monkeys threw pieces of stout rope around the Lion and wound many coils about his body and head and legs, until he was unable to bite or scratch or struggle in any way. Then they lifted him up and flew away with him to the Witch’s castle, where he was placed in a small yard with a high iron fence around it, so that he could not escape.

But Dorothy they did not harm at all. She stood, with Toto in her arms, watching the sad fate of her comrades and thinking it would soon be her turn. The leader of the Winged Monkeys flew up to her, his long, hairy arms stretched out and his ugly face grinning terribly; but he saw the mark of the Good Witch’s kiss upon her forehead and stopped short, motioning the others not to touch her.

“We dare not harm this little girl,” he said to them, “for she is protected by the Power of Good, and that is greater than the Power of Evil. All we can do is to carry her to the castle of the Wicked Witch and leave her there.”

So, carefully and gently, they lifted Dorothy in their arms and carried her swiftly through the air until they came to the castle, where they set her down upon the front doorstep. Then the leader said to the Witch:

“We have obeyed you as far as we were able. The Tin Woodman and the Scarecrow are destroyed, and the Lion is tied up in your yard. The little girl we dare not harm, nor the dog she carries in her arms. Your power over our band is now ended, and you will never see us again.”

Then all the Winged Monkeys, with much laughing and chattering and noise, flew into the air and were soon out of sight.

The Wicked Witch was both surprised and worried when she saw the mark on Dorothy’s forehead, for she knew well that neither the Winged Monkeys nor she, herself, dare hurt the girl in any way. She looked down at Dorothy’s feet, and seeing the Silver Shoes, began to tremble with fear, for she knew what a powerful charm belonged to them. At first the Witch was tempted to run away from Dorothy; but she happened to look into the child’s eyes and saw how simple the soul behind them was, and that the little girl did not know of the wonderful power the Silver Shoes gave her. So the Wicked Witch laughed to herself, and thought, “I can still make her my slave, for she does not know how to use her power.” Then she said to Dorothy, harshly and severely:

“Come with me; and see that you mind everything I tell you, for if you do not I will make an end of you, as I did of the Tin Woodman and the Scarecrow.”

Dorothy followed her through many of the beautiful rooms in her castle until they came to the kitchen, where the Witch bade her clean the pots and kettles and sweep the floor and keep the fire fed with wood.

Dorothy went to work meekly, with her mind made up to work as hard as she could; for she was glad the Wicked Witch had decided not to kill her.

With Dorothy hard at work, the Witch thought she would go into the courtyard and harness the Cowardly Lion like a horse; it would amuse her, she was sure, to make him draw her chariot whenever she wished to go to drive. But as she opened the gate the Lion gave a loud roar and bounded at her so fiercely that the Witch was afraid, and ran out and shut the gate again.

“If I cannot harness you,” said the Witch to the Lion, speaking through the bars of the gate, “I can starve you. You shall have nothing to eat until you do as I wish.”

So after that she took no food to the imprisoned Lion; but every day she came to the gate at noon and asked, “Are you ready to be harnessed like a horse?”

And the Lion would answer, “No. If you come in this yard, I will bite you.”

The reason the Lion did not have to do as the Witch wished was that every night, while the woman was asleep, Dorothy carried him food from the cupboard. After he had eaten he would lie down on his bed of straw, and Dorothy would lie beside him and put her head on his soft, shaggy mane, while they talked of their troubles and tried to plan some way to escape. But they could find no way to get out of the castle, for it was constantly guarded by the yellow Winkies, who were the slaves of the Wicked Witch and too afraid of her not to do as she told them.

The girl had to work hard during the day, and often the Witch threatened to beat her with the same old umbrella she always carried in her hand. But, in truth, she did not dare to strike Dorothy, because of the mark upon her forehead. The child did not know this, and was full of fear for herself and Toto. Once the Witch struck Toto a blow with her umbrella and the brave little dog flew at her and bit her leg in return. The Witch did not bleed where she was bitten, for she was so wicked that the blood in her had dried up many years before.

Dorothy’s life became very sad as she grew to understand that it would be harder than ever to get back to Kansas and Aunt Em again. Sometimes she would cry bitterly for hours, with Toto sitting at her feet and looking into her face, whining dismally to show how sorry he was for his little mistress. Toto did not really care whether he was in Kansas or the Land of Oz so long as Dorothy was with him; but he knew the little girl was unhappy, and that made him unhappy too.

Now the Wicked Witch had a great longing to have for her own the Silver Shoes which the girl always wore. Her bees and her crows and her wolves were lying in heaps and drying up, and she had used up all the power of the Golden Cap; but if she could only get hold of the Silver Shoes, they would give her more power than all the other things she had lost. She watched Dorothy carefully, to see if she ever took off her shoes, thinking she might steal them. But the child was so proud of her pretty shoes that she never took them off except at night and when she took her bath. The Witch was too much afraid of the dark to dare go in Dorothy’s room at night to take the shoes, and her dread of water was greater than her fear of the dark, so she never came near when Dorothy was bathing. Indeed, the old Witch never touched water, nor ever let water touch her in any way.

But the wicked creature was very cunning, and she finally thought of a trick that would give her what she wanted. She placed a bar of iron in the middle of the kitchen floor, and then by her magic arts made the iron invisible to human eyes. So that when Dorothy walked across the floor she stumbled over the bar, not being able to see it, and fell at full length. She was not much hurt, but in her fall one of the Silver Shoes came off; and before she could reach it, the Witch had snatched it away and put it on her own skinny foot.

The wicked woman was greatly pleased with the success of her trick, for as long as she had one of the shoes she owned half the power of their charm, and Dorothy could not use it against her, even had she known how to do so.

The little girl, seeing she had lost one of her pretty shoes, grew angry, and said to the Witch, “Give me back my shoe!”

“I will not,” retorted the Witch, “for it is now my shoe, and not yours.”

“You are a wicked creature!” cried Dorothy. “You have no right to take my shoe from me.”

“I shall keep it, just the same,” said the Witch, laughing at her, “and someday I shall get the other one from you, too.”

This made Dorothy so very angry that she picked up the bucket of water that stood near and dashed it over the Witch, wetting her from head to foot.

Instantly the wicked woman gave a loud cry of fear, and then, as Dorothy looked at her in wonder, the Witch began to shrink and fall away.

“See what you have done!” she screamed. “In a minute I shall melt away.”

“I’m very sorry, indeed,” said Dorothy, who was truly frightened to see the Witch actually melting away like brown sugar before her very eyes.

“Didn’t you know water would be the end of me?” asked the Witch, in a wailing, despairing voice.

“Of course not,” answered Dorothy. “How should I?”

“Well, in a few minutes I shall be all melted, and you will have the castle to yourself. I have been wicked in my day, but I never thought a little girl like you would ever be able to melt me and end my wicked deeds. Look out–here I go!”

With these words the Witch fell down in a brown, melted, shapeless mass and began to spread over the clean boards of the kitchen floor. Seeing that she had really melted away to nothing, Dorothy drew another bucket of water and threw it over the mess. She then swept it all out the door. After picking out the silver shoe, which was all that was left of the old woman, she cleaned and dried it with a cloth, and put it on her foot again. Then, being at last free to do as she chose, she ran out to the courtyard to tell the Lion that the Wicked Witch of the West had come to an end, and that they were no longer prisoners in a strange land.

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A prince becomes all powerful, but still his priests fear God more than they do him. There is only one being left for the prince to conquer – God himself. And sohe declares war on God. Hans Christian Andersen’s moral and dramatic warns against the hubris of power. It has some things in common with our story about the Angel of Death.

Read by Natasha. Duration 10.08.

THERE lived once upon a time a wicked prince whose heart and mind were set upon conquering all the countries of the world, and on frightening the people; he devastated their countries with fire and sword, and his soldiers trod down the crops in the fields and destroyed the peasants’ huts by fire, so that the flames licked the green leaves off the branches, and the fruit hung dried up on the singed black trees. Many a poor mother fled, her naked baby in her arms, behind the still smoking walls of her cottage; but also there the soldiers followed her, and when they found her, she served as new nourishment to their diabolical enjoyments; demons could not possibly have done worse things than these soldiers! The prince was of opinion that all this was right, and that it was only the natural course which things ought to take. His power increased day by day, his name was feared by all, and fortune favoured his deeds.

He brought enormous wealth home from the conquered towns, and gradually accumulated in his residence riches which could nowhere be equalled. He erected magnificent palaces, churches, and halls, and all who saw these splendid buildings and great treasures exclaimed admiringly: “What a mighty prince!” But they did not know what endless misery he had brought upon other countries, nor did they hear the sighs and lamentations which rose up from the débris of the destroyed cities.

The prince often looked with delight upon his gold and his magnificent buildings, and thought, like the crowd: “What a mighty prince! But I must have more—much more. No power on earth must equal mine, far less exceed it.”

He made war with all his neighbours, and defeated them. The conquered kings were chained up with golden fetters to his chariot when he drove through the streets of his city. These kings had to kneel at his and his courtiers’ feet when they sat at table, and live on the morsels which they left. At last the prince had his own statue erected on the public places and fixed on the royal palaces; nay, he even wished it to be placed in the churches, on the altars, but in this the priests opposed him, saying: “Prince, you are mighty indeed, but God’s power is much greater than yours; we dare not obey your orders.”

“Well,” said the prince. “Then I will conquer God too.” And in his haughtiness and foolish presumption he ordered a magnificent ship to be constructed, with which he could sail through the air; it was gorgeously fitted out and of many colours; like the tail of a peacock, it was covered with thousands of eyes, but each eye was the barrel of a gun. The prince sat in the centre of the ship, and had only to touch a spring in order to make thousands of bullets fly out in all directions, while the guns were at once loaded again. Hundreds of eagles were attached to this ship, and it rose with the swiftness of an arrow up towards the sun. The earth was soon left far below, and looked, with its mountains and woods, like a cornfield where the plough had made furrows which separated green meadows; soon it looked only like a map with indistinct lines upon it; and at last it entirely disappeared in mist and clouds. Higher and higher rose the eagles up into the air; then God sent one of his numberless angels against the ship. The wicked prince showered thousands of bullets upon him, but they rebounded from his shining wings and fell down like ordinary hailstones. One drop of blood, one single drop, came out of the white feathers of the angel’s wings and fell upon the ship in which the prince sat, burnt into it, and weighed upon it like thousands of hundredweights, dragging it rapidly down to the earth again; the strong wings of the eagles gave way, the wind roared round the prince’s head, and the clouds around—were they formed by the smoke rising up from the burnt cities?—took strange shapes, like crabs many, many miles long, which stretched their claws out after him, and rose up like enormous rocks, from which rolling masses dashed down, and became fire-spitting dragons.

The prince was lying half-dead in his ship, when it sank at last with a terrible shock into the branches of a large tree in the wood.

“I will conquer God!” said the prince. “I have sworn it: my will must be done!”

And he spent seven years in the construction of wonderful ships to sail through the air, and had darts cast from the hardest steel to break the walls of heaven with. He gathered warriors from all countries, so many that when they were placed side by side they covered the space of several miles. They entered the ships and the prince was approaching his own, when God sent a swarm of gnats—one swarm of little gnats. They buzzed round the prince and stung his face and hands; angrily he drew his sword and brandished it, but he only touched the air and did not hit the gnats. Then he ordered his servants to bring costly coverings and wrap him in them, that the gnats might no longer be able to reach him. The servants carried out his orders, but one single gnat had placed itself inside one of the coverings, crept into the prince’s ear and stung him. The place burnt like fire, and the poison entered into his blood. Mad with pain, he tore off the coverings and his clothes too, flinging them far away, and danced about before the eyes of his ferocious soldiers, who now mocked at him, the mad prince, who wished to make war with God, and was overcome by a single little gnat.

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A very queenly lioness meets first a mosquito and then a mouse. Both these tiny creatures teach her something about respect for small things. This is story is based on two of Aesop’s famous fables and we’ve rolled them into one. As with all our Aesop tales, it is told in the voice of one of the characters, in this case, the lioness.

Read by Natasha. Adaptation by Bertie. Duration 6.59. Sponsored by Audible.

Respect. I expect nothing less.

All respect the queen of the African planes. If the zebara or the antelope catch sight of me crouching in the bush, they do not forget to gallop. The elephant and the rhino respect me, and they mind not to tread on my children with their big clumsy feet. Even the snappy crocodile stays clear of me, when I come down to drink at the water.

Yes, respect is good.

And that is why I was so angry when a pesky little fellow failed to show me respect.

Buzzzzzzzzzz !

The mosquito buzzed around my ears and even stung me on the nose. I snapped at the horrid little traitor, and I bit my tongue. Oh, how that hurt ! Then I struck at him with my paw, such a blow that would fell a buffalo, but he slipped through my claws and was laughing at me. The he bit me on the bottom ! The cheek of it !

“Oh great queen”, said the Mosquito. “Bow your head before your master, I the Mosquito, have drunk your blood and defeated you in combat.”

I roared an almighty roar that sent the wildebeest and the giraffe scattering across the savanna.

“Ha ha ha, ” laughed the mosquito. And he flew backwards into a spider’s web. And the spider showed respect to his queen by eating the wretched insect.

A little while after this, I was lying asleep under a tree when I felt something tickling my nose.

I opened one eye and saw that a mouse had scampered onto my face!

“How dare you ! ” I roared. And was about to swipe him a deadly blow with my paw when the mouse begged:

“Oh mighty queen, forgive me! I was running through the long grass, and did not mean to run onto your nose or to disturb your sleep .”

And I laughed at this furry creature and said.

“Little fellow. I was about to kill you but you have shown wisdom and respect for your queen. I pardon your sin.”

“Oh, thank you thank you,” said the mouse. “I only hope that One day I may be of service to your majesty. ”

And I laughed again, for how could a little mouse help a mighty queen?

The weeks went by, and I was out for a midnight stroll when all of a sudden, there was no ground beneath my paws.

Thump. I fell to the bottom a pit I tried to spring out, but I was tangled in a net. The more my limbs struggled, the more I became entangled.

A hyena came by and saw me in this sorry trap. He cackled with his ugly voice and taunted me;

“In the morning the men shall come and throw their spears into your side. And then we shall have to find a new queen.”

I snarled with fury and swore to tear him apart when I was free from the snare. But he just laughed his silly laugh.

Towards morning, I had almost given up hope when I heard a little voice.

“My queen,” it said. “At last I may be of service to you.”

I saw the pink nose of the mouse.

“My loyal subject. It does my proud heart good to hear your well meaning words. But I am afraid you must now pay your last respects to your queen, for my limbs are caught in this net, and very soon the sun will rise and the men shall come to kill me.”

“You underestimate the might of a mouse,” said my loyal subject. And he called his wife and children, and together they gnawed through the net. I was free within the hour, just in time to spring out of the pit and give the men who had come to kill me a nasty surprise.

And so that is the story of how I, the queen of the jungle, came to respect those who respect me, no matter how small they might be, because sometimes the smallest of those among us, have the advantage over the mighty and the strong.

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The brave little tailor kills seven flies with one blow, and manages to convince both giants and kings that he is indeed a force to be reckoned with. The hero in this story by the Brothers Grimm is armed with whit, cunning and a sense of humour. He conquers all before him, including a giant, a unicorn, and a princess.

Read by Natasha. Story by the Brothers Grimm. Duration 16.48.

One summer’s morning a little tailor was sitting on his table by the window; he was in good spirits, and sewed with all his might. Then came a peasant woman down the street crying: ‘Good jams, cheap! Good jams, cheap!’ This rang pleasantly in the tailor’s ears; he stretched his delicate head out of the window, and called: ‘Come up here, dear woman; here you will get rid of your goods.’ The woman came up the three steps to the tailor with her heavy basket, and he made her unpack all the pots for him. He inspected each one, lifted it up, put his nose to it, and at length said: ‘The jam seems to me to be good. I’ll buy a jar.” The women, who had hoped to sell far more jam, gave him what he wanted but went away grumbling.

‘Now, this jam shall be blessed by God,’ cried the little tailor, ‘and give me health and strength’; so he brought the bread out of the cupboard, cut himself a piece right across the loaf and spread the jam over it. ‘This won’t taste bitter,’ said he, ‘but I will just finish the jacket before I take a bite.’ He laid the bread near him, sewed on, and in his joy, made bigger and bigger stitches. In the meantime the smell of the sweet jam rose to where the flies were sitting in great numbers, and they were attracted and descended on it in hosts. ‘Hey! who invited you?’ said the little tailor, and drove the unbidden guests away. The flies, however, understood no German, and came back again in ever-increasing companies. The little tailor at last lost all patience, and drew a piece of cloth from the hole under his work-table, and saying: ‘Wait, and I will give it to you,’ struck it mercilessly on them. When he drew it away and counted, there lay before him no fewer than seven flies, dead and with legs stretched out.

The taylor looked at the flies that he had killed, and could not help admiring his own bravery. ‘The whole town shall know of this!’ he said. And the little tailor hastened to cut himself a belt, stitched it, and embroidered on it in large letters: ‘Seven dead at one stroke!’ ‘What, the town, the whole world shall hear of it!’ he exclaimed. and his heart wagged with joy like a lamb’s tail. The tailor put on the girdle, and resolved to go forth into the world, because he thought his workshop was too small for his valour. Before he went away, he looked around the house to see if there was anything which he could take with him; however, he found nothing but an old cheese, and that he put in his pocket. In front of the door he observed a bird which had caught itself in the thicket. It had to go into his pocket with the cheese. Now he took to the road boldly, and as he was light and nimble, he felt no tiredness. The road led him up a mountain, and when he had reached the highest point of it, there sat a powerful giant looking peacefully about him. The little tailor went bravely up, spoke to him, and said: ‘Good day, comrade, so you are sitting there overlooking the wide-spread world! I am just on my way there, and want to try my luck. How about you come with me?’ The giant looked contemptuously at the tailor, and said: ‘You wretch! You miserable creature!’

‘Oh, indeed?’ answered the little tailor, and unbuttoned his coat, and showed the giant the belt, ‘there may you read what kind of a man I am!’ The giant read: ‘Seven dead at one stroke,’ and thought that they had been men whom the tailor had killed, and began to feel a little respect for the tiny fellow. Nevertheless, he wished to try him first, and took a stone in his hand and squeezed it together so that water dropped out of it. ‘Do that,’ said the giant, ‘if you have strength.’ ‘Is that all?’ said the tailor, ‘that is child’s play !’ and put his hand into his pocket, brought out the soft cheese, and pressed it until the liquid ran out of it. The giant did not know what to say, and could not believe it of the little man. Then the giant picked up a stone and threw it so high that the eye could scarcely follow it. ‘Now, little mite of a man, do that,’ ‘Well thrown,’ said the tailor, ‘but after all the stone came down to earth again; I will throw you one which shall never come back at all,’ and he put his hand into his pocket, took out the bird, and threw it into the air. The bird, delighted with its liberty, rose, flew away and did not come back. ‘How does that shot please you, comrade?’ asked the tailor. ‘You can certainly throw,’ said the giant, ‘but now we will see if you are able to carry anything properly.’ He took the little tailor to a mighty oak tree which lay there felled on the ground, and said: ‘If you are strong enough, help me to carry the tree out of the forest.’ ‘Readily,’ answered the little man; ‘take you the trunk on your shoulders, and I will raise up the branches and twigs; after all, they are the heaviest.’ The giant took the trunk on his shoulder, but the tailor seated himself on a branch, and the giant, who could not look round, had to carry away the whole tree, and the little tailor into the bargain: he behind, was quite merry and happy, and whistled the song: ‘Three tailors rode forth from the gate,’ as if carrying the tree were child’s play. The giant, after he had dragged the heavy burden part of the way, could go no further, and cried: ‘Now I shall have to let the tree fall!’ The tailor sprang nimbly down, seized the tree with both arms as if he had been carrying it, and said to the giant: ‘You are such a great fellow, and yet cannot even carry the tree!’

The giant said: ‘If you are such a brave fellow, come with me into our cave and spend the night with us.’ The little tailor was willing, and followed him. When they went into the cave, other giants were sitting there by the fire, and each of them had a roasted sheep in his hand and was eating it. The little tailor looked round and thought: ‘It is much more spacious here than in my workshop.’ The giant showed him a bed, and said he was to lie down in it and sleep. The bed, however, was too big for the little tailor; he did not lie down in it, but crept into a corner. When it was midnight, and the giant thought that the little tailor was lying in a sound sleep, he got up, took a great iron bar, cut through the bed with one blow, and thought he had finished off the grasshopper of a man for good. With the earliest dawn the giants went into the forest, and had quite forgotten the little tailor, when all at once he walked up to them quite merrily and boldly. The giants were terrified, they were afraid that he would strike them all dead, and ran away in a great hurry.

The little tailor went onwards, always following his own pointed nose. After he had walked for a long time, he came to the courtyard of a royal palace, and as he felt weary, he lay down on the grass and fell asleep. Whilst he lay there, the people came and inspected him on all sides, and read on his belt: ‘Seven dead with one stroke.’ ‘Ah!’ said they, ‘what does the great warrior want here in the midst of peace? He must be a mighty lord.’ Soon the Taylor was brought before the king how had a request to make of him.

“In the forest roams a magical horse with one horn – a unicorn which does great harm attacking people all around. If you can can rid me of this unicorn, you shall have the hand of my daughter in marriage and half my kingdom.” And the Taylor thought to himself, “It is not every day that I receive an offer such as that” and he replied.

I do not fear one unicorn. Seven at one blow, is my kind of affair.’ He took a rope and an axe with him, went forth into the forest. The unicorn soon came towards him, and rushed directly on the tailor, as if it would gore him with its horn without more ado. ‘Softly, softly; it can’t be done as quickly as that,’ said he, and stood still and waited until the animal was quite close, and then sprang nimbly behind the tree. The unicorn ran against the tree with all its strength, and stuck its horn so fast in the trunk that it had not the strength enough to draw it out again, and thus it was caught. ‘Now, I have got it,’ said the tailor, and came out from behind the tree and put the rope round its neck, and then with his axe he hewed the horn out of the tree, and when all was ready he led the beast away and took it to the king.

But the kind was sorry that he had promised his daughter to the little man, and and made another demand. Before the wedding the tailor was to catch him a wild boar that made great havoc in the forest. And so the taylor went into the forrest where the boar was roaming.

When the boar saw the tailor, it ran on him with foaming mouth and sharp tusks, and was about to throw him to the ground, but the hero fled and sprang into a chapel which was near and up to the window at once, and in one bound out again. The boar ran after him, but the tailor ran round outside and shut the door behind it, and then the raging beast, which was much too heavy and awkward to leap out of the window, was caught. The hero, went to the king, who was now, whether he liked it or not, obliged to keep his promise, and gave his daughter and the half of his kingdom. The wedding was held with great magnificence and small joy, and out of a tailor a king was made.

After some time the young queen heard her husband say in his dreams at night: ‘Boy, make me the jacket , and patch the trousers”. The next morning complained of her wrongs to her father, and begged him to help her to get rid of her husband, who was nothing else but a tailor. The king comforted her and said: ‘Leave your bedroom door open this night, and my servants shall stand outside, and when he has fallen asleep shall go in, bind him, and take him on board a ship which shall carry him into the wide world.’ The woman was satisfied with this; but the king’s armour-bearer, who had heard all, was friendly with the young lord, and informed him of the whole plot. ‘I’ll put a screw into that business,’ said the little tailor. At night he went to bed with his wife at the usual time, and when she thought that he had fallen asleep, she got up, opened the door, and then lay down again. The little tailor, who was only pretending to be asleep, began to cry out in a clear voice: ‘Boy, make me the jacket , and patch the trousers”.. I smote seven at one blow. I killed two giants, I brought away one unicorn, and caught a wild boar, and am I to fear those who are standing outside the room.’ When these men heard the tailor speaking thus, they were overcome by a great fear, and ran as if the wild huntsman were behind them, and none of them would venture anything further against him. So the little tailor remained a king to the end of his life.

And that was the tale of the Brave Little Taylor by the Brothers Grimm. I do hope that you enjoyed it. And don’t forget, there are loads more stories at Storynory.com. Until next time, from me, Natasha, Bye Bye.

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This story by Hans Christian Andersen is about one of the most beautiful sounds in the world – the voice of nightingale. But some people who ought to know better prefer the music of a clockwork bird.

The setting is Ancient China and the pompous court of the Emperor. As in many stories by Andersen, the humble people have more taste and judgment than the courtiers (See the Emperor’s New Clothes)

Sit back and enjoy this longish story with sound effects. The music is the Dance of the Hours by Ponchielli.

Read by Natasha. Story by Hans Christian Andersen. Duration 32.20.

THE NIGHTINGALE by Hans Christian Andersen

The story I am going to tell you happened a great many years ago in China, so it is well to hear it now before it is forgotten. The emperor’s palace was the most beautiful in the world. It was built entirely of porcelain, and very costly, but so delicate and brittle that whoever touched it was obliged to be careful. In the garden could be seen the most singular flowers, with pretty silver bells tied to them, which tinkled so that every one who passed could not help noticing the flowers. Indeed, everything in the emperor’s garden was remarkable, and it extended so far that the gardener himself did not know where it ended. Those who traveled beyond its limits knew that there was a noble forest, with lofty trees, sloping down to the deep blue sea, and the great ships sailed under the shadow of its branches. In one of these trees lived a nightingale, who sang so beautifully that even the poor fishermen, who had so many other things to do, would stop and listen. Sometimes, when they went at night to spread their nets, they would hear her sing, and say, “Oh, is not that beautiful?” But when they returned to their fishing, they forgot the bird until the next night. Then they would hear it again, and exclaim “Oh, how beautiful is the nightingale’s song!”

Travellers from every country in the world came to the city of the emperor, which they admired very much, as well as the palace and gardens; but when they heard the nightingale, they all declared it to be the best of all. And the travelers, on their return home, related what they had seen; and learned men wrote books, containing descriptions of the town, the palace, and the gardens; but they did not forget the nightingale, which was really the greatest wonder. And those who could write poetry composed beautiful verses about the nightingale, who lived in a forest near the deep sea. The books traveled all over the world, and some of them came into the hands of the emperor; and he sat in his golden chair, and, as he read, he nodded his approval every moment, for it pleased him to find such a beautiful description of his city, his palace, and his gardens. But when he came to the words, “the nightingale is the most beautiful of all,” he exclaimed, “What is this? I know nothing of any nightingale. Is there such a bird in my empire? and even in my garden? I have never heard of it. Something, it appears, may be learnt from books.”

Then he called one of his lords-in-waiting, who was so high-bred, that when any in an inferior rank to himself spoke to him, or asked him a question, he would answer, “Pooh,” which means nothing.

“There is a very wonderful bird mentioned here, called a nightingale,” said the emperor; “they say it is the best thing in my large kingdom. Why have I not been told of it?”

“I have never heard the name,” replied the cavalier; “she has not been presented at court.”

“It is my pleasure that she shall appear this evening.” said the emperor; “the whole world knows what I possess better than I do myself.”

“I have never heard of her,” said the cavalier; “yet I will endeavor to find her.”

But where was the nightingale to be found? The nobleman went up stairs and down, through halls and passages; yet none of those whom he met had heard of the bird. So he returned to the emperor, and said that it must be a fable, invented by those who had written the book. “Your imperial majesty,” said he, “cannot believe everything contained in books; sometimes they are only fiction, or what is called the black art.”

“But the book in which I have read this account,” said the emperor, “was sent to me by the great and mighty emperor of Japan, and therefore it cannot contain a falsehood. I will hear the nightingale, she must be here this evening; she has my highest favor; and if she does not come, the whole court shall be trampled upon after supper is ended.”

“Tsing-pe!” cried the lord-in-waiting, and again he ran up and down stairs, through all the halls and corridors; and half the court ran with him, for they did not like the idea of being trampled upon. There was a great inquiry about this wonderful nightingale, whom all the world knew, but who was unknown to the court.

At last they met with a poor little girl in the kitchen, who said, “Oh, yes, I know the nightingale quite well; indeed, she can sing. Every evening I have permission to take home to my poor sick mother the scraps from the table; she lives down by the sea-shore, and as I come back I feel tired, and I sit down in the wood to rest, and listen to the nightingale’s song. Then the tears come into my eyes, and it is just as if my mother kissed me.”

“Little maiden,” said the lord-in-waiting, “I will obtain for you constant employment in the kitchen, and you shall have permission to see the emperor dine, if you will lead us to the nightingale; for she is invited for this evening to the palace.” So she went into the wood where the nightingale sang, and half the court followed her. As they went along, a cow began lowing.

“Oh,” said a young courtier, “now we have found her; what wonderful power for such a small creature; I have certainly heard it before.”

“No, that is only a cow lowing,” said the little girl; “we are a long way from the place yet.”

Then some frogs began to croak in the marsh.

“Beautiful,” said the young courtier again. “Now I hear it, tinkling like little church bells.”

“No, those are frogs,” said the little maiden; “but I think we shall soon hear her now:” and presently the nightingale began to sing.

“Hark, hark! there she is,” said the girl, “and there she sits,” she added, pointing to a little gray bird who was perched on a bough.

“Is it possible?” said the lord-in-waiting, “I never imagined it would be a little, plain, simple thing like that. She has certainly changed color at seeing so many grand people around her.”

“Little nightingale,” cried the girl, raising her voice, “our most gracious emperor wishes you to sing before him.”

“With the greatest pleasure,” said the nightingale, and began to sing most delightfully.

“It sounds like tiny glass bells,” said the lord-in-waiting, “and see how her little throat works. It is surprising that we have never heard this before; she will be a great success at court.”

“Shall I sing once more before the emperor?” asked the nightingale, who thought he was present.

“My excellent little nightingale,” said the courtier, “I have the great pleasure of inviting you to a court festival this evening, where you will gain imperial favor by your charming song.”

“My song sounds best in the green wood,” said the bird; but still she came willingly when she heard the emperor’s wish.

The palace was elegantly decorated for the occasion. The walls and floors of porcelain glittered in the light of a thousand lamps. Beautiful flowers, round which little bells were tied, stood in the corridors: what with the running to and fro and the draught, these bells tinkled so loudly that no one could speak to be heard. In the centre of the great hall, a golden perch had been fixed for the nightingale to sit on. The whole court was present, and the little kitchen-maid had received permission to stand by the door. She was not installed as a real court cook. All were in full dress, and every eye was turned to the little gray bird when the emperor nodded to her to begin. The nightingale sang so sweetly that the tears came into the emperor’s eyes, and then rolled down his cheeks, as her song became still more touching and went to every one’s heart. The emperor was so delighted that he declared the nightingale should have his gold slipper to wear round her neck, but she declined the honor with thanks: she had been sufficiently rewarded already. “I have seen tears in an emperor’s eyes,” she said, “that is my richest reward. An emperor’s tears have wonderful power, and are quite sufficient honor for me;” and then she sang again more enchantingly than ever.

“That singing is a lovely gift;” said the ladies of the court to each other; and then they took water in their mouths to make them utter the gurgling sounds of the nightingale when they spoke to any one, so that they might fancy themselves nightingales. And the footmen and chambermaids also expressed their satisfaction, which is saying a great deal, for they are very difficult to please. In fact the nightingale’s visit was most successful. She was now to remain at court, to have her own cage, with liberty to go out twice a day, and once during the night. Twelve servants were appointed to attend her on these occasions, who each held her by a silken string fastened to her leg. There was certainly not much pleasure in this kind of flying.

The whole city spoke of the wonderful bird, and when two people met, one said “nightin,” and the other said “gale,” and they understood what was meant, for nothing else was talked of. Eleven peddlers’ children were named after her, but not of them could sing a note.

One day the emperor received a large packet on which was written “The Nightingale.” “Here is no doubt a new book about our celebrated bird,” said the emperor. But instead of a book, it was a work of art contained in a casket, an artificial nightingale made to look like a living one, and covered all over with diamonds, rubies, and sapphires. As soon as the artificial bird was wound up, it could sing like the real one, and could move its tail up and down, which sparkled with silver and gold. Round its neck hung a piece of ribbon, on which was written “The Emperor of China’s nightingale is poor compared with that of the Emperor of Japan’s.”

“This is very beautiful,” exclaimed all who saw it, and he who had brought the artificial bird received the title of “Imperial nightingale-bringer-in-chief.”

“Now they must sing together,” said the court, “and what a duet it will be.” But they did not get on well, for the real nightingale sang in its own natural way, but the artificial bird sang only waltzes.

“That is not a fault,” said the music-master, “it is quite perfect to my taste,” so then it had to sing alone, and was as successful as the real bird; besides, it was so much prettier to look at, for it sparkled like bracelets and breast-pins. Three and thirty times did it sing the same tunes without being tired; the people would gladly have heard it again, but the emperor said the living nightingale ought to sing something. But where was she? No one had noticed her when she flew out at the open window, back to her own green woods.

“What strange conduct,” said the emperor, when her flight had been discovered; and all the courtiers blamed her, and said she was a very ungrateful creature.

“But we have the best bird after all,” said one, and then they would have the bird sing again, although it was the thirty-fourth time they had listened to the same piece, and even then they had not learnt it, for it was rather difficult. But the music-master praised the bird in the highest degree, and even asserted that it was better than a real nightingale, not only in its dress and the beautiful diamonds, but also in its musical power. “For you must perceive, my chief lord and emperor, that with a real nightingale we can never tell what is going to be sung, but with this bird everything is settled. It can be opened and explained, so that people may understand how the waltzes are formed, and why one note follows upon another.”

“This is exactly what we think,” they all replied, and then the music-master received permission to exhibit the bird to the people on the following Sunday, and the emperor commanded that they should be present to hear it sing. When they heard it they were like people intoxicated; however it must have been with drinking tea, which is quite a Chinese custom. They all said “Oh!” and held up their forefingers and nodded, but a poor fisherman, who had heard the real nightingale, said, “it sounds prettily enough, and the melodies are all alike; yet there seems something wanting, I cannot exactly tell what.”

And after this the real nightingale was banished from the empire, and the artificial bird placed on a silk cushion close to the emperor’s bed. The presents of gold and precious stones which had been received with it were round the bird, and it was now advanced to the title of “Little Imperial Toilet Singer,” and to the rank of No. 1 on the left hand; for the emperor considered the left side, on which the heart lies, as the most noble, and the heart of an emperor is in the same place as that of other people.

The music-master wrote a work, in twenty-five volumes, about the artificial bird, which was very learned and very long, and full of the most difficult Chinese words; yet all the people said they had read it, and understood it, for fear of being thought stupid and having their bodies trampled upon.

So a year passed, and the emperor, the court, and all the other Chinese knew every little turn in the artificial bird’s song; and for that same reason it pleased them better. They could sing with the bird, which they often did. The street-boys sang, “Zi-zi-zi, cluck, cluck, cluck,” and the emperor himself could sing it also. It was really most amusing.

One evening, when the artificial bird was singing its best, and the emperor lay in bed listening to it, something inside the bird sounded “whizz.” Then a spring cracked. “Whir-r-r-r” went all the wheels, running round, and then the music stopped. The emperor immediately sprang out of bed, and called for his physician; but what could he do? Then they sent for a watchmaker; and, after a great deal of talking and examination, the bird was put into something like order; but he said that it must be used very carefully, as the barrels were worn, and it would be impossible to put in new ones without injuring the music. Now there was great sorrow, as the bird could only be allowed to play once a year; and even that was dangerous for the works inside it. Then the music-master made a little speech, full of hard words, and declared that the bird was as good as ever; and, of course no one contradicted him.

Five years passed, and then a real grief came upon the land. The Chinese really were fond of their emperor, and he now lay so ill that he was not expected to live. Already a new emperor had been chosen and the people who stood in the street asked the lord-in-waiting how the old emperor was; but he only said, “Pooh!” and shook his head.

Cold and pale lay the emperor in his royal bed; the whole court thought he was dead, and every one ran away to pay homage to his successor. The chamberlains went out to have a talk on the matter, and the ladies’-maids invited company to take coffee. Cloth had been laid down on the halls and passages, so that not a footstep should be heard, and all was silent and still. But the emperor was not yet dead, although he lay white and stiff on his gorgeous bed, with the long velvet curtains and heavy gold tassels. A window stood open, and the moon shone in upon the emperor and the artificial bird. The poor emperor, finding he could scarcely breathe with a strange weight on his chest, opened his eyes, and saw Death sitting there. He had put on the emperor’s golden crown, and held in one hand his sword of state, and in the other his beautiful banner. All around the bed and peeping through the long velvet curtains, were a number of strange heads, some very ugly, and others lovely and gentle-looking. These were the emperor’s good and bad deeds, which stared him in the face now Death sat at his heart.

“Do you remember this?” “Do you recollect that?” they asked one after another, thus bringing to his remembrance circumstances that made the perspiration stand on his brow.

“I know nothing about it,” said the emperor. “Music! music!” he cried; “the large Chinese drum! that I may not hear what they say.” But they still went on, and Death nodded like a Chinaman to all they said. “Music! music!” shouted the emperor. “You little precious golden bird, sing, pray sing! I have given you gold and costly presents; I have even hung my golden slipper round your neck. Sing! sing!” But the bird remained silent. There was no one to wind it up, and therefore it could not sing a note.

Death continued to stare at the emperor with his cold, hollow eyes, and the room was fearfully still. Suddenly there came through the open window the sound of sweet music. Outside, on the bough of a tree, sat the living nightingale. She had heard of the emperor’s illness, and was therefore come to sing to him of hope and trust. And as she sung, the shadows grew paler and paler; the blood in the emperor’s veins flowed more rapidly, and gave life to his weak limbs; and even Death himself listened, and said, “Go on, little nightingale, go on.”

“Then will you give me the beautiful golden sword and that rich banner? and will you give me the emperor’s crown?” said the bird.

So Death gave up each of these treasures for a song; and the nightingale continued her singing. She sung of the quiet churchyard, where the white roses grow, where the elder-tree wafts its perfume on the breeze, and the fresh, sweet grass is moistened by the mourners’ tears. Then Death longed to go and see his garden, and floated out through the window in the form of a cold, white mist.

“Thanks, thanks, you heavenly little bird. I know you well. I banished you from my kingdom once, and yet you have charmed away the evil faces from my bed, and banished Death from my heart, with your sweet song. How can I reward you?”

“You have already rewarded me,” said the nightingale. “I shall never forget that I drew tears from your eyes the first time I sang to you. These are the jewels that rejoice a singer’s heart. But now sleep, and grow strong and well again. I will sing to you again.”

And as she sung, the emperor fell into a sweet sleep; and how mild and refreshing that slumber was! When he awoke, strengthened and restored, the sun shone brightly through the window; but not one of his servants had returned—they all believed he was dead; only the nightingale still sat beside him, and sang.

“You must always remain with me,” said the emperor. “You shall sing only when it pleases you; and I will break the artificial bird into a thousand pieces.”

“No; do not do that,” replied the nightingale; “the bird did very well as long as it could. Keep it here still. I cannot live in the palace, and build my nest; but let me come when I like. I will sit on a bough outside your window, in the evening, and sing to you, so that you may be happy, and have thoughts full of joy. I will sing to you of those who are happy, and those who suffer; of the good and the evil, who are hidden around you. The little singing bird flies far from you and your court to the home of the fisherman and the peasant’s cot. I love your heart better than your crown; and yet something holy lingers round that also. I will come, I will sing to you; but you must promise me one thing.”

“Everything,” said the emperor, who, having dressed himself in his imperial robes, stood with the hand that held the heavy golden sword pressed to his heart.

“I only ask one thing,” she replied; “let no one know that you have a little bird who tells you everything. It will be best to conceal it.” So saying, the nightingale flew away.

The servants now came in to look after the dead emperor; when, lo! there he stood, and, to their astonishment, said, “Good morning.”

Story by Hans Christian Andersen
Animal FX recorded by Reinsamba
Orchestral Music by Partners in Rhyme
Drums by Garage Band
Other FX by Storynory

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This story from Japan shows us that we should respect the old – even an old monkey. It’s about a dancing monkey who has served his master faithfully all his life. Now he is too old to dance, his master wants to get rid of him. The monkey consults an wise old wild boar, who hatches a plan to remind the master of his monkey’s faithful service.

The plot of this story resembles Old Sultan by the Brothers Grimm from Germany – suggesting that there is something universal about a good plot.

Read by Natasha. Duration 7.13. Sponsored by AudibleKids

Long, long ago, there lived in the province of Shinshin in Japan, a
traveling monkey-man, who earned his living by taking round a monkey
and showing off the animal’s tricks.

One evening the man came home in a very bad temper and told his wife
to send for the butcher the next morning.

The wife was amazed and asked her husband:

“Why do you wish me to send for the butcher?”

“It’s no use taking that monkey round any longer, he’s too old and
forgets his tricks. and now he won’t dance properly. I must now sell him to the butcher and make what money out of him I can. There is nothing else to be done.”

The woman felt very sorry for the poor little animal, and pleaded
for her husband to spare the monkey, but her pleading was all in
vain, the man was determined to sell him to the butcher.

Now the monkey was in the next room and overheard ever word of the
conversation. He soon understood that he was to be killed, and he
said to himself:

“I never knew my master was so cruel and heartless. I have served him faithfully

for years, and instead of allowing me to end my days comfortably and
in peace, he is going to let me be cut up by the butcher, and my
poor body is to be roasted and stewed and eaten? Woe is me! What am
I to do. Ah! a bright thought has struck me! There is, I know, a
wild boar living in the forest near by. I have often heard tell of
his wisdom. Perhaps if I go to him and tell him abut the trouble I am in
he will give me his advice.. I will go and try.”

There was no time to lose. The monkey slipped out of the house and
ran as quickly as he could to the forest to find the boar. The boar
was at home, and the monkey began his tale of woe at once.

“Good Mr. Boar, I have heard of your excellent wisdom. I am in great
trouble, you alone can help me. I have grown old in the service of
my master, and because I cannot dance properly now he intends to
sell me to the butcher. What do you advise me to do? I know how
clever you are!”

The boar was pleased at the flattery and determined to help the
monkey. He thought for a little while and then said:

“Hasn’t your master a baby?”

“Oh, yes,” said the monkey, “he has one infant son.”

“Doesn’t he lie by the door in the morning when your mistress begins
the work of the day? Well, I will come round early and when I see my
opportunity I will seize the child and run off with it.”

“What then?” said the monkey.

“Why the mother will be in a tremendous scare, and before your
master and mistress know what to do, you must run after me and
rescue the child and take it home safely to its parents, and you
will see that when the butcher comes they won’t have the heart to
sell you.”

The monkey thanked the boar many times and then went home. He did
not sleep much that night, as you may imagine, for thinking of the
the following day when the butcher was due to come to the house. His life depended on whether the boar’s plan succeeded or
not. He was the first up, waiting anxiously for what was to happen.
It seemed to him a very long time before his master’s wife began to
move about and open the shutters to let in the light of day. Then
all happened as the boar had planned. The mother placed her child
near the porch as usual while she tidied up the house and got her
breakfast ready.

The child was crooning happily in the morning sunlight, dabbing on
the mats at the play of light and shadow. Suddenly there was a noise
in the porch and a loud cry from the child. The mother ran out from
the kitchen to the spot, only just in time to see the boar
disappearing through the gate with her child in its clutch. She
flung out her hands with a loud cry of despair and rushed into the
inner room where her husband was still sleeping soundly.

He sat up slowly and rubbed his eyes, and crossly demanded what his
wife was making all that noise about. By the time that the man was
awake and they both got outside the gate, the
boar had got well away, but they saw the monkey running after the
thief as hard as his legs would carry him.

Both the man and wife were amazed to see the monkey chasing the thief. And when he bought the baby back safely to them, they could not stop crying with joy and gratitude.

“There!” said the wife. “This is the animal you want to kill–if the
monkey hadn’t been here we should have lost our child forever.”

“You are right, wife,” said the man as he carried the
child into the house. “You may send the butcher back when he comes,
and now let us us all have a good breakfast and the monkey too.”

When the butcher arrived he was sent away with an order for some
meat for the evening dinner, and the monkey was petted and
lived the rest of his days in peace.

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The story of a tiny, tiny little girl, and her journey through nature. Hans Christian Andersen wrote this delicate story in 1835. Like many of his tales, it’s about the courage and survival against the odds of somebody quite small and rather different.

If you like this story, you will probably enjoy The Ugly Ducking too.

Read by Natasha.  Duration 32.22   Version from Andrew Lang’s Yellow Fairy Book.

There was once a woman who wanted to have quite a tiny, little child, but she did not know where to get one from. So one day she went to an old Witch and said to her: ‘I should so much like to have a tiny, little child; can you tell me where I can get one?’

‘Oh, we have just got one ready!’ said the Witch. ‘Here is a barley-corn for you, but it’s not the kind the farmer sows in his field, or feeds the cocks and hens with, I can tell you. Put it in a flower-pot, and then you will see something happen.’

‘Oh, thank you!’ said the woman, and gave the Witch a shilling, for that was what it cost. Then she went home and planted the barley-corn; immediately there grew out of it a large and beautiful flower, which looked like a tulip, but the petals were tightly closed as if it were still only a bud.

‘What a beautiful flower!’ exclaimed the woman, and she kissed the red and yellow petals; but as she kissed them the flower burst open. It was a real tulip, such as one can see any day; but in the middle of the blossom, on the green velvety petals, sat a little girl, quite tiny, trim, and pretty. She was scarcely half a thumb in height; so they called her Thumbelina. An elegant polished walnut-shell served Thumbelina as a cradle, the blue petals of a violet were her mattress, and a rose-leaf her coverlid. There she lay at night, but in the day-time she used to play about on the table; here the woman had put a bowl, surrounded by a ring of flowers, with their stalks in water, in the middle of which floated a great tulip pedal, and on this Thumbelina sat, and sailed from one side of the bowl to the other, rowing herself with two white horse-hairs for oars. It was such a pretty sight! She could sing, too, with a voice more soft and sweet than had ever been heard before.

One night, when she was lying in her pretty little bed, an old toad crept in through a broken pane in the window. She was very ugly, clumsy, and clammy; she hopped on to the table where Thumbelina lay asleep under the red rose-leaf.

‘This would make a beautiful wife for my son,’ said the toad, taking up the walnut-shell, with Thumbelina inside, and hopping with it through the window into the garden.

There flowed a great wide stream, with slippery and marshy banks; here the toad lived with her son. Ugh! how ugly and clammy he was, just like his mother! ‘Croak, croak, croak!’ was all he could say when he saw the pretty little girl in the walnut- shell.

‘Don’t talk so load, or you’ll wake her,’ said the old toad. ‘She might escape us even now; she is as light as a feather. We will put her at once on a broad water-lily leaf in the stream. That will be quite an island for her; she is so small and light. She can’t run away from us there, whilst we are preparing the guest-chamber under the marsh where she shall live.’

Outside in the brook grew many water-lilies, with broad green leaves, which looked as if they were swimming about on the water.

The leaf farthest away was the largest, and to this the old toad swam with Thumbelina in her walnut-shell.

The tiny Thumbelina woke up very early in the morning, and when she saw where she was she began to cry bitterly; for on every side of the great green leaf was water, and she could not get to the land.

The old toad was down under the marsh, decorating her room with rushes and yellow marigold leaves, to make it very grand for her new daughter-in-law; then she swam out with her ugly son to the leaf where Thumbelina lay. She wanted to fetch the pretty cradle to put it into her room before Thumbelina herself came there. The old toad bowed low in the water before her, and said: ‘Here is my son; you shall marry him, and live in great magnificence down under the marsh.’

‘Croak, croak, croak!’ was all that the son could say. Then they took the neat little cradle and swam away with it; but Thumbelina sat alone on the great green leaf and wept, for she did not want to live with the clammy toad, or marry her ugly son. The little fishes swimming about under the water had seen the toad quite plainly, and heard what she had said; so they put up their heads to see the little girl. When they saw her, they thought her so pretty that they were very sorry she should go down with the ugly toad to live. No; that must not happen. They assembled in the water round the green stalk which supported the leaf on which she was sitting, and nibbled the stem in two. Away floated the leaf down the stream, bearing Thumbelina far beyond the reach of the toad.

On she sailed past several towns, and the little birds sitting in the bushes saw her, and sang, ‘What a pretty little girl!’ The leaf floated farther and farther away; thus Thumbelina left her native land.

A beautiful little white butterfly fluttered above her, and at last settled on the leaf. Thumbelina pleased him, and she, too, was delighted, for now the toads could not reach her, and it was so beautiful where she was travelling; the sun shone on the water and made it sparkle like the brightest silver. She took off her sash, and tied one end round the butterfly; the other end she fastened to the leaf, so that now it glided along with her faster than ever.

A great chaffinch came flying past; he caught sight of Thumbelina, and in a moment had put his arms round her slender waist, and had flown off with her to a tree. The green leaf floated away down the stream, and the butterfly with it, for he was fastened to the leaf and could not get loose from it. Oh, dear! how terrified poor little Thumbelina was when the chaffinch flew off with her to the tree! But she was especially distressed on the beautiful white butterfly’s account, as she had tied him fast, so that if he could not get away he must starve to death. But the chaffinch did not trouble himself about that; he sat down with her on a large green leaf, gave her the honey out of the flowers to eat, and told her that she was very pretty, although she wasn’t in the least like a chaffinch. Later on, all the other chaffinchs who lived in the same tree came to pay calls; they examined Thumbelina closely, and remarked,  How very miserable!’

‘She has no feelers!’ cried another.

‘How ugly she is!’ said all the lady chafers–and yet Thumbelina was really very pretty.

The chaffinch who had stolen her knew this very well; but when he heard all the ladies saying she was ugly, he began to think so too, and would not keep her; she might go wherever she liked. So he flew down from the tree with her and put her on a daisy. There she sat and wept, because she was so ugly that the chaffinch would have nothing to do with her; and yet she was the most beautiful creature imaginable, so soft and delicate, like the loveliest rose-leaf.

The whole summer poor little Thumbelina lived alone in the great wood. She plaited a bed for herself of blades of grass, and hung it up under a clover-leaf, so that she was protected from the rain; she gathered honey from the flowers for food, and drank the dew on the leaves every morning. Thus the summer and autumn passed, but then came winter–the long, cold winter. All the birds who had sung so sweetly about her had flown away; the trees shed their leaves, the flowers died; the great clover-leaf under which she had lived curled up, and nothing remained of it but the withered stalk. She was terribly cold, for her clothes were ragged, and she herself was so small and thin. Poor little Thumbelina! she would surely be frozen to death. It began to snow, and every snow-flake that fell on her was to her as a whole shovelful thrown on one of us, for we are so big, and she was only an inch high. She wrapt herself round in a dead leaf, but it was torn in the middle and gave her no warmth; she was trembling with cold.

Just outside the wood where she was now living lay a great corn-field. But the corn had been gone a long time; only the dry, bare stubble was left standing in the frozen ground. This made a forest for her to wander about in. All at once she came across the door of a field-mouse, who had a little hole under a corn-stalk. There the mouse lived warm and snug, with a store-room full of corn, a splendid kitchen and dining-room. Poor little Thumbelina went up to the door and begged for a little piece of barley, for she had not had anything to eat for the last two days.

‘Poor little creature!’ said the field-mouse, for she was a kind- hearted old thing at the bottom. ‘Come into my warm room and have some dinner with me.’

As Thumbelina pleased her, she said: ‘As far as I am concerned you may spend the winter with me; but you must keep my room clean and tidy, and tell me stories, for I like that very much.’

And Thumbelina did all that the kind old field-mouse asked, and did it remarkably well too.

‘Now I am expecting a visitor,’ said the field-mouse; ‘my neighbour comes to call on me once a week. He is in better circumstances than I am, has great, big rooms, and wears a fine black-velvet coat. If you could only marry him, you would be well provided for. But he is blind. You must tell him all the prettiest stories you know.’

But Thumbelina did not trouble her head about him, for he was only a mole. He came and paid them a visit in his black-velvet coat.

‘He is so rich and so accomplished,’ the field-mouse told her.

‘His house is twenty times larger than mine; he possesses great knowledge, but he cannot bear the sun and the beautiful flowers, and speaks slightingly of them, for he has never seen them.’

Thumbelina had to sing to him, so she sang ‘Lady-bird, lady- bird, fly away home!’ and other songs so prettily that the mole fell in love with her; but he did not say anything, he was a very cautious man. A short time before he had dug a long passage through the ground from his own house to that of his neighbour; in this he gave the field-mouse and Thumbelina permission to walk as often as they liked. But he begged them not to be afraid of the dead bird that lay in the passage: it was a real bird with beak and feathers, and must have died a little time ago, and now laid buried just where he had made his tunnel. The mole took a piece of rotten wood in his mouth, for that glows like fire in the dark, and went in front, lighting them through the long dark passage. When they came to the place where the dead bird lay, the mole put his broad nose against the ceiling and pushed a hole through, so that the daylight could shine down. In the middle of the path lay a dead swallow, his pretty wings pressed close to his sides, his claws and head drawn under his feathers; the poor bird had evidently died of cold. Thumbelina was very sorry, for she was very fond of all little birds; they had sung and twittered so beautifully to her all through the summer. But the mole kicked him with his bandy legs and said:

‘Now he can’t sing any more! It must be very miserable to be a little bird! I’m thankful that none of my little children are; birds always starve in winter.’

‘Yes, you speak like a sensible man,’ said the field-mouse. ‘What has a bird, in spite of all his singing, in the winter-time? He must starve and freeze, and that must be very pleasant for him, I must say!’

Thumbelina did not say anything; but when the other two had passed on she bent down to the bird, brushed aside the feathers from his head, and kissed his closed eyes gently. ‘Perhaps it was he that sang to me so prettily in the summer,’ she thought. ‘How much pleasure he did give me, dear little bird!’

The mole closed up the hole again which let in the light, and then escorted the ladies home. But Thumbelina could not sleep that night; so she got out of bed, and plaited a great big blanket of straw, and carried it off, and spread it over the dead bird, and piled upon it thistle-down as soft as cotton-wool, which she had found in the field-mouse’s room, so that the poor little thing should lie warmly buried.

‘Farewell, pretty little bird!’ she said. ‘Farewell, and thank you for your beautiful songs in the summer, when the trees were green, and the sun shone down warmly on us!’ Then she laid her head against the bird’s heart. But the bird was not dead: he had been frozen, but now that she had warmed him, he was coming to life again.

In autumn the swallows fly away to foreign lands; but there are some who are late in starting, and then they get so cold that they drop down as if dead, and the snow comes and covers them over.

Thumbelina trembled, she was so frightened; for the bird was very large in comparison with herself–only an inch high. But she took courage, piled up the down more closely over the poor swallow, fetched her own coverlid and laid it over his head.

Next night she crept out again to him. There he was alive, but very weak; he could only open his eyes for a moment and look at Thumbelina, who was standing in front of him with a piece of rotten wood in her hand, for she had no other lantern.

‘Thank you, pretty little child!’ said the swallow to her. ‘I am so beautifully warm! Soon I shall regain my strength, and then I shall be able to fly out again into the warm sunshine.’

‘Oh!’ she said, ‘it is very cold outside; it is snowing and freezing! stay in your warm bed; I will take care of you!’

Then she brought him water in a petal, which he drank, after which he related to her how he had torn one of his wings on a bramble, so that he could not fly as fast as the other swallows, who had flown far away to warmer lands. So at last he had dropped down exhausted, and then he could remember no more. The whole winter he remained down there, and Thumbelina looked after him and nursed him tenderly. Neither the mole nor the field-mouse learnt anything of this, for they could not bear the poor swallow.

When the spring came, and the sun warmed the earth again, the swallow said farewell to Thumbelina, who opened the hole in the roof for him which the mole had made. The sun shone brightly down upon her, and the swallow asked her if she would go with him; she could sit upon his back. Thumbelina wanted very much to fly far away into the green wood, but she knew that the old field-mouse would be sad if she ran away. ‘No, I mustn’t come!’ she said.

‘Farewell, dear good little girl!’ said the swallow, and flew off into the sunshine. Thumbelina gazed after him with the tears standing in her eyes, for she was very fond of the swallow.

‘Tweet, tweet!’ sang the bird, and flew into the green wood. Thumbelina was very unhappy. She was not allowed to go out into the warm sunshine. The corn which had been sowed in the field over the field-mouse’s home grew up high into the air, and made a thick forest for the poor little girl, who was only an inch high.

‘Now you are to be a bride, Thumbelina!’ said the field-mouse, ‘for our neighbour has proposed for you! What a piece of fortune for a poor child like you! Now you must set to work at your linen for your dowry, for nothing must be lacking if you are to become the wife of our neighbour, the mole!’

Thumbelina had to spin all day long, and every evening the mole visited her, and told her that when the summer was over the sun would not shine so hot; now it was burning the earth as hard as a stone. Yes, when the summer had passed, they would keep the wedding.

But she was not at all pleased about it, for she did not like the stupid mole. Every morning when the sun was rising, and every evening when it was setting, she would steal out of the house-door, and when the breeze parted the ears of corn so that she could see the blue sky through them, she thought how bright and beautiful it must be outside, and longed to see her dear swallow again. But he never came; no doubt he had flown away far into the great green wood.

By the autumn Thumbelina had finished the dowry.

‘In four weeks you will be married!’ said the field-mouse; ‘don’t be obstinate, or I shall bite you with my sharp white teeth! You will get a fine husband! The King himself has not such a velvet coat. His store-room and cellar are full, and you should be thankful for that.’

Well, the wedding-day arrived. The mole had come to fetch Thumbelina to live with him deep down under the ground, never to come out into the warm sun again, for that was what he didn’t like. The poor little girl was very sad; for now she must say good-bye to the beautiful sun.

‘Farewell, bright sun!’ she cried, stretching out her arms towards it, and taking another step outside the house; for now the corn had been reaped, and only the dry stubble was left standing. ‘Farewell, farewell!’ she said, and put her arms round a little red flower that grew there. ‘Give my love to the dear swallow when you see him!’

‘Tweet, tweet!’ sounded in her ear all at once. She looked up. There was the swallow flying past! As soon as he saw Thumbelina, he was very glad. She told him how unwilling she was to marry the ugly mole, as then she had to live underground where the sun never shone, and she could not help bursting into tears.

‘The cold winter is coming now,’ said the swallow. ‘I must fly away to warmer lands: will you come with me? You can sit on my back, and we will fly far away from the ugly mole and his dark house, over the mountains, to the warm countries where the sun shines more brightly than here, where it is always summer, and there are always beautiful flowers. Do come with me, dear little Thumbelina, who saved my life when I lay frozen in the dark tunnel!’

‘Yes, I will go with you,’ said Thumbelina, and got on the swallow’s back, with her feet on one of his outstretched wings. Up he flew into the air, over woods and seas, over the great mountains where the snow is always lying. And if she was cold she crept under his warm feathers, only keeping her little head out to admire all the beautiful things in the world beneath. At last they came to warm lands; there the sun was brighter, the sky seemed twice as high, and in the hedges hung the finest green and purple grapes; in the woods grew oranges and lemons: the air was scented with myrtle and mint, and on the roads were pretty little children running about and playing with great gorgeous butterflies. But the swallow flew on farther, and it became more and more beautiful. Under the most splendid green trees besides a blue lake stood a glittering white-marble castle. Vines hung about the high pillars; there were many swallows’ nests, and in one of these lived the swallow who was carrying Thumbelina.

‘Here is my house!’ said he. ‘But it won’t do for you to live with me; I am not tidy enough to please you. Find a home for yourself in one of the lovely flowers that grow down there; now I will set you down, and you can do whatever you like.’

‘That will be splendid!’ said she, clapping her little hands.

There lay a great white marble column which had fallen to the ground and broken into three pieces, but between these grew the most beautiful white flowers. The swallow flew down with Thumbelina, and set her upon one of the broad leaves. But there, to her astonishment, she found a tiny little man sitting in the middle of the flower, as white and transparent as if he were made of glass; he had the prettiest golden crown on his head, and the most beautiful wings on his shoulders; he himself was no bigger than Thumbelina. He was the spirit of the flower. In each blossom there dwelt a tiny man or woman; but this one was the King over the others.

‘How handsome he is!’ whispered Thumbelina to the swallow.

The little Prince was very much frightened at the swallow, for in comparison with one so tiny as himself he seemed a giant. But when he saw Thumbelina, he was delighted, for she was the most beautiful girl he had ever seen. So he took his golden crown from off his head and put it on hers, asking her her name, and if she would be his wife, and then she would be Queen of all the flowers. Yes! he was a different kind of husband to the son of the toad and the mole with the black-velvet coat. So she said ‘Yes’ to the noble Prince. And out of each flower came a lady and gentleman, each so tiny and pretty that it was a pleasure to see them. Each brought Thumbelina a present, but the best of all was a beautiful pair of wings which were fastened on to her back, and now she too could fly from flower to flower. They all wished her joy, and the swallow sat above in his nest and sang the wedding march, and that he did as well as he could; but he was sad, because he was very fond of Thumbelina and did not want to be separated from her.

‘You shall not be called Thumbelina!’ said the spirit of the flower to her; ‘that is an ugly name, and you are much too pretty for that. We will call you May Blossom.’

‘Farewell, farewell!’ said the little swallow with a heavy heart, and flew away to farther lands, far, far away, right back to Denmark. There he had a little nest above a window, where his wife lived, who can tell fairy-stories. ‘Tweet, tweet!’ he sang to her. And that is the way we learnt the whole story.

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This exciting story from Japan features a battle between a warrior and a giant centipede. The rewards for bravery in this story are not riches or the hand of a beautiful princess, but a plentiful supply of food. And by the end of the story you will know how the warrior gained his unusual title of “My Lord Bag of Rice.”

Told by Natasha. Duration 19.12

Long, long ago there lived, in Japan a brave warrior known to all as
Tawara Toda, or “My Lord Bag of Rice, ” and there is a very interesting
story of how he received this unusual name.

One day he went out in search of adventures. He buckled on
his two swords, took his huge bow, much taller than himself, in his
hand, and slinging his quiver on his back, started out. He had not
gone far when he came to the bridge of Seta-no-Karashi spanning one
end of a beautiful Lake. No sooner had he set foot on the
bridge than he saw lying right across his path a huge serpent-
dragon. Its body was so big that it looked like the trunk of a large
pine tree and it took up the whole width of the bridge. One of its
huge claws rested on the wall of one side of the bridge, while
its tail lay right against the other. The monster seemed to be
asleep, and as it breathed, fire and smoke came out of its nostrils.

At first the warrior could not help feeling revolted at the sight of
this horrible reptile lying in his path, for he must either turn
back or walk right over its body. He was a brave man, however, and
putting aside all fear went forward. Crunch, crunch! he
stepped now on the dragon’s body, now between its coils, and without
even one glance backward he went on his way.

He had only gone a few steps when he heard someone calling him from
behind. On turning back he was much surprised to see that the
monster dragon had entirely disappeared and in its place was a
strange-looking man, who was bowing most ceremoniously to the
ground. His red hair streamed over his shoulders and he wore a crown
in the shape of a dragon’s head, and his sea-green dress was patterned
with shells.

The warrior knew at once that this was no
ordinary mortal and he wondered at what had happened.
Where had the dragon gone in such a short space of time? Or had it
transformed itself into this man, and what did the whole thing mean?
While these thoughts passed through his mind he had come up to the
man on the bridge and now spoke to him:

“Was it you that called me just now?”

“Yes, it was I,” answered the man: “I have an earnest request to
make to you. Do you think you can grant it to me?”

“If it is in my power to do so I will,” answered the warrior, “but
first tell me who you are?”

“I am the Dragon King of the Lake, and my home is in these waters
just under this bridge.”

“And what is it you have to ask of me!” said the warrior

“I want you to kill my mortal enemy the centipede, who lives on the
mountain beyond,” said the Dragon King as he pointed to a high peak on the
opposite shore of the lake.

“I have lived now for many years in this lake and I have a large
family of children and grand-children. For some time past we have
lived in terror, for a monster centipede has discovered our home,
and night after night it comes and carries off one of my family. I
am powerless to save them. If it goes on much longer like this, not
only shall I lose all my children, but I myself must fall a victim
to the monster. I am, therefore, very unhappy, and in my extreme need I
determined to ask the help of a human being. For many days with this
in mind I have waited on the bridge in the shape of the horrible
serpent-dragon that you saw, in the hope that some strong brave man
would come along. But all who came this way, as soon as they saw me
were terrified and ran away as fast as they could. You are the first
man I have found able to look at me without fear, so I knew at once
that you were a man of great courage. I beg you to have pity upon
me. Will you not help me and kill my enemy the centipede?”

The warrior felt very sorry for the Dragon King on hearing his story,
and readily promised to do what he could to help him. He
asked where the centipede lived, so that he might attack the
creature at once. The Dragon King replied that its home was on the
mountain Mikami, but that as it came every night at a certain hour
to the palace of the lake, it would be better to wait till then. So
the warrior went to the palace of the Dragon King, under the
bridge. Strange to say, as he followed his host downwards the waters
parted to let them pass, and his clothes did not even feel damp as
he passed through. Never had he seen anything so
beautiful as this palace built of white marble beneath the lake. He
had often heard of the Sea King’s palace at the bottom of the sea,
where all the servants were salt-water fishes, but
here was a magnificent building in the heart of Lake Biwa. The
dainty goldfishes, red carp, and silvery trout, waited upon the
Dragon King and his guest.

The warrior was astonished at the feast that was spread for him. The
dishes were crystallized lotus leaves and flowers, and the
chopsticks were of the rarest ebony. As soon as they sat down, the
sliding doors opened and ten lovely goldfish dancers came out, and
behind them followed ten red-carp musicians with the koto and the
samisen. Thus the hours flew by till midnight, and the beautiful
music and dancing had banished all thoughts of the centipede. The
Dragon King was about to pledge the warrior in a fresh cup of wine
when the palace was suddenly shaken by a tramp, tramp! as if a
mighty army had begun to march not far away.

The warrior and his host both rose to their feet and rushed to the
balcony, and they saw on the opposite mountain two great
balls of glowing fire coming nearer and nearer. The Dragon King
was trembling with fear.

“The centipede! The centipede! Those two balls of fire are its eyes.
It is coming for its prey! Now is the time to kill it.”

The warrior looked where his host pointed, and, in the dim light of the
starlit evening, behind the two balls of fire he saw the long body
of an enormous centipede winding round the mountains, and the light
in its hundred feet glowed like so many distant lanterns moving
slowly towards the shore.

He showed not the least sign of fear. He tried to calm the
Dragon King.

“Don’t be afraid. I shall surely kill the centipede. Just bring me
my bow and arrows.”

The Dragon King did as he was bid, and the warrior noticed that he
had only three arrows left in his quiver. He took the bow, and
fitting an arrow to the notch, took careful aim and let fly.

The arrow hit the centipede right in the middle of its head, but
it glanced off it harmless and fell to the ground.

The warrior took his second arrow, fitted it to the notch
of the bow and let fly. Again the arrow hit the mark, it struck the
centipede right in the middle of its head, only to glance off and
fall to the ground. The centipede was invulnerable to weapons! When
the Dragon King saw that even this brave warrior’s arrows were
powerless to kill the centipede, he lost heart and began to tremble
with fear.

The warrior saw that he had now only one arrow left in his quiver,
and if this one failed he could not kill the centipede. He looked
across the waters. The huge reptile had wound its horrid body seven
times round the mountain and would soon come down to the lake.
Nearer and nearer gleamed fireballs of eyes, and the light of its
hundred feet began to throw reflections in the still waters of the
lake.

Then suddenly the warrior remembered that he had heard that human
saliva was deadly to centipedes. But this was no ordinary centipede.
This was so monstrous that even to think of such a creature made one
creep with horror. He determined to try his last chance. So
taking his last arrow and first putting the end of it in his mouth,
he fitted the notch to his bow, took careful aim once more and let
fly.

This time the arrow again hit the centipede right in the middle of
its head, but instead of glancing off harmlessly as before, it
struck home and sunk into the creature. Then with a convulsive shudder
the serpentine body stopped moving, and the fiery light of its great
eyes and hundred feet darkened to a dull glare like the sunset of a
stormy day, and then went out in blackness. A great darkness now
overspread the heavens, the thunder rolled and the lightning
flashed, and the wind roared in fury, and it seemed as if the world
were coming to an end. The Dragon King and his children and
retainers all crouched in different parts of the palace, frightened
to death, for the building was shaken to its foundation. At last the
dreadful night was over. Day dawned beautiful and clear. The
centipede was gone from the mountain.

Then the warrior called to the Dragon King to come out with him on the
balcony, for the centipede was dead and he had nothing more to fear.

All the inhabitants of the palace came out with joy, and
he pointed to the lake. There lay the body of the dead
centipede floating on the water, which was dyed red with its blood.

The gratitude of the Dragon King knew no bounds. The whole family
came and bowed down before the warrior, calling him their preserver
and the bravest warrior in all Japan.

Another feast was prepared, more sumptuous than the first. All kinds
of fish, prepared in every imaginable way, raw, stewed, boiled and
roasted, served on coral trays and crystal dishes, were put before
him, and the wine was the best that he had ever tasted in his
life. To add to the beauty of everything the sun shone brightly, the
lake glittered like a liquid diamond, and the palace was a thousand
times more beautiful by day than by night.

His host tried to persuade the warrior to stay a few days, but
he insisted on going home, saying that he had now finished
what he had come to do, and must return. The Dragon King and his
family were all very sorry to have him leave so soon, but since he
would go they begged him to accept a few small presents (so they
said) in token of their gratitude to him for delivering them forever
from their horrible enemy the centipede.

As the warrior stood in the porch taking leave, a train of fish was
suddenly transformed into a retinue of men, all wearing ceremonial
robes and dragon’s crowns on their heads to show that they were
servants of the great Dragon King. The presents that they carried
were as follows:

First, a large bronze bell.
Second, a bag of rice.
Third, a roll of silk.
Fourth, a cooking pot.
Fifth, a bell.

The warrior did not want to accept all these presents, but as the
Dragon King insisted, he could not well refuse.

The Dragon King himself accompanied the warrior as far as the
bridge, and then took leave of him with many bows and good wishes,
leaving the procession of servants to accompany Hidesato to his
house with the presents.

The warrior’s household and servants had been very much concerned
when they found that he did not return the night before, but they
finally concluded that he had been kept by the violent storm and had
taken shelter somewhere. When the servants on the watch for his
return caught sight of him they called to every one that he was
approaching, and the whole household turned out to meet him,
wondering much what the retinue of men, bearing presents and
banners, that followed him, could mean.

As soon as the Dragon King’s retainers had put down the presents
they vanished, and the warrior told all that had happened to him.

The presents which he had received from the grateful Dragon King
were found to be of magic power. The bell only was ordinary, and as
the warrior had no use for it he presented it to the temple near by,
where it was hung up, to boom out the hour of day over the
surrounding neighborhood.

But as for he single bag of rice, however much was taken from it day after day
for the meals of the warrior and his whole family, it never grew less–
the supply in the bag was inexhaustible.

The roll of silk, too, never grew shorter, though time after time
long pieces were cut off to make the warrior a new suit of clothes
to go to Court in at the New Year.

The cooking pot was wonderful, too. No matter what was put into it,
it cooked deliciously whatever was wanted without any firing–truly
a very economical saucepan.

The fame of the warrior’s fortune spread far and wide, and as there was
no need for him to spend money on rice or silk or firing, he became
very rich and prosperous, and was henceforth known as My Lord Bag of
Rice.

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This story about a fox and a wolf, might be better called “The vixen and the wolf” because the fox is very feminine, while the wolf is definitely a he-wolf. Both are very hungry, and the wolf is set on eating the fox.

This story by Antonio de Trueba (1821-1889) is set in his native Basque country in Northern Spain. The English translation is from the Orange Fairy Book of Andrew Lang.

Read by Natasha. Duration 18.27.

At the foot of some high mountains there was, once upon a time, a small
village, and a little way off two roads met, one of them going to the
east and the other to the west.  The villagers were quiet, hard-working
folk, who toiled in the fields all day, and in the evening set out for
home when the bell began to ring in the little church.  In the summer
mornings they led out their flocks to pasture, and were happy and
contented from sunrise to sunset.

One summer night, when a round full moon shone down upon the white
road, a great wolf came trotting round the corner.

‘I positively must get a good meal before I go back to my den,’ he said
to himself; ‘it is nearly a week since I have tasted anything but
scraps, though perhaps no one would think it to look at my figure!  Of
course there are plenty of rabbits and hares in the mountains; but
indeed one needs to be a greyhound to catch them, and I am not so young
as I was!  If I could only dine off that fox I saw a fortnight ago,
curled up into a delicious hairy ball, I should ask nothing better; I
would have eaten her then, but unluckily her husband was lying beside
her, and one knows that foxes, great and small, run like the wind.
Really it seems as if there was not a living creature left for me to
prey upon but a wolf, and, as the proverb says: “One wolf does not bite
another.” However, let us see what this village can produce.  I am as
hungry as a schoolmaster.’

Now, while these thoughts were running through the mind of the wolf,
the very fox he had been thinking of was galloping along the other road.

‘The whole of this day I have listened to those village hens clucking
till I could bear it no longer,’ murmured she as she bounded along,
hardly seeming to touch the ground.  ‘When you are fond of fowls and
eggs it is the sweetest of all music.  As sure as there is a sun in
heaven I will have some of them this night, for I have grown so thin
that my very bones rattle, and my poor babies are crying for food.’
And as she spoke she reached a little plot of grass, where the two
roads joined, and flung herself under a tree to take a little rest, and
to settle her plans.  At this moment the wolf came up.

At the sight of the fox lying within his grasp his mouth began to
water, but his joy was somewhat checked when he noticed how thin she
was.  The fox’s quick ears heard the sound of his paws, though they
were soft as velvet, and turning her head she said politely:

‘Is that you, neighbour?  What a strange place to meet in!  I hope you
are quite well?’

‘Quite well as regards my health,’ answered the wolf, whose eye
glistened greedily, ‘at least, as well as one can be when one is very
hungry.  But what is the matter with you?  A fortnight ago you were as
plump as heart could wish!’

‘I have been ill–very ill,’ replied the fox, ‘and what you say is
quite true.  A worm is fat in comparison with me.’

‘He is.  Still, you are good enough for me; for “to the hungry no bread
is hard.”‘

‘Oh, you are always joking!  I’m sure you are not half as hungry as I!’

‘That we shall soon see,’ cried the wolf, opening his huge mouth and
crouching for a spring.

‘What are you doing?’ exclaimed the fox, stepping backwards.

‘What am I doing?  What I am going to do is to make my supper off you,
in less time than a cock takes to crow.’

‘Well, I suppose you must have your joke,’ answered the fox lightly,
but never removing her eye from the wolf, who replied with a snarl
which showed all his teeth:

‘I don’t want to joke, but to eat!’

‘But surely a person of your talents must perceive that you might eat
me to the very last morsel and never know that you had swallowed
anything at all!’

‘In this world the cleverest people are always the hungriest,’ replied
the wolf.

‘Ah! how true that is; but–’

‘I can’t stop to listen to your “buts” and “yets,”‘ broke in the wolf
rudely; ‘let us get to the point, and the point is that I want to eat
you and not talk to you.’

‘Have you no pity for a poor mother?’ asked the fox, putting her tail
to her eyes, but peeping slily out of them all the same.

‘I am dying of hunger,’ answered the wolf, doggedly; ‘and you know,’ he
added with a grin, ‘that charity begins at home.’

‘Quite so,’ replied the fox; ‘it would be unreasonable of me to object
to your satisfying your appetite at my expense.  But if the fox resigns
herself to the sacrifice, the mother offers you one last request.’

‘Then be quick and don’t waste my time, for I can’t wait much longer.
What is it you want?’

‘You must know,’ said the fox, ‘that in this village there is a rich
man who makes in the summer enough cheeses to last him for the whole
year, and keeps them in an old well, now dry, in his courtyard.  By the
well hang two buckets on a pole that were used, in former days, to draw
up water.  For many nights I have crept down to the palace, and have
lowered myself in the bucket, bringing home with me enough cheese to
feed the children.  All I beg of you is to come with me, and, instead
of hunting chickens and such things, I will make a good meal off cheese
before I die.’

‘But the cheeses may be all finished by now?’

‘If you were only to see the quantities of them!’ laughed the fox.
‘And even if they were finished, there would always be ME to eat.’

‘Well, I will come.  Lead the way, but I warn you that if you try to
escape or play any tricks you are reckoning without your host– that is
to say, without my legs, which are as long as yours!’

All was silent in the village, and not a light was to be seen but that
of the moon, which shone bright and clear in the sky.  The wolf and the
fox crept softly along, when suddenly they stopped and looked at each
other; a savoury smell of frying bacon reached their noses, and reached
the noses of the sleeping dogs, who began to bark greedily.

‘Is it safe to go on, think you?’ asked the wolf in a whisper.  And the
fox shook her head.

‘Not while the dogs are barking,’ said she; ’someone might come out to
see if anything was the matter.’  And she signed to the wolf to curl
himself up in the shadow beside her.

In about half an hour the dogs grew tired of barking, or perhaps the
bacon was eaten up and there was no smell to excite them.  Then the
wolf and the fox jumped up, and hastened to the foot of the wall.

‘I am lighter than he is,’ thought the fox to herself, ‘and perhaps if
I make haste I can get a start, and jump over the wall on the other
side before he manages to spring over this one.’  And she quickened her
pace.  But if the wolf could not run he could jump, and with one bound
he was beside his companion.

‘What were you going to do, comrade?’

‘Oh, nothing,’ replied the fox, much vexed at the failure of her plan.

‘I think if I were to take a bit out of your haunch you would jump
better,’ said the wolf, giving a snap at her as he spoke.  The fox drew
back uneasily.

‘Be careful, or I shall scream,’ she snarled.  And the wolf,
understanding all that might happen if the fox carried out her threat,
gave a signal to his companion to leap on the wall, where he
immediately followed her.

Once on the top they crouched down and looked about them.  Not a
creature was to be seen in the courtyard, and in the furthest corner
from the house stood the well, with its two buckets suspended from a
pole, just as the fox had described it.  The two thieves dragged
themselves noiselessly along the wall till they were opposite the well,
and by stretching out her neck as far as it would go the fox was able
to make out that there was only very little water in the bottom, but
just enough to reflect the moon, big, and round and yellow.

‘How lucky!’ cried she to the wolf.  ‘There is a huge cheese about the
size of a mill wheel.  Look! look! did you ever see anything so
beautiful!’

‘Never!’ answered the wolf, peering over in his turn, his eyes
glistening greedily, for he imagined that the moon’s reflection in the
water was really a cheese.

‘And now, unbeliever, what have you to say?’ and the fox laughed gently.

‘That you are a woman–I mean a fox–of your word,’ replied the wolf.

‘Well, then, go down in that bucket and eat your fill,’ said the fox.

‘Oh, is that your game?’ asked the wolf, with a grin.  ‘No! no!  The
person who goes down in the bucket will be you!  And if you don’t go
down your head will go without you!’

‘Of course I will go down, with the greatest pleasure,’ answered the
fox, who had expected the wolf’s reply.

‘And be sure you don’t eat all the cheese, or it will be the worse for
you,’ continued the wolf.  But the fox looked up at him with tears in
her eyes.

‘Farewell, suspicious one!’ she said sadly.  And climbed into the
bucket.

In an instant she had reached the bottom of the well, and found that
the water was not deep enough to cover her legs.

‘Why, it is larger and richer than I thought,’ cried she, turning
towards the wolf, who was leaning over the wall of the well.

‘Then be quick and bring it up,’ commanded the wolf.

‘How can I, when it weighs more than I do?’ asked the fox.

‘If it is so heavy bring it in two bits, of course,’ said he.

‘But I have no knife,’ answered the fox.  ‘You will have to come down
yourself, and we will carry it up between us.’

‘And how am I to come down?’ inquired the wolf.

‘Oh, you are really very stupid!  Get into the other bucket that is
nearly over your head.’

The wolf looked up, and saw the bucket hanging there, and with some
difficulty he climbed into it.  As he weighed at least four times as
much as the fox the bucket went down with a jerk, and the other bucket,
in which the fox was seated, came to the surface.

As soon as he understood what was happening, the wolf began to speak
like an angry wolf, but was a little comforted when he remembered that
the cheese still remained to him.

‘But where is the cheese?’ he asked of the fox, who in her turn was
leaning over the parapet watching his proceedings with a smile.

‘The cheese?’ answered the fox; ‘why I am taking it home to my babies,
who are too young to get food for themselves.’

‘Ah, traitor!’ cried the wolf, howling with rage.  But the fox was not
there to hear this insult, for she had gone off to a neighbouring
fowl-house, where she had noticed some fat young chickens the day
before.

‘Perhaps I did treat him rather badly,’ she said to herself.  ‘But it
seems getting cloudy, and if there should be heavy rain the other
bucket will fill and sink to the bottom, and his will go up–at least
it may!’

[From Cuentos Populares, por Antonio de Trueba.]

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This is another slightly crazy chocolate story and is the companion to The Monkey Who Loved Chocolate. It continues our Zoo Stories series featuring Theo the Monkey – though you have to be patient and wait a bit for Theo to enter the stage.

Read by Natasha. Duration 19.20 minutes. Story by Bertie.

It was Shrove Tuesday, otherwise known as pancake day. The City Mayor was sitting up in bed eating his breakfast: – a big pile of pancakes with black caviar and sour cream, washed down with champaign. Black caviar, in case you don’t know, is an extremely rare and expensive food – with each spoon full you eat a thousand little beady black eggs of a mighty river fish called the Sturgeon. If you tried it, you might not even like it, but the City Mayor loved caviar as much as some people love chocolate. Indeed, he was quite content, apart from the fact that he would have to give something up for the 6 weeks known as Lent which come after pancake day and run up until Easter. He pondered this, and decided to give up beetroot, because he never liked it anyway. As he took another silver-spoonful of caviar, his mobile phone rang. How he hated it when people called him while he was still at breakfast ! He was about to throw his phone out of the window when he noticed that the call was coming from the Chief Of Police.

“Oh dear,” thought the Mayor. “He probably wants to miss our card game. He always claims he’s busy fighting crime, but I know he just doesn’t like losing.”

And so he reluctantly flipped open his phone.

“His honour the mayor speaking,” he said in a weary voice.

“Good morning, Horace,” said the police chief. “I hope I didn’t wake you up,”

“No, no,” huffed the Mayor. “I’ve been at my desk since dawn, this great city of ours never sleeps.”

“I’m afraid I’ll have have to miss tonight’s card game. I’ve a serious crime to solve. A kidnapping.”

The Mayor smiled to himself. Another one of his excuses, he thought. But after he had wished the Police Chief better luck with his case than with cards, he closed his phone and reached for the remote control to turn on his television set to catch the news.

A red banner flashed across the bottom of the screen: “Breaking News: Kidnapping” : it said. And the Mayor thought to himself that it must be somebody important that had got him or herself kidnapped. And it was. The reporter who was standing outside some large factory gates wore her most serious face: She was saying:

“A ransom note was sent this morning to the head of the Yummy Chocolate Factory demanding 100 million pounds for the safe return of one the most loved and respected creatures who has ever hopped across the planet. ”

And the Mayor understood that it wasn’t a person, but an animal who had been kidnapped. But what sort of animal could it be that was worth 100 million pounds? Even a champion race horse was scarcely worth such a fortune? Perhaps some old aristocratic lady with more money than sense had lost her favourite pussy cat? But why was the note sent to the head of the Chocolate Factory? He’d just have to keep listening to that reporter on the 24 Hour News Service.

“And joining me now is The President and CEO of the Yummy Chocolate Factory, Sir Percival Yummy. Sir. Percival, Easter is just around the corner. How will the Chocolate Factory cope without the services of the Easter Bunny?”

“I’m afraid the situation is very grave,” said Sir Percival. “Without the aid of the Easter Bunny, it’s simply impossible to deliver chocolate eggs to all the Children of the world all in one night. It’s a bit like Christmas without Santa Clause… it’s, it’s .. .unthinkable.”

And the Mayor thought that Sir. Percival was about to cry. The reporter did not seem to notice this.

“So will you pay the 100 million pound ransom? ” she pressed him.

“No we will not,” he replied steadfastly. “It is the policy of the Yummy Chocolate Factory never to pay ransom money under any circumstances. That would simply encourage more kidnapping.”

It took a moment for the seriousness of the situation to sink into the mayor’s brain. When it did, he leapt out of bed faster than he had done for years and ran down to his office, still in his pajamas. He turned on his computer and saw hundreds of emails downloading into his in-box. Many were from anxious parents, teachers and nannies with subjects like,

“Help, my kids are going hysterical and won’t stop crying…”

And then there was another email from the chief gardener entitled:

“So, shall we cancel the Easter Egg Hunt?”

The Easter Egg hunt took place very year in the grounds of the Mayor’s House. The Easter Bunny hid eggs behind the flowers and in the bushes, and children from all over the city came and searched for them. It was one of the most popular events of the year, and showed the mayor as a politician with a heart, who cared for families and children. It won him lots of votes.

By now he was starting to grow angry. He picked up his red telephone and shouted “Get me the chief of police !” and a minute later he was again talking to his friend:

“You blithering idiot !” he cried. “Why haven’t you found that bunny yet ?”

The chief of police was used to his old friend’s swings of mood, and he replied calmly: “Horace, rest assured that the finest crime fighting unit in the land is on the case, and at this very moment is rounding up the usual suspects.”

And at the top of the police chief’s list was a name which we have come across before: it belonged to somebody who was known to go quite berserk at the merest sniff of chocolate. He lived in the city zoo, he was a monkey, and his name was Theo. If you’ve heard the story called “The Monkey Who Loved Chocolate” you will know that Theo once ate some chocolate and went completely bananas. He went on the rampage stealing chocolate all over the place. It was coming up to Easter and there was almost no chocolate left for the children of the City, but Theo calmed down eventually, and promised to be good.

His hairy face was currently staring out of the police chief’s computer screen. Normally his round brown eyes were cheeky but cute, but at the time his police photograph had been taken, he was startled by the flash and looked like a completely crazy ape.

“Ooh, he looks like a bad’un,” said a woman police officer who was passing by.

“No worries, ” said the Police Chief. “We’ll soon have him behind bars.”

But of course Theo was already living behind bars in the zoo. And much to his surprise and delight, that morning he had found a Chocolate egg in his bed of straw, and he had gobbled it up and was now swinging across the roof of the cage screeching

“Ooo Ooo, Ah Ah Aha ! ”

When the police came to arrest him, his face was covered in brown chocolate, and that made him look especially guilty. The police sergeant said: “There he is. That’s the bunny snatcher – and constable, put on your white gloves and pick up all that chocolate-smudged silver foil – that’s evidence that is .”

Mr. Grabber, who was the zoo keeper in charge of the monkeys, tried and catch Theo, but it wasn’t easy because he kept swinging around the bars.

Wile this was all happening, a police dog got chatting to a bull dog whose name was Titanic. Titanic was a squat, muscular, squash-faced animal, and not the brightest canine who ever lived. His owner was Mr. Grabber, and where ever Mr. Grabber went, Titanic went too.

“Perhaps I should have been a police dog, ” said Titanic, “because I’m really good at catching things. Only yesterday, I saw a white rabbit sneaking into the monkeys’ cage and chatting to that there Theo. When he came out, I chased him into a corner by the visitor’s toilets, and I would have gobbled him up, only Mr. Grabber came along and popped him into a bag, and now he’s keeping him in a hutch behind the Llamas’ enclosure. There’s something very unusual about that rabbit, because he smells, not like he’s supposed to, but like chocolate. I hope we have him for dinner tonight, because I’d really like to try what he tastes like. ”

And when the police dog heard this, he understood that they had come to arrest an innocent monkey. Because it wasn’t Theo who had kidnapped the Easter Bunny, but Mr. Grabber and his bull dog.

Eventually, when the police threatened to shoot him with a dart that would make him go to sleep, Theo decided to come quietly. He was put under arrest, hand-cuffed, loaded into the police van, and driven away at high speed with the blue light flashing and the siren going “De De De De De De.”

When they got to the police station Theo was led into a cage. But unlike the cage at the zoo, this one was small, dark, and not very nice – because it was a police cell.

Theo screeched “Help,let me out. I’ve been framed !” But the police officers could not understand. All they heard was “EEK Ahha Ahha ! ”

An hour later the Mayor was standing on the lawn outside his office and talking to the reporter from the 24 Hour News station. He looked into the TV camera and said: “I am delighted to tell you that I have successfully guided our City through this grave crisis and the situation is now under control. The villain who committed this terrible crime is behind bars, and tomorrow he will be tried and found guilty and then I will personally throw away the key to his prison cell.”

“But Mayor, ” said the reporter, “any news of the missing bunny?”

“No more time for questions, duty calls” said the Mayor, and he turned round and went back to his office.

The hours went by, and Theo began to feel very sad and lonely, and a bit frightened. A policeman brought him some bread and water and offered him a chance to make one phone call. But Theo didn’t have anyone to call. And then a lawyer came to see him, and they went up to an interview room where a police officer turned on a tape recorder and said : “You have a right to remain silent, and any thing you say may be taken down and used in a court of law as evidence against you.” And Theo said

“Oooh, ah ah ah.”

And then they took him back to his cell.

It was a few hours later, as Theo tried to sleep, that he heard the jangling of keys. He buried his head in the pillow and pretended not to notice. Then a gruff voice said:

“Come on, wake up. It’s time we sprung you out of here.” He opened his eyes and saw that it was a police dog with keys in his mouth. In a jiffy, Theo had spring up, reached through the bars for the keys, and climbed up to get the lock open. Monkeys are highly intelligent primates you see, and it’s not at all difficult for them to do such things.

“Put on this blue coat, ” said the dog. It was a sort of jacket that police dogs sometimes wear. The word “Police” was written on the back. Theo put it on.

“Now try and act like a police dog,” said the dog. But as they walked together through the busy part of the station, a policeman said “I didn’t know we were using monkeys on the force,” and another policeman said, “I expect that they climb in through windows and catch criminals by surprise.” Still, nobody stopped them, and soon they were out on the street and running down the road.

On the corner, they paused for breath, and the dog explained what he had heard about Mr. Grabber kidnapping the Easter Bunny. “I might have known it, ” said Theo. “He’s a REAL villain, is that Mr. Grabber.”

But the important thing was that Theo knew where the Easter Bunny was being kept prisoner – at the back of the llama pen. He caught a 49 bus straight back to the zoo, and soon was able to find his old friend and release him from his hutch.

I don’t need to tell you how glad the bunny was to be let free, not least because it was his busiest time of year and he had so much work to do before Easter. He would have just loved to go straight to the police station and tell them all about Mr. Grabber, but he couldn’t do that, because, well he was a bunny you see. So he ran back straight to his secret hide away to catch up on sorting out his Easter Eggs.

The next morning the Mayor sat up in bed and turned on his television set to see if there had been any developments over night in the case of the missing bunny. A red banner flashed across the screen saying:

Breaking News. Monkey Escapes.

And the reporter was saying

“The chief suspect in the case of the missing Easter Bunny has escaped from police custody.”

The mayor rushed down to his office and was about to pick up his red phone and demand the immediate sacking of the chief of police when he noticed a little envelope on his desk. The envelope was sealed with with wax and imprinted with a secret sign – a sign which very few people know and recognise, but fortunately the Mayor was one of them. It was the seal of the Easter Bunny, and every year he used it to communicate with the Mayor and to arrange the annual easter egg hunt.

“That’s strange,” said they mayor. And he fumbled open the envelope. Inside he found a card and on the card was written the following words.

“Dear Mayor. The Monkey is Innocent. Yours Sincerely, The Easter Bunny.”

Text Copyright Hugh Fraser 2009.

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This story from the 1001 nights tells of hidden treasure and magical powers. It will remind you a little of Aladdin or Ali Baba, but it’s more serious. The Blind Beggar of Baghdad is a warning about how greed can drive you mad.

The has some basis in fact. Caliph Haroun-al-Raschid was a true-life ruler of Baghdad. The Dervishes were holy men and sources of wisdom, medicine, and poetry. As for the blind beggar of the story, it’s hard to say whether he really lived or not – but many like him did !

Read by Natasha. Duration 24.28

The Caliph Haroun-al-Raschid sat in his palace, wondering if there was anything left in the world that could possibly give him a few hours’ amusement, when Giafar the grand-vizir, his old and tried friend, suddenly appeared before him. Bowing low, he waited, as was his duty, till his master spoke, but Haroun-al-Raschid merely turned his head and looked at him, and sank back into his former weary posture.

Now Giafar had something of importance to say to the Caliph, and had no intention of being put off by mere silence, so with another low bow in front of the throne, he began to speak.

“Commander of the Faithful,” said he, “May I remind your Highness of your plan to observe how justice is done and order is kept throughout the city? For this is the day you have set apart to devote to this aim. Perhaps in fulfilling this duty, you may find some distraction from the melancholy to which, as I see to my sorry, you are prey.”

“You are right,” returned the Caliph, “I had forgotten all about it. Go and change your coat, and I will change mine.”

A few moments later they both re-entered the hall, disguised as foreign merchants, and passed through a secret door, out into the open country. Here they turned towards the Euphrates, and crossing the river in a small boat, walked through that part of the town which lay along the further bank, without seeing anything to call for their interference. Much pleased with the peace and order of the city, the Caliph and his vizir made their way to a bridge, which led straight back to the palace, and had already crossed it, when they were stopped by an old and blind man, who begged for alms.

The Caliph gave him a piece of money, and was passing on, but the blind man seized his hand, and held him fast.

“Charitable person,” he said, “whoever you may be grant me yet another prayer. Strike me, I beg you, one blow. I have deserved it richly, and even a more severe penalty.”

The Caliph, much surprised at this request, replied gently: “My good man, that which you ask is impossible. Of what use would my alms be if I treated you so ill?” And as he spoke he began to loosen the grasp of the blind beggar.

“My lord,” answered the man, “pardon my boldness and my persistence. Take back your money, or give me the blow which I crave. and if you knew all, you would feel that the punishment is not a tenth part of what I deserve.”

Moved by these words, and perhaps still more by the fact that he had other business to attend to, the Caliph yielded, and struck him lightly on the shoulder. Then he continued his road, followed by the blessing of the blind man. When they were out of earshot, he said to the vizir, “There must be something very odd to make that man act so–I should like to find out what is the reason. Go back to him; tell him who I am, and order him to come without fail to the palace to-morrow, after the hour of evening prayer.”

The next day, after evening prayer, the Caliph entered the hall, and was followed by the vizir bringing with him the two men of whom we have spoken, and a third, with whom we have nothing to do. They all bowed themselves low before the throne and then the Caliph bade them rise, and ask the blind man his name.

“Baba-Abdalla, your Highness,” said he.

“Baba-Abdalla,” returned the Caliph, “your way of asking alms yesterday seemed to me so strange, that I almost commanded you then and there to cease from causing such a public scandal. But I have sent for you to inquire what was your motive in making such a curious vow. When I know the reason I shall be able to judge whether you can be permitted to continue to practice it, for I cannot help thinking that it sets a very bad example to others. Tell me therefore the whole truth, and conceal nothing.”

I was born, Commander of the Faithful, in Baghdad, and was left an orphan while I was yet a very young man, for my parents died within a few days of each other. I had inherited from them a small fortune, which I worked hard night and day to increase, till at last I found myself the owner of eighty camels. These I hired out to traveling merchants, whom I frequently accompanied on their various journeys, and always returned with large profits.

One day I was coming back from Balsora, whither I had taken a supply of goods, intended for India, and halted at noon in a lonely place, which promised rich pasture for my camels. I was resting in the shade under a tree, when a dervish, going on foot towards Balsora, sat down beside me, and I inquired whence he had come and to what place he was going. We soon made friends, and after we had asked each other the usual questions, we produced the food we had with us, and satisfied our hunger.

While we were eating, the dervish happened to mention that in a spot only a little way off from where we were sitting, there was hidden a treasure so great that if my eighty camels were loaded till they could carry no more, the hiding place would seem as full as if it had never been touched.

At this news I became almost beside myself with joy and greed, and I flung my arms round the neck of the dervish, exclaiming: “Good dervish, I see plainly that the riches of this world are nothing to you, therefore of what use is the knowledge of this treasure to you? Alone and on foot, you could carry away a mere handful. But tell me where it is, and I will load my eighty camels with it, and give you one of them as a token of my gratitude.”

The dervish saw quite well what was passing in my mind, but he did not show what he thought of my proposal.

“My brother,” he answered quietly, “you know as well as I do, that you are behaving unjustly. Before I reveal to you the secret of the treasure, you must swear that, after we have loaded the camels with as much as they can carry, you will give half to me, and let us go our own ways. I think you will see that this is fair, for if you present me with forty camels, I on my side will give you the means of buying a thousand more.”

I could not of course deny that what the dervish said was perfectly reasonable, but, in spite of that, the thought that the dervish would be as rich as I was unbearable to me. Still there was no use in discussing the matter, and I had to accept his conditions or bewail to the end of my life the loss of immense wealth. So I collected my camels and we set out together under the guidance of the dervish. After walking some time, we reached what looked like a valley, but with such a narrow entrance that my camels could only pass one by one. The little valley, or open space, was shut up by two mountains, whose sides were formed of straight cliffs, which no human being could climb.

When we were exactly between these mountains the dervish stopped.

“Make your camels lie down in this open space,” he said, “so that we can easily load them; then we will go to the treasure.”

I did what I was bid, and rejoined the dervish, whom I found trying to kindle a fire out of some dry wood. As soon as it was alight, he threw on it a handful of perfumes, and said a few words that I did not understand, and immediately a thick column of smoke rose high into the air. He separated the smoke into two columns, and then I saw a rock, which stood like a pillar between the two mountains, slowly open, and a splendid palace appear within.

But, Commander of the Faithful, the love of gold had taken such possession of my heart, that I could not even stop to examine the riches, but fell upon the first pile of gold within my reach and began to heap it into a sack that I had brought with me.

The dervish likewise set to work, but I soon noticed that he confined himself to collecting precious stones, and I felt I should be wise to follow his example. At length the camels were loaded with as much as they could carry, and nothing remained but to seal up the treasure, and go our ways.

Before, however, this was done, however, the dervish went up to a great golden vase, beautifully chased, and took from it a small wooden box, which he hid in the bosom of his dress, merely saying that it contained a special kind of ointment. Then he once more lit the fire, threw on the perfume, and murmured the unknown spell, and the rock closed.

The next thing was to divide the camels, and to load them with the treasure. The demon of envy filled my soul. “What does a dervish want with riches like that?” I said to myself. “He alone has the secret of the treasure, and can always get as much as he wants.”

“My brother,” I exclaimed, as soon as I could speak, “almost at the moment of our leave-taking, a reflection occurred to me, which is perhaps new to you. You are a dervish by profession, and live a very quiet life, only caring to do good, and careless of the things of this world. You do not realise the burden that you lay upon yourself, when you gather into your hands such great wealth, besides the fact that no one, who is not accustomed to camels from his birth, can ever manage the stubborn beasts. If you are wise, you will not encumber yourself with more than thirty, and you will find those trouble enough.”

“You are right,” replied the dervish, who understood me quite well. “I confess I had not thought about it. Choose any ten you like, and drive them before you.”

I selected ten of the best camels. I had got what I wanted, but I had found the dervish so easy to deal with, that I rather regretted I had not asked for ten more. I looked back. He had only gone a few paces, and I called after him.

“My brother,” I said, “I am unwilling to part from you without pointing out what I think you scarcely grasp, that large experience of camel-driving is necessary to anybody who intends to keep together a troop of thirty. In your own interest, I feel sure you would be much happier if you entrusted ten more of them to me, for with my practice it is all one to me if I take two or a hundred.”

As before, the dervish made no difficulties, and I drove off my ten camels in triumph, only leaving him with twenty for his share. I had now sixty, and anyone might have imagined that I should be content.

But, Commander of the Faithful, there is a proverb that says, “the more one has, the more one wants.” So it was with me. I could not rest as long as one solitary camel remained to the dervish; and returning to him I redoubled my prayers and embraces, and promises of eternal gratitude, till the last twenty were in my hands.

“Make a good use of them, my brother,” said the holy man. “Remember riches sometimes have wings if we keep them for ourselves, and the poor are at our gates expressly that we may help them.”

My eyes were so blinded by gold, that I paid no heed to his wise counsel, and only looked about for something else to grasp. Suddenly I remembered the little box of ointment that the dervish had hidden, and which most likely contained a treasure more precious than all the rest. Giving him one last embrace, I observed accidentally, “What are you going to do with that little box of ointment? It seems hardly worth taking with you; you might as well let me have it. And really, a dervish who has given up the world has no need of ointment!”

Oh, if he had only refused my request! But then, supposing he had, I should have got possession of it by force, so great was the madness that had laid hold upon me. However, far from refusing it, the dervish at once held it out, saying gracefully, “Take it, my friend, and if there is anything else I can do to make you happy you must let me know.”

Directly the box was in my hands I wrenched off the cover. “As you are so kind,” I said, “tell me, I pray you, what are the virtues of this ointment?”

“They are most curious and interesting,” replied the dervish. “If you apply a little of it to your left eye you will behold in an instant all the treasures hidden in the bowels of the earth. But beware lest you touch your right eye with it, or your sight will be destroyed for ever.”

His words excited my curiosity to the highest pitch. “Make trial on me, I implore you,” I cried, holding out the box to the dervish. “You will know how to do it better than I! I am burning with impatience to test its charms.”

The dervish took the box I had extended to him, and, bidding me shut my left eye, touched it gently with the ointment. When I opened it again I saw spread out, as it were before me, treasures of every kind and without number. But as all this time I had been obliged to keep my right eye closed, which was very fatiguing, I begged the dervish to apply the ointment to that eye also.

“If you insist upon it I will do it,” answered the dervish, “but you must remember what I told you just now–that if it touches your right eye you will become blind on the spot.”

Unluckily, in spite of my having proved the truth of the dervish’s words in so many instances, I was firmly convinced that he was now keeping concealed from me some hidden and precious virtue of the ointment. So I turned a deaf ear to all he said.

“My brother,” I replied smiling, “I see you are joking. It is not natural that the same ointment should have two such exactly opposite effects.”

“It is true all the same,” answered the dervish, “and it would be well for you if you believed my word.”

But I would not believe, and, dazzled by the greed of avarice, I thought that if one eye could show me riches, the other might teach me how to get possession of them. And I continued to press the dervish to anoint my right eye, but this he resolutely declined to do.

“After having conferred such benefits on you,” said he, “I am loth indeed to work you such evil. Think what it is to be blind, and do not force me to do what you will repent as long as you live.”

It was of no use. “My brother,” I said firmly, “pray say no more, but do what I ask. You have most generously responded to my wishes up to this time, do not spoil my recollection of you for a thing of such little consequence. Let what will happen I take it on my own head, and will never reproach you.”

“Since you are determined upon it,” he answered with a sigh, “there is no use talking,” and taking the ointment he laid some on my right eye, which was tight shut. When I tried to open it heavy clouds of darkness floated before me. I was as blind as you see me now!

“Miserable dervish!” I shrieked, “so it is true after all! Into what a bottomless pit has my lust after gold plunged me. Ah, now that my eyes are closed they are really opened. I know that all my sufferings are caused by myself alone! But, good brother, you, who are so kind and charitable, and know the secrets of such vast learning, have you nothing that will give me back my sight?”

“Unhappy man,” replied the dervish, “it is not my fault that this has befallen you, but it is a just punishment. The blindness of your heart has wrought the blindness of your body. Yes, I have secrets; that you have seen in the short time that we have known each other. But I have none that will give you back your sight. You have proved yourself unworthy of the riches that were given you. Now they have passed into my hands, whence they will flow into the hands of others less greedy and ungrateful than you.”

The dervish said no more and left me, speechless with shame and confusion, and so wretched that I stood rooted to the spot, while he collected the eighty camels and proceeded on his way to Balsora. I should soon have been dead of hunger and misery if some merchants had not come along the track the following day and kindly brought me back to Bagdad.

From a rich man I had in one moment become a beggar.

This, Commander of the Faithful, is my story.

When the blind man had ended the Caliph addressed him: “Baba-Abdalla, truly your sin is great, but you have suffered enough. Henceforth repent in private, for I will see that enough money is given you day by day for all your wants.”

At these words Baba-Abdalla flung himself at the Caliph’s feet, and prayed that honour and happiness might be his portion for ever.

And that was the story of the Blind Beggar of Baghdad. I do hope that you enjoyed it.

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This traditional story from Turkey is not quite as scary as its title, but it is certainly a little darker than some of our tales. It is a powerful fable about a man who boasted too much, and was cured of his pride by a brush with death.

Bertie would like to than Adem from Turkey for suggesting this story. Adem works in a primary school in a small village, and he and the students in his class are Storynory listeners.

Read by Natasha. Adapted by Bertie. Duration 11.10

There was once a great warrior called Dede Korkut. He and his men swept across the earth conquering lands far and wide, and as his power and wealth grew, so did his pride. He began to believe that he was invincible, and perhaps even immortal. After one particularly great victory in battle, he held a feast in his palace for seven days and seven nights on end. And on the seventh night he called for the music and dancing to cease, and he made the following speech.

“Men. We have conquered all before us. There is no force on earth that can hold us back. We are the greatest army that has ever lived and fought. I challenge all creation to stand and fight us, and still we shall prevail, so long as I, Dede Korkut, am your leader. ”

And when the leader had finished speaking, there was cheering and uproar throughout the palace and the celebrations continued among great merriment and rejoicing.

But God was also listening to the proud speech of Dede Korkut. And He was displeased at his arrogance and boasting. And so God ordered Az’rail, his Angel of Death, to visit Dede Korkut and to take his soul.

Az’rail flew into the palace and stood on the table in front of where Dede Korkut was feasting. The leader looked up at the intruder and said:

“Dark Warrior, who are you to stand before me so insolently?”

And Az’rail replied: “I am not one to answer questions from the likes of you, for I am here to punish your arrogance and boasting”.

Dede Korkut was far from used to hearing such defiance and rude words directed at him. He was filled with rage and jumped up onto the table meaning to cut off the head of the dark stranger. But before he could do so, Az’rail changed into the from of a bird and flew out of the window.

Dede Korkut rushed to the stables and ordered his horse to be saddled immediately. Soon he was charging out of the palace in pursuit of the angel. First he saw him in the moonlight standing on the highest tower of the palace, then he too saw him take off with a wing span far greater than any bird he had seen before. He charged after him, firing arrows and hurling javelins into the sky, but none came near the dark bird. He pursued him out of the city and into the forest. Deeper and deeper into the forest he went, following the terrible screeches and cries of the bird, when suddenly the angle appeared before him.

“At last you’re mine ” Dede Korkut, meaning to run him through with his lance. ”

“No, you are mine,” said the figure before him. “For I am Azra’il the Angel of Death and I have come for your soul. You boasted that you were immortal and invincible. Now the moment of your death has come, oh arrogant one.”

At these words, Dede Korkut he threw himself on the ground before the angel and said.

“Now that I look death in the face, I understand the arrogance of my life. But I beseech you, kind Angel, spare me. Give back to me the remaining years of my youth and strength, and I swear that through my words and my deeds I will prove that I have learned my lesson. ”

And the Angel replied: “I do not decide such things. I am but a messenger from the Almighty. ”

And Dede Korkut cried out: “Then get out of my way and stop wasting my time. ” And he fell on the ground and began to pray to God”

“Forgive my boasting oh Lord of All Creation and give me another chance”.

And God heard his words and was pleased, and He ordered the Angel to spare Dede Korkut his life, on condition that he could find another who was ready of his own free will to give up his own life for that of Dede Korkut’s.

Dede Korkut rode back to the palace a changed man. He felt sure that all he had to do was to ask his father to take his place in death, for he was an old man, and had never refused his son anything. But when he came before his father and gave him his request, his father replied.

“My son. I have struggled all my life so that I can enjoy my old age. I am sorry, but I am not ready to die in your place.”

And Dede Kokut was surprised and disappointed, but he thought that surely his mother would not refuse him anything. But when he asked her she said”

“Oh my son ! I have already given my life to you many times, when I gave birth to you, when I fed you with my own milk, when I took care of you. Now the rest of my life belongs at your father’s side, as company for his old age”.

And the young warrior was disappointed and distraught. He returned to his chamber and prepared to die. But when his young and beautiful wife saw him, she asked what troubled him and he said:

“Beloved. The Angel of Death is about to take my life unless I can find someone willing to die in my place. And yet it seems that even my parents, who previously have never refused me anything are not willing to do this for me. And so I have no escape. I must bid you farewell for I am about to die.”

And when she heard these words his wife replied.

“Look no further. Why did you not ask me? I love you so much that I will gladly give what even your own father and mother have refused. Take my life so that yours can be spared.”

And when the warrior heard those of true and unblenching love, tears came to his eyes. He fell on his knees and prayed to God again saying”

“Great Lord. Forgive me. Take my life and spare that of my wife, for she has faced death more calmly and bravely than I.”

And God was again pleased to hear those words, and he decided to spare both Dede Korkut and his wife, and they lived a long and blessed life and there was peace and prosperity throughout his lands.

And God wrote on the palms of the Angel of Death, in letters of light.

“In the Name of god, Most Merciful and Beneficent” and he ordered the angel that when ever he must take the soul of one of the faithful, he must show to him those letters so that his soul might come out of his body and return to its maker.

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This is a rather puzzling story; puzzling in the sense that it has three tricky riddles in it. It’s also about a rather unusual dragon who has a human grandmother who is even trickier than he is, but who has a kinder heart. The story was originally by the Brothers Grimm and also appeared in the Yellow Fairy Book of Andrew Lang. We’ve slightly adapted the riddles drawing on the famous riddle of the Sphinx from Oedipus Rex and a couple of old rhyming riddles which we hope you will find fun.

Read by Natasha. Duration 14.61. Sponsored by AudibleKids

There was once a great war, and the King had a great many soldiers, but he gave them so little pay that they could not live upon it. Then three of them decided to run away from the army.

One of them said to the others, ‘If we are caught, we shall be hanged on the gallows; how shall we set about it?’ The other said, ‘Do you see that large cornfield there? If we were to hide ourselves in that, no one could find us. The army cannot come into it, and to-morrow it is to march on.’

They crept into the corn, but the army did not march on, but remained encamped close around them. They sat for two days and two nights in the corn, and grew so hungry that they nearly died; but if they were to venture out, it was certain death.

They said at last, ‘What use was it our deserting from the army? We must die here miserably.’

Whilst they were speaking a fiery dragon came flying through the air. It hovered near them, and asked why they were hidden there.

They answered, ‘We are three soldiers, and have deserted because our pay was so small. Now if we remain here we shall die of hunger, and if we move out we shall be strung up on the gallows.’

‘If you will serve me for seven years,’ said the dragon, I will lead you through the midst of the army so that no one shall catch you.’ ‘We have no choice, and must take your offer,’ said they. Then the dragon seized them in his claws, took them through the air over the army, and set them down on the earth a long way from it.

He gave them a little whip, saying, ‘Whip and slash with this, and as much money as you want will jump up before you. You can then live as great lords, keep horses, and drive about in carriages. But after seven years you are mine.’ Then he put a book before them, which he made all three of them sign. ‘I will then give you three riddles,’ he said; ‘if you guess them, you shall be free and out of my power.’ The dragon then flew away, and they journeyed on with their little whip. They had as much money as they wanted, wore grand clothes, and made their way into the world. Wherever they went they lived in merrymaking and splendour, drove about with horses and carriages, ate and drank, but did nothing wrong.

The time passed quickly away, and when the seven years were nearly ended two of them grew terribly anxious and frightened, but the third made light of it, saying, ‘Don’t be afraid, brothers, I wasn’t born yesterday; I will guess the riddles.’

They went into a field, sat down, and the two pulled long faces. An old woman passed by, and asked them why they were so sad. ‘Alas! what have you to do with it? You cannot help us.’ ‘Who knows?’ she answered.

Then they told her that they had become the servants of the Dragon for seven long years, and how he had given them money as plentifully as blackberries; but as they had signed their names they were his, unless when the seven years had passed they could guess a riddle. The old woman said, ‘If you would help yourselves, one of you must go into the wood, and there he will come upon a tumble-down building of rocks which looks like a little house. He must go in, and there he will find help.’

The two melancholy ones thought, ‘That won’t save us!’ and they remained where they were. But the third and merry one jumped up and went into the wood till he found the rock hut. In the hut sat a very old woman, who was the Dragon’s grandmother. She asked him how he came, and what was his business there. He told her all that happened, and because she was pleased with him she took compassion on him, and said she would help him.

She lifted up a large stone which lay over the cellar, saying, ‘Hide yourself there; you can hear all that is spoken in this room. Only sit still and don’t stir. When the Dragon comes, I will ask him what the riddle is, for he tells me everything; then listen carefully what he answers.’

At midnight the Dragon flew in, and asked for his supper. His grandmother laid the table, and brought out food and drink till he was satisfied, and they ate and drank together. Then in the course of the conversation she asked him what he had done in the day, and how many souls he had conquered.

‘I haven’t had much luck to-day,’ he said, ‘but I have a tight hold on three soldiers.’

‘Indeed! three soldiers!’ said she. ‘Who cannot escape you?’

‘They are mine,’ answered the Dragon scornfully, ‘for I shall only give them three riddles which they will never be able to guess.’

‘What sort of a riddles are it?’ she asked.

“The first is like this,” said the dragon, “What goes on four legs in the morning, on two legs at noon, and on three legs in the evening?”

The old lady looked quite baffled and said: “Tell me my fiery grandchild. What does go on four legs in the morning, on two legs and noon, and on three legs in the evening?”

“Why?” laughed the dragon. “A person does. He crawls on all fours as a baby, walks on two legs as an adult, and walks with two legs and a stick in old age.”

‘And the old lady exclaimed “Noone else has riddles as cunning as yours. They are unlikely to guess the answer to that one for sure. But if they do, what is your second riddle?”.

And the dragon replied that his second riddle was just as devious and even prettier for it was in the form of a rhyme that went like this:

Though of great age,
I’m kept in a cage,
Having a long tail and one ear,
My mouth it is round,
And when joys do abound,
O, then I sing wonderful clear.
What am I?

“Can’t you guess the answer? Why I am a bell of course DONG! ” said the Dragon.

The old lady shook her head in wonderment at her grandson’s ingenuity. “Oh you are quite the most cunning dragon who ever lived and breathed fire !” she exclaimed. And what do you have for your final and most difficult riddle?”

“oh just some simple arithmetic” said the dragon.

As I was going to St. Ives,
I met a man with seven wives,
Every wife had seven sacks,
Every sack had seven cats,
Every cat had seven kits -
Kits, cats, sacks, and wives,
How many were going to St. Ives?

And as the old lady could not answer he said “Only one was going to St. Ives. All the others were going the other way ! HA ! The souls of the three soldiers are mine for sure” And then the dragon ate his supper of hot coals and soup made from boiling oil and went to bed.

When the Dragon was soundly asleep, his old grandmother pulled up the stone and let out the soldier.

‘Did you pay attention to everything?’

‘Yes,’ he replied, ‘I know enough, and can help myself splendidly.’

Then he went by another way through the window secretly, and in all haste back to his comrades. He told them how the Dragon had been outwitted by his grandmother, and how he had heard from his own lips the answer to the riddles.

Then they were all delighted and in high spirits, took out their whip, and cracked so much money that it came jumping up from the ground. When the seven years had quite gone, the fiendish dragon came to the soldiers with his book, and, pointing at the signatures, said, And now you must answer my riddles or your souls shall be mine for all eternity. What goes on four legs in the morning, on two legs and noon, and on three legs in the evening?”

And first soldier replied, “A person.”

The Dragon was much annoyed, and hummed and hawed a good deal, and asked the next riddle.

Though of great age,
I’m kept in a cage,
Having a long tail and one ear,
My mouth it is round,
And when joys do abound,
O, then I sing wonderful clear.
What am I?

“A bell” said the second soldier.

The Dragon-made a face, and growled again three times, ‘Hum, hum, hum,’ and said to the third, ‘

As I was going to St. Ives,
I met a man with seven wives,
Every wife had seven sacks,
Every sack had seven cats,
Every cat had seven kits -
Kits, cats, sacks, and wives,
How many were going to St. Ives?

“Only One” replied the third soldier.

Then the Dragon flew away with a loud shriek, and had no more power over them. But the three soldiers took the little whip, whipped as much money as they wanted, and lived happily to their lives end.

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This little known, but charming story by the Brothers Grimm is about a servant who learns to understand the speech of animals. He travels the world and does favours to creatures along the way. And then, when he needs help to win the hand of a princess, they come to his aid.

Read by Natasha. Duration 14 Minutes.

A long time ago there lived a king who was famed for his wisdom through
all the land. Nothing was hidden from him, and it seemed as if news of
the most secret things was brought to him through the air. But he had
a strange custom; every day after dinner, when the table was cleared,
and no one else was present, a trusty servant had to bring him one more
dish. It was covered, however, and even the servant did not know what
was in it, neither did anyone know, for the King never took off the
cover to eat of it until he was quite alone.

This had gone on for a long time, when one day the servant, who took
away the dish, was overcome with such curiosity that he could not help
carrying the dish into his room. When he had carefully locked the door,
he lifted up the cover, and saw a white snake lying on the dish. But
when he saw it he could not deny himself the pleasure of tasting it,
so he cut off a little bit and put it into his mouth. No sooner had it
touched his tongue than he heard a strange whispering of little voices
outside his window. He went and listened, and then noticed that it was
the sparrows who were chattering together, and telling one another of
all kinds of things which they had seen in the fields and woods. Eating
the snake had given him power of understanding the language of animals.

Now it so happened that on this very day the Queen lost her most beautiful
ring, and suspicion of having stolen it fell upon this trusty servant,
who was allowed to go everywhere. The King ordered the man to be brought
before him, and threatened with angry words that unless he could before
the morrow point out the thief, he himself should be looked upon as guilty
and executed. In vain he declared his innocence.

In his trouble and fear he went down into the courtyard and though long and hard.
Now some ducks weresitting together quietly by a brook and taking their rest; and, whilst
they were making their feathers smooth with their bills, they were
having a confidentia conversation together. The servant stood by and
listened. They were telling one another of all the places where they had
been waddling about all the morning, and what good food they had found,
and one said in a pitiful tone, “Something lies heavy on my stomach;
as I was eating in haste I swallowed a ring which lay under the Queen’s
window.” The servant at once seized her, carried her to
the kitchen, and said to the cook, “Here is a fine duck; roast her for dinner.”
“Yes,” said the cook, and weighed her in his hand; “she has spared
no trouble to fatten herself, and has been waiting to be roasted long
enough.” And as he prepared the duck for dinner, he found the ring inside.

The servant could now easily prove his innocence; and the King, to make
amends for the wrong, allowed him to ask a favor, and promised him the
best place in the court that he could wish for. The servant refused
everything, and only asked for a horse and some money for traveling,
as he had a mind to see the world and go about a little.

When his request was granted he set out on his way, and one day came
to a pond, where he saw three fishes caught in the reeds and gasping
for water. Now, though it is said that fishes are dumb, he heard them
complaining that they must perish so miserably, and, as he had a kind
heart, he got off his horse and put the three prisoners back into the
water. They quivered with delight, put out their heads, and cried to him,
“We will remember you and repay you for saving us!”

He rode on, and after a while it seemed to him that he heard a voice
in the sand at his feet. He listened, and heard an ant-king complain,
“Why cannot folks, with their clumsy beasts, keep off our bodies? That
stupid horse, with his heavy hoofs, has been treading down my people
without mercy!” So he turned on to a side path and the ant-king cried
out to him, “We will remember you—one good turn deserves another!”

The path led him into a wood, and here he saw two old ravens standing by
their nest, and throwing out their young ones. “Out with you, you idle,
good-for-nothing creatures!” cried they; “we cannot find food for you
any longer; you are big enough, and can provide for yourselves.” But the
poor young ravens lay upon the ground, flapping their wings, and crying,
“Oh, what helpless chicks we are! We must shift for ourselves, and yet
we cannot fly! What can we do, but lie here and starve?” So the good
young fellow climbed down, and gave them his own food which he had
been carrying for his lunch.
Then they came hopping up to it, satisfied their hunger,
and cried, “We will remember you—one good turn deserves another!”

And when he had gone on a long way further, he
came to a large city. There was a great noise and crowd in the streets,
and a man rode up on horseback, crying aloud, “The King’s daughter
wants a husband; but whoever sues for her hand must perform a hard task,
and if he does not succeed he will forfeit his life.” Many had already
made the attempt, but in vain; nevertheless when the youth saw the King’s
daughter he was so overcome by her great beauty that he forgot all danger,
went before the King, and declared himself a suitor.

So he was led out to the sea, and a gold ring was thrown into it, in his
sight; then the King ordered him to fetch this ring up from the bottom of
the sea, and added, “If you come up again without it you will be thrown in
again and again until you perish amid the waves.” All the people grieved
for the handsome youth; then they went away, leaving him alone by the sea.

He stood on the shore and considered what he should do, when suddenly
he saw three fishes come swimming towards him, and they were the very
fishes whose lives he had saved. The one in the middle held a mussel in
its mouth, which it laid on the shore at the youth’s feet, and when he
had taken it up and opened it, there lay the gold ring in the shell. Full
of joy he took it to the King, and expected that he would grant him the
promised reward.

But when the proud princess saw that he was not her equal in birth,
she scorned him, and required him first to perform another task. She
went down into the garden and strewed with her own hands ten sacks-full
of millet-seed on the grass; then she said, “To-morrow morning before
sunrise these must be picked up, and not a single grain be wanting.”

The youth sat down in the garden and considered how it might be possible
to perform this task, but he could think of nothing, and there he sat
sorrowfully awaiting the break of day, when he should be led to death. But
as soon as the first rays of the sun shone into the garden he saw all the
ten sacks standing side by side, quite full, and not a single grain was
missing. The ant-king had come in the night with thousands and thousands
of ants, and the grateful creatures had by great industry picked up all
the millet-seed and gathered them into the sacks.

Presently the King’s daughter herself came down into the garden,
and was amazed to see that the young man had done the task she had
given him. But she could not yet conquer her proud heart, and said,
“Although he has performed both the tasks, he shall not be my husband
until he has brought me an apple from the Tree of Life.”

The youth did not know where the Tree of Life stood, but he set out,
and would have gone on for ever, as long as his legs would carry him,
though he had no hope of finding it. After he had wandered through three
kingdoms, he came one evening to a wood, and lay down under a tree to
sleep. But he heard a rustling in the branches, and a golden apple fell
into his hand. At the same time three ravens flew down to him, perched
themselves upon his knee, and said, “We are the three young ravens
whom you saved from starving; when we had grown big, and heard that you
were seeking the Golden Apple, we flew over the sea to the end of the
world, where the Tree of Life stands, and have brought you the apple.”
The youth, full of joy, set out homewards, and took the Golden Apple to
the King’s beautiful daughter, who had no more excuses left to make. They
cut the Apple of Life in two and ate it together; and then her heart
became full of love for him, and they lived in undisturbed happiness to
a great age.

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Aesop’s famous story has worked it’s way into the English Language. The dictionary says that to cry wolf is to ” ask for help when you do not need it, with the result that no one believes you when help is necessary.”

In this Storynory version the boy is now an old man, and he looks back on the joke that went badly wrong and landed him with a reputation for silly pranks. It’s a real shorty – but we hope you will enjoy it – and we think it’s quite moving.

Read by Natasha. Duration 6.07

When I was a lad, my father used to send me out to the fields each day to watch over his sheep. Hey-how, there are worse jobs than sitting out in the fresh air all day, but it was boring work for a lad. I longed to be running around with my friends, playing ball, or making boyish mischief.

“Can’t the sheep look after themselves?” I asked my father. “After all, they know how to bleat and much grass, and there isn’t much else that they do.”

But father said it was important work. And most of importantly of all, I must keep my eyes pealed for the wolf, in case he came sneaking into the fields and grabbed on of the spring lambs.

And so I couldn’t even go to sleep. I had to sit and keep a sharp look-out. And a few weeks of this, I got so bored that began to wish that the wolf would show up and give me something to do.

And then I got thinking to myself. Let’s liven things up a bit, I thought. Let’s play a trick on the villagers. And so I got up an ran as fast as I could into the village shouting at the top of my voice:

“Wolf ! Wolf WOOOOOOOOLF !”

And the villagers grabbed sticks, rolling pins, and pitch-folks and came running up to the field to case away the world.

But when they got there, all was peaceful. The lambs were frolicking as usual, quite unmolested.

And I laughed

“Ha ha Fooled you all ! ”

But none of the villagers laughed with me. Some of them grumbled and and the blacksmith became quite angry and shouted at me. But he was just a bad sport who couldn’t see the funny side of my joke.

And so a week later I did the same thing again, only this time I put on an even better act. I daubed red paint on my arm, and pretended that the wolf had bitten me. This fooled even the blacksmith, who was on his guard after the last trick I had played.

And when they all arrived breathless in the field I again called out

“Ha Ha ! Fooled YOU! ”

And this time quite a few of the villagers were angry with me, and I got quite an ear wigging from the blacksmith, the teacher, and the iron-monger. When I got home, my father was furious and told me that I had a stupid sense of humour. But I thought it was funny. And so did my friends.

About a week after that, I was sitting up on the hill watching my father’s sheep as usual. It was getting on for evening, and the sun was setting behind the forrest. I would have to spend the night out there, and oh, how lonely and bored was I. Then all of a sudden the sheep dogs started to bark and the flock was running around and bleating like they had all gone made. Only they hadn’t. There was a wolf among the sheep and he had seized a lamb.

“Wolf ! Wolf ! WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOLF !” I called out and I ran into the village to get help.

But nobody came. Not one villager. They carried on doing whatever they were doing. Eating supper, drinking ale, or finishing off their work for the day.

‘But please,” I said to the blacksmith, “This time it’s true. There really is a wolf.”

And he just shrugged his shoulders.

You see nobody believes a liar, even when he’s speaking the truth.

And that’s why you should never cry wolf unless you really mean it.

The Boy Who Cried Wolf

Hello this is Natahsa, and I’m dropping by with a famous fable by Aesop.

Have you ever heard the expression, To Cry Wolf? Do you know what it means? Well even if you do, you should listen to this tale, because it will tell you how it came about.

It’s told by an old man, who remembers the biggest lesson of his life, the one that got him branded for ever more as The Boy Who Cried Wolf.

When I was a lad, my father used to send me out to the fields each day to watch over his sheep. Hey-how, there are worse jobs than sitting out in the fresh air all day, but it was boring work for a lad. I longed to be running around with my friends, playing ball, or making boyish mischief.

“Can’t the sheep look after themselves?” I asked my father. “After all, they know how to bleat and much grass, and there isn’t much else that they do.”

But father said it was important work. And most of importantly of all, I must keep my eyes pealed for the wolf, in case he came sneaking into the fields and grabbed on of the spring lambs.

And so I couldn’t even go to sleep. I had to sit and keep a sharp look-out. And a few weeks of this, I got so bored that began to wish that the wolf would show up and give me something to do.

And then I got thinking to myself. Let’s liven things up a bit, I thought. Let’s play a trick on the villagers. And so I got up an ran as fast as I could into the village shouting at the top of my voice:

“Wolf ! Wolf WOOOOOOOOLF !”

And the villagers grabbed sticks, rolling pins, and pitch-folks and came running up to the field to case away the world.

But when they got there, all was peaceful. The lambs were frolicking as usual, quite unmolested.

And I laughed

“Ha ha Fooled you all ! ”

But none of the villagers laughed with me. Some of them grumbled and and the blacksmith became quite angry and shouted at me. But he was just a bad sport who couldn’t see the funny side of my joke.

And so a week later I did the same thing again, only this time I put on an even better act. I daubed red paint on my arm, and pretended that the wolf had bitten me. This fooled even the blacksmith, who was on his guard after the last trick I had played.

And when they all arrived breathless in the field I again called out

“Ha Ha ! Fooled YOU! ”

And this time quite a few of the villagers were angry with me, and I got quite an ear wigging from the blacksmith, the teacher, and the iron-monger. When I got home, my father was furious and told me that I had a stupid sense of humour. But I thought it was funny. And so did my friends.

About a week after that, I was sitting up on the hill watching my father’s sheep as usual. It was getting on for evening, and the sun was setting behind the forrest. I would have to spend the night out there, and oh, how lonely and bored was I. Then all of a sudden the sheep dogs started to bark and the flock was running around and bleating like they had all gone made. Only they hadn’t. There was a wolf among the sheep and he had seized a lamb.

“Wolf ! Wolf ! WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOLF !” I called out and I ran into the village to get help.

But nobody came. Not one villager. They carried on doing whatever they were doing. Eating supper, drinking ale, or finishing off their work for the day.

‘But please,” I said to the blacksmith, “This time it’s true. There really is a wolf.”

And he just shrugged his shoulders.

You see nobody believes a liar, even when he’s speaking the truth.

And that’s why you should never cry wolf unless you really mean it.

Download the audio to your computer (right click, save as)

The final part of the Little Mermaid by Hans Christian Andersen.

The Sea Witch helps The Little Mermaid become human so that she can visit her prince – but she extracts a terrible price. The Little Mermaid must give up her lovely voice. If the Prince marries another, she will die. But she loves him so much that she is ready to make the sacrifice.

The ending is NOT the “Disney” version. And by the end, perhaps you will agree that it is not always wise to give up everything for love – but it is still one of the most beautiful and touching fairy tales ever written.

Part One is here.
Part Two is here.

Read by Natasha. Duration 29 Minutes.

“I know what you want,” said the sea witch; “it is very stupid of you, but you shall have your way, and it will bring you to sorrow, my pretty princess. You want to get rid of your fish’s tail, and to have two supports instead of it, like human beings on earth, so that the young prince may fall in love with you, and that you may have an immortal soul.” And then the witch laughed so loud and disgustingly, that the toad and the snakes fell to the ground, and lay there wriggling about. “You are but just in time,” said the witch; “for after sunrise to-morrow I should not be able to help you till the end of another year. I will prepare a draught for you, with which you must swim to land tomorrow before sunrise, and sit down on the shore and drink it. Your tail will then disappear, and shrink up into what mankind calls legs, and you will feel great pain, as if a sword were passing through you. But all who see you will say that you are the prettiest little human being they ever saw. You will still have the same floating gracefulness of movement, and no dancer will ever tread so lightly; but at every step you take it will feel as if you were treading upon sharp knives, and that the blood must flow. If you will bear all this, I will help you.”

“Yes, I will,” said the little princess in a trembling voice, as she thought of the prince and the immortal soul.

“But think again,” said the witch; “for when once your shape has become like a human being, you can no more be a mermaid. You will never return through the water to your sisters, or to your father’s palace again; and if you do not win the love of the prince, so that he is willing to forget his father and mother for your sake, and to love you with his whole soul, and allow the priest to join your hands that you may be man and wife, then you will never have an immortal soul. The first morning after he marries another your heart will break, and you will become foam on the crest of the waves.”

“I will do it,” said the little mermaid, and she became pale as death.

“But I must be paid also,” said the witch, “and it is not a trifle that I ask. You have the sweetest voice of any who dwell here in the depths of the sea, and you believe that you will be able to charm the prince with it also, but this voice you must give to me; the best thing you possess will I have for the price of my draught. My own blood must be mixed with it, that it may be as sharp as a two-edged sword.”

“But if you take away my voice,” said the little mermaid, “what is left for me?”

“Your beautiful form, your graceful walk, and your expressive eyes; surely with these you can enchain a man’s heart. Well, have you lost your courage? Put out your little tongue that I may cut it off as my payment; then you shall have the powerful draught.”

“It shall be,” said the little mermaid.

Then the witch placed her cauldron on the fire, to prepare the magic draught.

“Cleanliness is a good thing,” said she, scouring the vessel with snakes, which she had tied together in a large knot; then she pricked herself in the breast, and let the black blood drop into it. The steam that rose formed itself into such horrible shapes that no one could look at them without fear. Every moment the witch threw something else into the vessel, and when it began to boil, the sound was like the weeping of a crocodile. When at last the magic draught was ready, it looked like the clearest water. “There it is for you,” said the witch. Then she cut off the mermaid’s tongue, so that she became dumb, and would never again speak or sing. “If the polypi should seize hold of you as you return through the wood,” said the witch, “throw over them a few drops of the potion, and their fingers will be torn into a thousand pieces.” But the little mermaid had no occasion to do this, for the polypi sprang back in terror when they caught sight of the glittering draught, which shone in her hand like a twinkling star.

So she passed quickly through the wood and the marsh, and between the rushing whirlpools. She saw that in her father’s palace the torches in the ballroom were extinguished, and all within asleep; but she did not venture to go in to them, for now she was dumb and going to leave them forever, she felt as if her heart would break. She stole into the garden, took a flower from the flower-beds of each of her sisters, kissed her hand a thousand times towards the palace, and then rose up through the dark blue waters. The sun had not risen when she came in sight of the prince’s palace, and approached the beautiful marble steps, but the moon shone clear and bright. Then the little mermaid drank the magic draught, and it seemed as if a two-edged sword went through her delicate body: she fell into a swoon, and lay like one dead. When the sun arose and shone over the sea, she recovered, and felt a sharp pain; but just before her stood the handsome young prince. He fixed his coal-black eyes upon her so earnestly that she cast down her own, and then became aware that her fish’s tail was gone, and that she had as pretty a pair of white legs and tiny feet as any little maiden could have; but she had no clothes, so she wrapped herself in her long, thick hair. The prince asked her who she was, and where she came from, and she looked at him mildly and sorrowfully with her deep blue eyes; but she could not speak. Every step she took was as the witch had said it would be, she felt as if treading upon the points of needles or sharp knives; but she bore it willingly, and stepped as lightly by the prince’s side as a soap-bubble, so that he and all who saw her wondered at her graceful-swaying movements. She was very soon arrayed in costly robes of silk and muslin, and was the most beautiful creature in the palace; but she was dumb, and could neither speak nor sing.

Beautiful female slaves, dressed in silk and gold, stepped forward and sang before the prince and his royal parents: one sang better than all the others, and the prince clapped his hands and smiled at her. This was great sorrow to the little mermaid; she knew how much more sweetly she herself could sing once, and she thought, “Oh if he could only know that! I have given away my voice forever, to be with him.”

The slaves next performed some pretty fairy-like dances, to the sound of beautiful music. Then the little mermaid raised her lovely white arms, stood on the tips of her toes, and glided over the floor, and danced as no one yet had been able to dance. At each moment her beauty became more revealed, and her expressive eyes appealed more directly to the heart than the songs of the slaves. Every one was enchanted, especially the prince, who called her his little foundling; and she danced again quite readily, to please him, though each time her foot touched the floor it seemed as if she trod on sharp knives.

The prince said she should remain with him always, and she received permission to sleep at his door, on a velvet cushion. He had a page’s dress made for her, that she might accompany him on horseback. They rode together through the sweet-scented woods, where the green boughs touched their shoulders, and the little birds sang among the fresh leaves. She climbed with the prince to the tops of high mountains; and although her tender feet bled so that even her steps were marked, she only laughed, and followed him till they could see the clouds beneath them looking like a flock of birds travelling to distant lands. While at the prince’s palace, and when all the household were asleep, she would go and sit on the broad marble steps; for it eased her burning feet to bathe them in the cold sea-water; and then she thought of all those below in the deep.

Once during the night her sisters came up arm-in-arm, singing sorrowfully, as they floated on the water. She beckoned to them, and then they recognized her, and told her how she had grieved them. After that, they came to the same place every night; and once she saw in the distance her old grandmother, who had not been to the surface of the sea for many years, and the old Sea King, her father, with his crown on his head. They stretched out their hands towards her, but they did not venture so near the land as her sisters did.

As the days passed, she loved the prince more fondly, and he loved her as he would love a little child, but it never came into his head to make her his wife; yet, unless he married her, she could not receive an immortal soul; and, on the morning after his marriage with another, she would dissolve into the foam of the sea.

“Do you not love me the best of them all?” the eyes of the little mermaid seemed to say, when he took her in his arms, and kissed her fair forehead.

“Yes, you are dear to me,” said the prince; “for you have the best heart, and you are the most devoted to me; you are like a young maiden whom I once saw, but whom I shall never meet again. I was in a ship that was wrecked, and the waves cast me ashore near a holy temple, where several young maidens performed the service. The youngest of them found me on the shore, and saved my life. I saw her but twice, and she is the only one in the world whom I could love; but you are like her, and you have almost driven her image out of my mind. She belongs to the holy temple, and my good fortune has sent you to me instead of her; and we will never part.”

“Ah, he knows not that it was I who saved his life,” thought the little mermaid. “I carried him over the sea to the wood where the temple stands: I sat beneath the foam, and watched till the human beings came to help him. I saw the pretty maiden that he loves better than he loves me;” and the mermaid sighed deeply, but she could not shed tears. “He says the maiden belongs to the holy temple, therefore she will never return to the world. They will meet no more: while I am by his side, and see him every day. I will take care of him, and love him, and give up my life for his sake.”

Very soon it was said that the prince must marry, and that the beautiful daughter of a neighboring king would be his wife, for a fine ship was being fitted out. Although the prince gave out that he merely intended to pay a visit to the king, it was generally supposed that he really went to see his daughter. A great company were to go with him. The little mermaid smiled, and shook her head. She knew the prince’s thoughts better than any of the others.

“I must travel,” he had said to her; “I must see this beautiful princess; my parents desire it; but they will not oblige me to bring her home as my bride. I cannot love her; she is not like the beautiful maiden in the temple, whom you resemble. If I were forced to choose a bride, I would rather choose you, my dumb foundling, with those expressive eyes.” And then he kissed her rosy mouth, played with her long waving hair, and laid his head on her heart, while she dreamed of human happiness and an immortal soul. “You are not afraid of the sea, my dumb child,” said he, as they stood on the deck of the noble ship which was to carry them to the country of the neighboring king. And then he told her of storm and of calm, of strange fishes in the deep beneath them, and of what the divers had seen there; and she smiled at his descriptions, for she knew better than any one what wonders were at the bottom of the sea.

In the moonlight, when all on board were asleep, excepting the man at the helm, who was steering, she sat on the deck, gazing down through the clear water. She thought she could distinguish her father’s castle, and upon it her aged grandmother, with the silver crown on her head, looking through the rushing tide at the keel of the vessel. Then her sisters came up on the waves, and gazed at her mournfully, wringing their white hands. She beckoned to them, and smiled, and wanted to tell them how happy and well off she was; but the cabin-boy approached, and when her sisters dived down he thought it was only the foam of the sea which he saw.

The next morning the ship sailed into the harbor of a beautiful town belonging to the king whom the prince was going to visit. The church bells were ringing, and from the high towers sounded a flourish of trumpets; and soldiers, with flying colors and glittering bayonets, lined the rocks through which they passed. Every day was a festival; balls and entertainments followed one another.

But the princess had not yet appeared. People said that she was being brought up and educated in a religious house, where she was learning every royal virtue. At last she came. Then the little mermaid, who was very anxious to see whether she was really beautiful, was obliged to acknowledge that she had never seen a more perfect vision of beauty. Her skin was delicately fair, and beneath her long dark eye-lashes her laughing blue eyes shone with truth and purity.

“It was you,” said the prince, “who saved my life when I lay dead on the beach,” and he folded his blushing bride in his arms. “Oh, I am too happy,” said he to the little mermaid; “my fondest hopes are all fulfilled. You will rejoice at my happiness; for your devotion to me is great and sincere.”

The little mermaid kissed his hand, and felt as if her heart were already broken. His wedding morning would bring death to her, and she would change into the foam of the sea. All the church bells rung, and the heralds rode about the town proclaiming the betrothal. Perfumed oil was burning in costly silver lamps on every altar. The priests waved the censers, while the bride and bridegroom joined their hands and received the blessing of the bishop. The little mermaid, dressed in silk and gold, held up the bride’s train; but her ears heard nothing of the festive music, and her eyes saw not the holy ceremony; she thought of the night of death which was coming to her, and of all she had lost in the world. On the same evening the bride and bridegroom went on board ship; cannons were roaring, flags waving, and in the centre of the ship a costly tent of purple and gold had been erected. It contained elegant couches, for the reception of the bridal pair during the night. The ship, with swelling sails and a favorable wind, glided away smoothly and lightly over the calm sea. When it grew dark a number of colored lamps were lit, and the sailors danced merrily on the deck. The little mermaid could not help thinking of her first rising out of the sea, when she had seen similar festivities and joys; and she joined in the dance, poised herself in the air as a swallow when he pursues his prey, and all present cheered her with wonder. She had never danced so elegantly before. Her tender feet felt as if cut with sharp knives, but she cared not for it; a sharper pang had pierced through her heart. She knew this was the last evening she should ever see the prince, for whom she had forsaken her kindred and her home; she had given up her beautiful voice, and suffered unheard-of pain daily for him, while he knew nothing of it. This was the last evening that she would breathe the same air with him, or gaze on the starry sky and the deep sea; an eternal night, without a thought or a dream, awaited her: she had no soul and now she could never win one. All was joy and gayety on board ship till long after midnight; she laughed and danced with the rest, while the thoughts of death were in her heart. The prince kissed his beautiful bride, while she played with his raven hair, till they went arm-in-arm to rest in the splendid tent. Then all became still on board the ship; the helmsman, alone awake, stood at the helm. The little mermaid leaned her white arms on the edge of the vessel, and looked towards the east for the first blush of morning, for that first ray of dawn that would bring her death. She saw her sisters rising out of the flood: they were as pale as herself; but their long beautiful hair waved no more in the wind, and had been cut off.

“We have given our hair to the witch,” said they, “to obtain help for you, that you may not die to-night. She has given us a knife: here it is, see it is very sharp. Before the sun rises you must plunge it into the heart of the prince; when the warm blood falls upon your feet they will grow together again, and form into a fish’s tail, and you will be once more a mermaid, and return to us to live out your three hundred years before you die and change into the salt sea foam. Haste, then; he or you must die before sunrise. Our old grandmother moans so for you, that her white hair is falling off from sorrow, as ours fell under the witch’s scissors. Kill the prince and come back; hasten: do you not see the first red streaks in the sky? In a few minutes the sun will rise, and you must die.” And then they sighed deeply and mournfully, and sank down beneath the waves.

The little mermaid drew back the crimson curtain of the tent, and beheld the fair bride with her head resting on the prince’s breast. She bent down and kissed his fair brow, then looked at the sky on which the rosy dawn grew brighter and brighter; then she glanced at the sharp knife, and again fixed her eyes on the prince, who whispered the name of his bride in his dreams. She was in his thoughts, and the knife trembled in the hand of the little mermaid: then she flung it far away from her into the waves; the water turned red where it fell, and the drops that spurted up looked like blood. She cast one more lingering, half-fainting glance at the prince, and then threw herself from the ship into the sea, and thought her body was dissolving into foam. The sun rose above the waves, and his warm rays fell on the cold foam of the little mermaid, who did not feel as if she were dying. She saw the bright sun, and all around her floated hundreds of transparent beautiful beings; she could see through them the white sails of the ship, and the red clouds in the sky; their speech was melodious, but too ethereal to be heard by mortal ears, as they were also unseen by mortal eyes. The little mermaid perceived that she had a body like theirs, and that she continued to rise higher and higher out of the foam. “Where am I?” asked she, and her voice sounded ethereal, as the voice of those who were with her; no earthly music could imitate it.

“Among the daughters of the air,” answered one of them. “A mermaid has not an immortal soul, nor can she obtain one unless she wins the love of a human being. On the power of another hangs her eternal destiny. But the daughters of the air, although they do not possess an immortal soul, can, by their good deeds, procure one for themselves. We fly to warm countries, and cool the sultry air that destroys mankind with the pestilence. We carry the perfume of the flowers to spread health and restoration. After we have striven for three hundred years to all the good in our power, we receive an immortal soul and take part in the happiness of mankind. You, poor little mermaid, have tried with your whole heart to do as we are doing; you have suffered and endured and raised yourself to the spirit-world by your good deeds; and now, by striving for three hundred years in the same way, you may obtain an immortal soul.”

The little mermaid lifted her glorified eyes towards the sun, and felt them, for the first time, filling with tears. On the ship, in which she had left the prince, there were life and noise; she saw him and his beautiful bride searching for her; sorrowfully they gazed at the pearly foam, as if they knew she had thrown herself into the waves. Unseen she kissed the forehead of her bride, and fanned the prince, and then mounted with the other children of the air to a rosy cloud that floated through the aether.

“After three hundred years, thus shall we float into the kingdom of heaven,” said she. “And we may even get there sooner,” whispered one of her companions.

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In the second part of this classic tale by Hans Christian Andersen, The Little Mermaid saves a young prince from drowning – but he never has a chance to see that he owes his life to her. The Little Mermaid speaks to her grandmother, who tells her that human beings have short lives on earth, but possess immortal souls. Mermaids on the other hand, can live for 300 years, but then they turn to nothing. The only way a mermaid can become gain a soul is for a human being to love her. The Little Mermaid decides to risk all for her prince.

The Music is Pachelbel’s Canon. Part one is here

Read by Natasha. Duration 28 Minutes.

At last she reached her fifteenth year. “Well, now, you are grown up,” said the old dowager, her grandmother; “so you must let me adorn you like your other sisters;” and she placed a wreath of white lilies in her hair, and every flower leaf was half a pearl. Then the old lady ordered eight great oysters to attach themselves to the tail of the princess to show her high rank.

“But they hurt me so,” said the little mermaid.

“Pride must suffer pain,” replied the old lady. Oh, how gladly she would have shaken off all this grandeur, and laid aside the heavy wreath! The red flowers in her own garden would have suited her much better, but she could not help herself: so she said, “Farewell,” and rose as lightly as a bubble to the surface of the water. The sun had just set as she raised her head above the waves; but the clouds were tinted with crimson and gold, and through the glimmering twilight beamed the evening star in all its beauty. The sea was calm, and the air mild and fresh. A large ship, with three masts, lay becalmed on the water, with only one sail set; for not a breeze stiffed, and the sailors sat idle on deck or amongst the rigging. There was music and song on board; and, as darkness came on, a hundred colored lanterns were lighted, as if the flags of all nations waved in the air. The little mermaid swam close to the cabin windows; and now and then, as the waves lifted her up, she could look in through clear glass window-panes, and see a number of well-dressed people within. Among them was a young prince, the most beautiful of all, with large black eyes; he was sixteen years of age, and his birthday was being kept with much rejoicing. The sailors were dancing on deck, but when the prince came out of the cabin, more than a hundred rockets rose in the air, making it as bright as day. The little mermaid was so startled that she dived under water; and when she again stretched out her head, it appeared as if all the stars of heaven were falling around her, she had never seen such fireworks before. Great suns spurted fire about, splendid fireflies flew into the blue air, and everything was reflected in the clear, calm sea beneath. The ship itself was so brightly illuminated that all the people, and even the smallest rope, could be distinctly and plainly seen. And how handsome the young prince looked, as he pressed the hands of all present and smiled at them, while the music resounded through the clear night air.

It was very late; yet the little mermaid could not take her eyes from the ship, or from the beautiful prince. The colored lanterns had been extinguished, no more rockets rose in the air, and the cannon had ceased firing; but the sea became restless, and a moaning, grumbling sound could be heard beneath the waves: still the little mermaid remained by the cabin window, rocking up and down on the water, which enabled her to look in. After a while, the sails were quickly unfurled, and the noble ship continued her passage; but soon the waves rose higher, heavy clouds darkened the sky, and lightning appeared in the distance. A dreadful storm was approaching; once more the sails were reefed, and the great ship pursued her flying course over the raging sea. The waves rose mountains high, as if they would have overtopped the mast; but the ship dived like a swan between them, and then rose again on their lofty, foaming crests. To the little mermaid this appeared pleasant sport; not so to the sailors. At length the ship groaned and creaked; the thick planks gave way under the lashing of the sea as it broke over the deck; the mainmast snapped asunder like a reed; the ship lay over on her side; and the water rushed in. The little mermaid now perceived that the crew were in danger; even she herself was obliged to be careful to avoid the beams and planks of the wreck which lay scattered on the water. At one moment it was so pitch dark that she could not see a single object, but a flash of lightning revealed the whole scene; she could see every one who had been on board excepting the prince; when the ship parted, she had seen him sink into the deep waves, and she was glad, for she thought he would now be with her; and then she remembered that human beings could not live in the water, so that when he got down to her father’s palace he would be quite dead. But he must not die. So she swam about among the beams and planks which strewed the surface of the sea, forgetting that they could crush her to pieces. Then she dived deeply under the dark waters, rising and falling with the waves, till at length she managed to reach the young prince, who was fast losing the power of swimming in that stormy sea. His limbs were failing him, his beautiful eyes were closed, and he would have died had not the little mermaid come to his assistance. She held his head above the water, and let the waves drift them where they would.

In the morning the storm had ceased; but of the ship not a single fragment could be seen. The sun rose up red and glowing from the water, and its beams brought back the hue of health to the prince’s cheeks; but his eyes remained closed. The mermaid kissed his high, smooth forehead, and stroked back his wet hair; he seemed to her like the marble statue in her little garden, and she kissed him again, and wished that he might live. Presently they came in sight of land; she saw lofty blue mountains, on which the white snow rested as if a flock of swans were lying upon them. Near the coast were beautiful green forests, and close by stood a large building, whether a church or a convent she could not tell. Orange and citron trees grew in the garden, and before the door stood lofty palms. The sea here formed a little bay, in which the water was quite still, but very deep; so she swam with the handsome prince to the beach, which was covered with fine, white sand, and there she laid him in the warm sunshine, taking care to raise his head higher than his body. Then bells sounded in the large white building, and a number of young girls came into the garden. The little mermaid swam out farther from the shore and placed herself between some high rocks that rose out of the water; then she covered her head and neck with the foam of the sea so that her little face might not be seen, and watched to see what would become of the poor prince. She did not wait long before she saw a young girl approach the spot where he lay. She seemed frightened at first, but only for a moment; then she fetched a number of people, and the mermaid saw that the prince came to life again, and smiled upon those who stood round him. But to her he sent no smile; he knew not that she had saved him. This made her very unhappy, and when he was led away into the great building, she dived down sorrowfully into the water, and returned to her father’s castle. She had always been silent and thoughtful, and now she was more so than ever. Her sisters asked her what she had seen during her first visit to the surface of the water; but she would tell them nothing. Many an evening and morning did she rise to the place where she had left the prince. She saw the fruits in the garden ripen till they were gathered, the snow on the tops of the mountains melt away; but she never saw the prince, and therefore she returned home, always more sorrowful than before. It was her only comfort to sit in her own little garden, and fling her arm round the beautiful marble statue which was like the prince; but she gave up tending her flowers, and they grew in wild confusion over the paths, twining their long leaves and stems round the branches of the trees, so that the whole place became dark and gloomy. At length she could bear it no longer, and told one of her sisters all about it. Then the others heard the secret, and very soon it became known to two mermaids whose intimate friend happened to know who the prince was. She had also seen the festival on board ship, and she told them where the prince came from, and where his palace stood.

“Come, little sister,” said the other princesses; then they entwined their arms and rose up in a long row to the surface of the water, close by the spot where they knew the prince’s palace stood. It was built of bright yellow shining stone, with long flights of marble steps, one of which reached quite down to the sea. Splendid gilded cupolas rose over the roof, and between the pillars that surrounded the whole building stood life-like statues of marble. Through the clear crystal of the lofty windows could be seen noble rooms, with costly silk curtains and hangings of tapestry; while the walls were covered with beautiful paintings which were a pleasure to look at. In the centre of the largest saloon a fountain threw its sparkling jets high up into the glass cupola of the ceiling, through which the sun shone down upon the water and upon the beautiful plants growing round the basin of the fountain. Now that she knew where he lived, she spent many an evening and many a night on the water near the palace. She would swim much nearer the shore than any of the others ventured to do; indeed once she went quite up the narrow channel under the marble balcony, which threw a broad shadow on the water. Here she would sit and watch the young prince, who thought himself quite alone in the bright moonlight. She saw him many times of an evening sailing in a pleasant boat, with music playing and flags waving. She peeped out from among the green rushes, and if the wind caught her long silvery-white veil, those who saw it believed it to be a swan, spreading out its wings. On many a night, too, when the fishermen, with their torches, were out at sea, she heard them relate so many good things about the doings of the young prince, that she was glad she had saved his life when he had been tossed about half-dead on the waves. And she remembered that his head had rested on her bosom, and how heartily she had kissed him; but he knew nothing of all this, and could not even dream of her. She grew more and more fond of human beings, and wished more and more to be able to wander about with those whose world seemed to be so much larger than her own. They could fly over the sea in ships, and mount the high hills which were far above the clouds; and the lands they possessed, their woods and their fields, stretched far away beyond the reach of her sight. There was so much that she wished to know, and her sisters were unable to answer all her questions. Then she applied to her old grandmother, who knew all about the upper world, which she very rightly called the lands above the sea.

“If human beings are not drowned,” asked the little mermaid, “can they live forever? do they never die as we do here in the sea?”

“Yes,” replied the old lady, “they must also die, and their term of life is even shorter than ours. We sometimes live to three hundred years, but when we cease to exist here we only become the foam on the surface of the water, and we have not even a grave down here of those we love. We have not immortal souls, we shall never live again; but, like the green sea-weed, when once it has been cut off, we can never flourish more. Human beings, on the contrary, have a soul which lives forever, lives after the body has been turned to dust. It rises up through the clear, pure air beyond the glittering stars. As we rise out of the water, and behold all the land of the earth, so do they rise to unknown and glorious regions which we shall never see.”

“Why have not we an immortal soul?” asked the little mermaid mournfully; “I would give gladly all the hundreds of years that I have to live, to be a human being only for one day, and to have the hope of knowing the happiness of that glorious world above the stars.”

“You must not think of that,” said the old woman; “we feel ourselves to be much happier and much better off than human beings.”

“So I shall die,” said the little mermaid, “and as the foam of the sea I shall be driven about never again to hear the music of the waves, or to see the pretty flowers nor the red sun. Is there anything I can do to win an immortal soul?”

“No,” said the old woman, “unless a man were to love you so much that you were more to him than his father or mother; and if all his thoughts and all his love were fixed upon you, and the priest placed his right hand in yours, and he promised to be true to you here and hereafter, then his soul would glide into your body and you would obtain a share in the future happiness of mankind. He would give a soul to you and retain his own as well; but this can never happen. Your fish’s tail, which amongst us is considered so beautiful, is thought on earth to be quite ugly; they do not know any better, and they think it necessary to have two stout props, which they call legs, in order to be handsome.”

Then the little mermaid sighed, and looked sorrowfully at her fish’s tail. “Let us be happy,” said the old lady, “and dart and spring about during the three hundred years that we have to live, which is really quite long enough; after that we can rest ourselves all the better. This evening we are going to have a court ball.”

It is one of those splendid sights which we can never see on earth. The walls and the ceiling of the large ball-room were of thick, but transparent crystal. May hundreds of colossal shells, some of a deep red, others of a grass green, stood on each side in rows, with blue fire in them, which lighted up the whole saloon, and shone through the walls, so that the sea was also illuminated. Innumerable fishes, great and small, swam past the crystal walls; on some of them the scales glowed with a purple brilliancy, and on others they shone like silver and gold. Through the halls flowed a broad stream, and in it danced the mermen and the mermaids to the music of their own sweet singing. No one on earth has such a lovely voice as theirs. The little mermaid sang more sweetly than them all. The whole court applauded her with hands and tails; and for a moment her heart felt quite gay, for she knew she had the loveliest voice of any on earth or in the sea. But she soon thought again of the world above her, for she could not forget the charming prince, nor her sorrow that she had not an immortal soul like his; therefore she crept away silently out of her father’s palace, and while everything within was gladness and song, she sat in her own little garden sorrowful and alone. Then she heard the bugle sounding through the water, and thought- “He is certainly sailing above, he on whom my wishes depend, and in whose hands I should like to place the happiness of my life. I will venture all for him, and to win an immortal soul, while my sisters are dancing in my father’s palace, I will go to the sea witch, of whom I have always been so much afraid, but she can give me counsel and help.”

And then the little mermaid went out from her garden, and took the road to the foaming whirlpools, behind which the sorceress lived. She had never been that way before: neither flowers nor grass grew there; nothing but bare, gray, sandy ground stretched out to the whirlpool, where the water, like foaming mill-wheels, whirled round everything that it seized, and cast it into the fathomless deep. Through the midst of these crushing whirlpools the little mermaid was obliged to pass, to reach the dominions of the sea witch; and also for a long distance the only road lay right across a quantity of warm, bubbling mire, called by the witch her turfmoor. Beyond this stood her house, in the centre of a strange forest, in which all the trees and flowers were polypi, half animals and half plants; they looked like serpents with a hundred heads growing out of the ground. The branches were long slimy arms, with fingers like flexible worms, moving limb after limb from the root to the top. All that could be reached in the sea they seized upon, and held fast, so that it never escaped from their clutches. The little mermaid was so alarmed at what she saw, that she stood still, and her heart beat with fear, and she was very nearly turning back; but she thought of the prince, and of the human soul for which she longed, and her courage returned. She fastened her long flowing hair round her head, so that the polypi might not seize hold of it. She laid her hands together across her bosom, and then she darted forward as a fish shoots through the water, between the supple arms and fingers of the ugly polypi, which were stretched out on each side of her. She saw that each held in its grasp something it had seized with its numerous little arms, as if they were iron bands. The white skeletons of human beings who had perished at sea, and had sunk down into the deep waters, skeletons of land animals, oars, rudders, and chests of ships were lying tightly grasped by their clinging arms; even a little mermaid, whom they had caught and strangled; and this seemed the most shocking of all to the little princess.

She now came to a space of marshy ground in the wood, where large, fat water-snakes were rolling in the mire, and showing their ugly, drab-colored bodies. In the midst of this spot stood a house, built with the bones of shipwrecked human beings. There sat the sea witch, allowing a toad to eat from her mouth, just as people sometimes feed a canary with a piece of sugar. She called the ugly water-snakes her little chickens, and allowed them to crawl all over her bosom.

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This is  truly moving and beautiful story. You will be transported to the magical underworld gardens of the mermaids.  This famous tale is every bit as lovely as Hans Christian Andersen’s other masterpiece, The Snow Queen .

The Little Mermaid longs to experience the human world.   On her fifteenth birthday she is at last allowed to rise to the surface.  She saves a prince from drowning, and falls in love with him.

The first of three parts.

Told by Natasha. Duration  15.23

FAR out in the ocean, where the water is as blue as the prettiest cornflower, and as clear as crystal, it is very, very deep; so deep, indeed, that no cable could fathom it: many church steeples, piled one upon another, would not reach from the ground beneath to the surface of the water above. There dwell the Sea King and his subjects. We must not imagine that there is nothing at the bottom of the sea but bare yellow sand. No, indeed; the most singular flowers and plants grow there; the leaves and stems of which are so pliant, that the slightest agitation of the water causes them to stir as if they had life. Fishes, both large and small, glide between the branches, as birds fly among the trees here upon land. In the deepest spot of all, stands the castle of the Sea King. Its walls are built of coral, and the long, gothic windows are of the clearest amber. The roof is formed of shells, that open and close as the water flows over them. Their appearance is very beautiful, for in each lies a glittering pearl, which would be fit for the diadem of a queen.

The Sea King had been a widower for many years, and his aged mother kept house for him. She was a very wise woman, and exceedingly proud of her high birth; on that account she wore twelve oysters on her tail; while others, also of high rank, were only allowed to wear six. She was, however, deserving of very great praise, especially for her care of the little sea-princesses, her grand-daughters. They were six beautiful children; but the youngest was the prettiest of them all; her skin was as clear and delicate as a rose-leaf, and her eyes as blue as the deepest sea; but, like all the others, she had no feet, and her body ended in a fish’s tail. All day long they played in the great halls of the castle, or among the living flowers that grew out of the walls. The large amber windows were open, and the fish swam in, just as the swallows fly into our houses when we open the windows, excepting that the fishes swam up to the princesses, ate out of their hands, and allowed themselves to be stroked. Outside the castle there was a beautiful garden, in which grew bright red and dark blue flowers, and blossoms like flames of fire; the fruit glittered like gold, and the leaves and stems waved to and fro continually. The earth itself was the finest sand, but blue as the flame of burning sulphur. Over everything lay a peculiar blue radiance, as if it were surrounded by the air from above, through which the blue sky shone, instead of the dark depths of the sea. In calm weather the sun could be seen, looking like a purple flower, with the light streaming from the calyx. Each of the young princesses had a little plot of ground in the garden, where she might dig and plant as she pleased. One arranged her flower-bed into the form of a whale; another thought it better to make hers like the figure of a little mermaid; but that of the youngest was round like the sun, and contained flowers as red as his rays at sunset. She was a strange child, quiet and thoughtful; and while her sisters would be delighted with the wonderful things which they obtained from the wrecks of vessels, she cared for nothing but her pretty red flowers, like the sun, excepting a beautiful marble statue. It was the representation of a handsome boy, carved out of pure white stone, which had fallen to the bottom of the sea from a wreck. She planted by the statue a rose-colored weeping willow. It grew splendidly, and very soon hung its fresh branches over the statue, almost down to the blue sands. The shadow had a violet tint, and waved to and fro like the branches; it seemed as if the crown of the tree and the root were at play, and trying to kiss each other. Nothing gave her so much pleasure as to hear about the world above the sea. She made her old grandmother tell her all she knew of the ships and of the towns, the people and the animals. To her it seemed most wonderful and beautiful to hear that the flowers of the land should have fragrance, and not those below the sea; that the trees of the forest should be green; and that the fishes among the trees could sing so sweetly, that it was quite a pleasure to hear them. Her grandmother called the little birds fishes, or she would not have understood her; for she had never seen birds.

“When you have reached your fifteenth year,” said the grand-mother, “you will have permission to rise up out of the sea, to sit on the rocks in the moonlight, while the great ships are sailing by; and then you will see both forests and towns.”

In the following year, one of the sisters would be fifteen: but as each was a year younger than the other, the youngest would have to wait five years before her turn came to rise up from the bottom of the ocean, and see the earth as we do. However, each promised to tell the others what she saw on her first visit, and what she thought the most beautiful; for their grandmother could not tell them enough; there were so many things on which they wanted information. None of them longed so much for her turn to come as the youngest, she who had the longest time to wait, and who was so quiet and thoughtful. Many nights she stood by the open window, looking up through the dark blue water, and watching the fish as they splashed about with their fins and tails. She could see the moon and stars shining faintly; but through the water they looked larger than they do to our eyes. When something like a black cloud passed between her and them, she knew that it was either a whale swimming over her head, or a ship full of human beings, who never imagined that a pretty little mermaid was standing beneath them, holding out her white hands towards the keel of their ship.

As soon as the eldest was fifteen, she was allowed to rise to the surface of the ocean. When she came back, she had hundreds of things to talk about; but the most beautiful, she said, was to lie in the moonlight, on a sandbank, in the quiet sea, near the coast, and to gaze on a large town nearby, where the lights were twinkling like hundreds of stars; to listen to the sounds of the music, the noise of carriages, and the voices of human beings, and then to hear the merry bells peal out from the church steeples; and because she could not go near to all those wonderful things, she longed for them more than ever. Oh, did not the youngest sister listen eagerly to all these descriptions? and afterwards, when she stood at the open window looking up through the dark blue water, she thought of the great city, with all its bustle and noise, and even fancied she could hear the sound of the church bells, down in the depths of the sea.

In another year the second sister received permission to rise to the surface of the water, and to swim about where she pleased. She rose just as the sun was setting, and this, she said, was the most beautiful sight of all. The whole sky looked like gold, while violet and rose-colored clouds, which she could not describe, floated over her; and, still more rapidly than the clouds, flew a large flock of wild swans towards the setting sun, looking like a long white veil across the sea. She also swam towards the sun; but it sunk into the waves, and the rosy tints faded from the clouds and from the sea.

The third sister’s turn followed; she was the boldest of them all, and she swam up a broad river that emptied itself into the sea. On the banks she saw green hills covered with beautiful vines; palaces and castles peeped out from amid the proud trees of the forest; she heard the birds singing, and the rays of the sun were so powerful that she was obliged often to dive down under the water to cool her burning face. In a narrow creek she found a whole troop of little human children, quite naked, and sporting about in the water; she wanted to play with them, but they fled in a great fright; and then a little black animal came to the water; it was a dog, but she did not know that, for she had never before seen one. This animal barked at her so terribly that she became frightened, and rushed back to the open sea. But she said she should never forget the beautiful forest, the green hills, and the pretty little children who could swim in the water, although they had not fish’s tails.

The fourth sister was more timid; she remained in the midst of the sea, but she said it was quite as beautiful there as nearer the land. She could see for so many miles around her, and the sky above looked like a bell of glass. She had seen the ships, but at such a great distance that they looked like sea-gulls. The dolphins sported in the waves, and the great whales spouted water from their nostrils till it seemed as if a hundred fountains were playing in every direction.

The fifth sister’s birthday occurred in the winter; so when her turn came, she saw what the others had not seen the first time they went up. The sea looked quite green, and large icebergs were floating about, each like a pearl, she said, but larger and loftier than the churches built by men. They were of the most singular shapes, and glittered like diamonds. She had seated herself upon one of the largest, and let the wind play with her long hair, and she remarked that all the ships sailed by rapidly, and steered as far away as they could from the iceberg, as if they were afraid of it. Towards evening, as the sun went down, dark clouds covered the sky, the thunder rolled and the lightning flashed, and the red light glowed on the icebergs as they rocked and tossed on the heaving sea. On all the ships the sails were reefed with fear and trembling, while she sat calmly on the floating iceberg, watching the blue lightning, as it darted its forked flashes into the sea.

When first the sisters had permission to rise to the surface, they were each delighted with the new and beautiful sights they saw; but now, as grown-up girls, they could go when they pleased, and they had become indifferent about it. They wished themselves back again in the water, and after a month had passed they said it was much more beautiful down below, and pleasanter to be at home. Yet often, in the evening hours, the five sisters would twine their arms round each other, and rise to the surface, in a row. They had more beautiful voices than any human being could have; and before the approach of a storm, and when they expected a ship would be lost, they swam before the vessel, and sang sweetly of the delights to be found in the depths of the sea, and begging the sailors not to fear if they sank to the bottom. But the sailors could not understand the song, they took it for the howling of the storm. And these things were never to be beautiful for them; for if the ship sank, the men were drowned, and their dead bodies alone reached the palace of the Sea King.

When the sisters rose, arm-in-arm, through the water in this way, their youngest sister would stand quite alone, looking after them, ready to cry, only that the mermaids have no tears, and therefore they suffer more. “Oh, were I but fifteen years old,” said she: “I know that I shall love the world up there, and all the people who live in it.”

At last she reached her fifteenth year. “Well, now, you are grown up,” said the old dowager, her grandmother; “so you must let me adorn you like your other sisters;” and she placed a wreath of white lilies in her hair, and every flower leaf was half a pearl. Then the old lady ordered eight great oysters to attach themselves to the tail of the princess to show her high rank.

“But they hurt me so,” said the little mermaid.

“Pride must suffer pain,” replied the old lady. Oh, how gladly she would have shaken off all this grandeur, and laid aside the heavy wreath! The red flowers in her own garden would have suited her much better, but she could not help herself: so she said, “Farewell,” and rose as lightly as a bubble to the surface of the water. The sun had just set as she raised her head above the waves; but the clouds were tinted with crimson and gold, and through the glimmering twilight beamed the evening star in all its beauty. The sea was calm, and the air mild and fresh. A large ship, with three masts, lay becalmed on the water, with only one sail set; for not a breeze stiffed, and the sailors sat idle on deck or amongst the rigging. There was music and song on board; and, as darkness came on, a hundred colored lanterns were lighted, as if the flags of all nations waved in the air. The little mermaid swam close to the cabin windows; and now and then, as the waves lifted her up, she could look in through clear glass window-panes, and see a number of well-dressed people within. Among them was a young prince, the most beautiful of all, with large black eyes; he was sixteen years of age, and his birthday was being kept with much rejoicing. The sailors were dancing on deck, but when the prince came out of the cabin, more than a hundred rockets rose in the air, making it as bright as day. The little mermaid was so startled that she dived under water; and when she again stretched out her head, it appeared as if all the stars of heaven were falling around her, she had never seen such fireworks before. Great suns spurted fire about, splendid fireflies flew into the blue air, and everything was reflected in the clear, calm sea beneath. The ship itself was so brightly illuminated that all the people, and even the smallest rope, could be distinctly and plainly seen. And how handsome the young prince looked, as he pressed the hands of all present and smiled at them, while the music resounded through the clear night air.

It was very late; yet the little mermaid could not take her eyes from the ship, or from the beautiful prince. The colored lanterns had been extinguished, no more rockets rose in the air, and the cannon had ceased firing; but the sea became restless, and a moaning, grumbling sound could be heard beneath the waves: still the little mermaid remained by the cabin window, rocking up and down on the water, which enabled her to look in. After a while, the sails were quickly unfurled, and the noble ship continued her passage; but soon the waves rose higher, heavy clouds darkened the sky, and lightning appeared in the distance. A dreadful storm was approaching; once more the sails were reefed, and the great ship pursued her flying course over the raging sea. The waves rose mountains high, as if they would have overtopped the mast; but the ship dived like a swan between them, and then rose again on their lofty, foaming crests. To the little mermaid this appeared pleasant sport; not so to the sailors. At length the ship groaned and creaked; the thick planks gave way under the lashing of the sea as it broke over the deck; the mainmast snapped asunder like a reed; the ship lay over on her side; and the water rushed in. The little mermaid now perceived that the crew were in danger; even she herself was obliged to be careful to avoid the beams and planks of the wreck which lay scattered on the water. At one moment it was so pitch dark that she could not see a single object, but a flash of lightning revealed the whole scene; she could see every one who had been on board excepting the prince; when the ship parted, she had seen him sink into the deep waves, and she was glad, for she thought he would now be with her; and then she remembered that human beings could not live in the water, so that when he got down to her father’s palace he would be quite dead. But he must not die. So she swam about among the beams and planks which strewed the surface of the sea, forgetting that they could crush her to pieces. Then she dived deeply under the dark waters, rising and falling with the waves, till at length she managed to reach the young prince, who was fast losing the power of swimming in that stormy sea. His limbs were failing him, his beautiful eyes were closed, and he would have died had not the little mermaid come to his assistance. She held his head above the water, and let the waves drift them where they would.

In the morning the storm had ceased; but of the ship not a single fragment could be seen. The sun rose up red and glowing from the water, and its beams brought back the hue of health to the prince’s cheeks; but his eyes remained closed. The mermaid kissed his high, smooth forehead, and stroked back his wet hair; he seemed to her like the marble statue in her little garden, and she kissed him again, and wished that he might live. Presently they came in sight of land; she saw lofty blue mountains, on which the white snow rested as if a flock of swans were lying upon them. Near the coast were beautiful green forests, and close by stood a large building, whether a church or a convent she could not tell. Orange and citron trees grew in the garden, and before the door stood lofty palms. The sea here formed a little bay, in which the water was quite still, but very deep; so she swam with the handsome prince to the beach, which was covered with fine, white sand, and there she laid him in the warm sunshine, taking care to raise his head higher than his body. Then bells sounded in the large white building, and a number of young girls came into the garden. The little mermaid swam out farther from the shore and placed herself between some high rocks that rose out of the water; then she covered her head and neck with the foam of the sea so that her little face might not be seen, and watched to see what would become of the poor prince. She did not wait long before she saw a young girl approach the spot where he lay. She seemed frightened at first, but only for a moment; then she fetched a number of people, and the mermaid saw that the prince came to life again, and smiled upon those who stood round him. But to her he sent no smile; he knew not that she had saved him. This made her very unhappy, and when he was led away into the great building, she dived down sorrowfully into the water, and returned to her father’s castle. She had always been silent and thoughtful, and now she was more so than ever. Her sisters asked her what she had seen during her first visit to the surface of the water; but she would tell them nothing. Many an evening and morning did she rise to the place where she had left the prince. She saw the fruits in the garden ripen till they were gathered, the snow on the tops of the mountains melt away; but she never saw the prince, and therefore she returned home, always more sorrowful than before. It was her only comfort to sit in her own little garden, and fling her arm round the beautiful marble statue which was like the prince; but she gave up tending her flowers, and they grew in wild confusion over the paths, twining their long leaves and stems round the branches of the trees, so that the whole place became dark and gloomy. At length she could bear it no longer, and told one of her sisters all about it. Then the others heard the secret, and very soon it became known to two mermaids whose intimate friend happened to know who the prince was. She had also seen the festival on board ship, and she told them where the prince came from, and where his palace stood.

“Come, little sister,” said the other princesses; then they entwined their arms and rose up in a long row to the surface of the water, close by the spot where they knew the prince’s palace stood. It was built of bright yellow shining stone, with long flights of marble steps, one of which reached quite down to the sea. Splendid gilded cupolas rose over the roof, and between the pillars that surrounded the whole building stood life-like statues of marble. Through the clear crystal of the lofty windows could be seen noble rooms, with costly silk curtains and hangings of tapestry; while the walls were covered with beautiful paintings which were a pleasure to look at. In the centre of the largest saloon a fountain threw its sparkling jets high up into the glass cupola of the ceiling, through which the sun shone down upon the water and upon the beautiful plants growing round the basin of the fountain. Now that she knew where he lived, she spent many an evening and many a night on the water near the palace. She would swim much nearer the shore than any of the others ventured to do; indeed once she went quite up the narrow channel under the marble balcony, which threw a broad shadow on the water. Here she would sit and watch the young prince, who thought himself quite alone in the bright moonlight. She saw him many times of an evening sailing in a pleasant boat, with music playing and flags waving. She peeped out from among the green rushes, and if the wind caught her long silvery-white veil, those who saw it believed it to be a swan, spreading out its wings. On many a night, too, when the fishermen, with their torches, were out at sea, she heard them relate so many good things about the doings of the young prince, that she was glad she had saved his life when he had been tossed about half-dead on the waves. And she remembered that his head had rested on her bosom, and how heartily she had kissed him; but he knew nothing of all this, and could not even dream of her. She grew more and more fond of human beings, and wished more and more to be able to wander about with those whose world seemed to be so much larger than her own. They could fly over the sea in ships, and mount the high hills which were far above the clouds; and the lands they possessed, their woods and their fields, stretched far away beyond the reach of her sight. There was so much that she wished to know, and her sisters were unable to answer all her questions. Then she applied to her old grandmother, who knew all about the upper world, which she very rightly called the lands above the sea.

“If human beings are not drowned,” asked the little mermaid, “can they live forever? do they never die as we do here in the sea?”

“Yes,” replied the old lady, “they must also die, and their term of life is even shorter than ours. We sometimes live to three hundred years, but when we cease to exist here we only become the foam on the surface of the water, and we have not even a grave down here of those we love. We have not immortal souls, we shall never live again; but, like the green sea-weed, when once it has been cut off, we can never flourish more. Human beings, on the contrary, have a soul which lives forever, lives after the body has been turned to dust. It rises up through the clear, pure air beyond the glittering stars. As we rise out of the water, and behold all the land of the earth, so do they rise to unknown and glorious regions which we shall never see.”

“Why have not we an immortal soul?” asked the little mermaid mournfully; “I would give gladly all the hundreds of years that I have to live, to be a human being only for one day, and to have the hope of knowing the happiness of that glorious world above the stars.”

“You must not think of that,” said the old woman; “we feel ourselves to be much happier and much better off than human beings.”

“So I shall die,” said the little mermaid, “and as the foam of the sea I shall be driven about never again to hear the music of the waves, or to see the pretty flowers nor the red sun. Is there anything I can do to win an immortal soul?”

“No,” said the old woman, “unless a man were to love you so much that you were more to him than his father or mother; and if all his thoughts and all his love were fixed upon you, and the priest placed his right hand in yours, and he promised to be true to you here and hereafter, then his soul would glide into your body and you would obtain a share in the future happiness of mankind. He would give a soul to you and retain his own as well; but this can never happen. Your fish’s tail, which amongst us is considered so beautiful, is thought on earth to be quite ugly; they do not know any better, and they think it necessary to have two stout props, which they call legs, in order to be handsome.”

Then the little mermaid sighed, and looked sorrowfully at her fish’s tail. “Let us be happy,” said the old lady, “and dart and spring about during the three hundred years that we have to live, which is really quite long enough; after that we can rest ourselves all the better. This evening we are going to have a court ball.”

It is one of those splendid sights which we can never see on earth. The walls and the ceiling of the large ball-room were of thick, but transparent crystal. May hundreds of colossal shells, some of a deep red, others of a grass green, stood on each side in rows, with blue fire in them, which lighted up the whole saloon, and shone through the walls, so that the sea was also illuminated. Innumerable fishes, great and small, swam past the crystal walls; on some of them the scales glowed with a purple brilliancy, and on others they shone like silver and gold. Through the halls flowed a broad stream, and in it danced the mermen and the mermaids to the music of their own sweet singing. No one on earth has such a lovely voice as theirs. The little mermaid sang more sweetly than them all. The whole court applauded her with hands and tails; and for a moment her heart felt quite gay, for she knew she had the loveliest voice of any on earth or in the sea. But she soon thought again of the world above her, for she could not forget the charming prince, nor her sorrow that she had not an immortal soul like his; therefore she crept away silently out of her father’s palace, and while everything within was gladness and song, she sat in her own little garden sorrowful and alone. Then she heard the bugle sounding through the water, and thought- “He is certainly sailing above, he on whom my wishes depend, and in whose hands I should like to place the happiness of my life. I will venture all for him, and to win an immortal soul, while my sisters are dancing in my father’s palace, I will go to the sea witch, of whom I have always been so much afraid, but she can give me counsel and help.”

And then the little mermaid went out from her garden, and took the road to the foaming whirlpools, behind which the sorceress lived. She had never been that way before: neither flowers nor grass grew there; nothing but bare, gray, sandy ground stretched out to the whirlpool, where the water, like foaming mill-wheels, whirled round everything that it seized, and cast it into the fathomless deep. Through the midst of these crushing whirlpools the little mermaid was obliged to pass, to reach the dominions of the sea witch; and also for a long distance the only road lay right across a quantity of warm, bubbling mire, called by the witch her turfmoor. Beyond this stood her house, in the centre of a strange forest, in which all the trees and flowers were polypi, half animals and half plants; they looked like serpents with a hundred heads growing out of the ground. The branches were long slimy arms, with fingers like flexible worms, moving limb after limb from the root to the top. All that could be reached in the sea they seized upon, and held fast, so that it never escaped from their clutches. The little mermaid was so alarmed at what she saw, that she stood still, and her heart beat with fear, and she was very nearly turning back; but she thought of the prince, and of the human soul for which she longed, and her courage returned. She fastened her long flowing hair round her head, so that the polypi might not seize hold of it. She laid her hands together across her bosom, and then she darted forward as a fish shoots through the water, between the supple arms and fingers of the ugly polypi, which were stretched out on each side of her. She saw that each held in its grasp something it had seized with its numerous little arms, as if they were iron bands. The white skeletons of human beings who had perished at sea, and had sunk down into the deep waters, skeletons of land animals, oars, rudders, and chests of ships were lying tightly grasped by their clinging arms; even a little mermaid, whom they had caught and strangled; and this seemed the most shocking of all to the little princess.

She now came to a space of marshy ground in the wood, where large, fat water-snakes were rolling in the mire, and showing their ugly, drab-colored bodies. In the midst of this spot stood a house, built with the bones of shipwrecked human beings. There sat the sea witch, allowing a toad to eat from her mouth, just as people sometimes feed a canary with a piece of sugar. She called the ugly water-snakes her little chickens, and allowed them to crawl all over her bosom.

“I know what you want,” said the sea witch; “it is very stupid of you, but you shall have your way, and it will bring you to sorrow, my pretty princess. You want to get rid of your fish’s tail, and to have two supports instead of it, like human beings on earth, so that the young prince may fall in love with you, and that you may have an immortal soul.” And then the witch laughed so loud and disgustingly, that the toad and the snakes fell to the ground, and lay there wriggling about. “You are but just in time,” said the witch; “for after sunrise to-morrow I should not be able to help you till the end of another year. I will prepare a draught for you, with which you must swim to land tomorrow before sunrise, and sit down on the shore and drink it. Your tail will then disappear, and shrink up into what mankind calls legs, and you will feel great pain, as if a sword were passing through you. But all who see you will say that you are the prettiest little human being they ever saw. You will still have the same floating gracefulness of movement, and no dancer will ever tread so lightly; but at every step you take it will feel as if you were treading upon sharp knives, and that the blood must flow. If you will bear all this, I will help you.”

“Yes, I will,” said the little princess in a trembling voice, as she thought of the prince and the immortal soul.

“But think again,” said the witch; “for when once your shape has become like a human being, you can no more be a mermaid. You will never return through the water to your sisters, or to your father’s palace again; and if you do not win the love of the prince, so that he is willing to forget his father and mother for your sake, and to love you with his whole soul, and allow the priest to join your hands that you may be man and wife, then you will never have an immortal soul. The first morning after he marries another your heart will break, and you will become foam on the crest of the waves.”

“I will do it,” said the little mermaid, and she became pale as death.

“But I must be paid also,” said the witch, “and it is not a trifle that I ask. You have the sweetest voice of any who dwell here in the depths of the sea, and you believe that you will be able to charm the prince with it also, but this voice you must give to me; the best thing you possess will I have for the price of my draught. My own blood must be mixed with it, that it may be as sharp as a two-edged sword.”

“But if you take away my voice,” said the little mermaid, “what is left for me?”

“Your beautiful form, your graceful walk, and your expressive eyes; surely with these you can enchain a man’s heart. Well, have you lost your courage? Put out your little tongue that I may cut it off as my payment; then you shall have the powerful draught.”

“It shall be,” said the little mermaid.

Then the witch placed her cauldron on the fire, to prepare the magic draught.

“Cleanliness is a good thing,” said she, scouring the vessel with snakes, which she had tied together in a large knot; then she pricked herself in the breast, and let the black blood drop into it. The steam that rose formed itself into such horrible shapes that no one could look at them without fear. Every moment the witch threw something else into the vessel, and when it began to boil, the sound was like the weeping of a crocodile. When at last the magic draught was ready, it looked like the clearest water. “There it is for you,” said the witch. Then she cut off the mermaid’s tongue, so that she became dumb, and would never again speak or sing. “If the polypi should seize hold of you as you return through the wood,” said the witch, “throw over them a few drops of the potion, and their fingers will be torn into a thousand pieces.” But the little mermaid had no occasion to do this, for the polypi sprang back in terror when they caught sight of the glittering draught, which shone in her hand like a twinkling star.

So she passed quickly through the wood and the marsh, and between the rushing whirlpools. She saw that in her father’s palace the torches in the ballroom were extinguished, and all within asleep; but she did not venture to go in to them, for now she was dumb and going to leave them forever, she felt as if her heart would break. She stole into the garden, took a flower from the flower-beds of each of her sisters, kissed her hand a thousand times towards the palace, and then rose up through the dark blue waters. The sun had not risen when she came in sight of the prince’s palace, and approached the beautiful marble steps, but the moon shone clear and bright. Then the little mermaid drank the magic draught, and it seemed as if a two-edged sword went through her delicate body: she fell into a swoon, and lay like one dead. When the sun arose and shone over the sea, she recovered, and felt a sharp pain; but just before her stood the handsome young prince. He fixed his coal-black eyes upon her so earnestly that she cast down her own, and then became aware that her fish’s tail was gone, and that she had as pretty a pair of white legs and tiny feet as any little maiden could have; but she had no clothes, so she wrapped herself in her long, thick hair. The prince asked her who she was, and where she came from, and she looked at him mildly and sorrowfully with her deep blue eyes; but she could not speak. Every step she took was as the witch had said it would be, she felt as if treading upon the points of needles or sharp knives; but she bore it willingly, and stepped as lightly by the prince’s side as a soap-bubble, so that he and all who saw her wondered at her graceful-swaying movements. She was very soon arrayed in costly robes of silk and muslin, and was the most beautiful creature in the palace; but she was dumb, and could neither speak nor sing.

Beautiful female slaves, dressed in silk and gold, stepped forward and sang before the prince and his royal parents: one sang better than all the others, and the prince clapped his hands and smiled at her. This was great sorrow to the little mermaid; she knew how much more sweetly she herself could sing once, and she thought, “Oh if he could only know that! I have given away my voice forever, to be with him.”

The slaves next performed some pretty fairy-like dances, to the sound of beautiful music. Then the little mermaid raised her lovely white arms, stood on the tips of her toes, and glided over the floor, and danced as no one yet had been able to dance. At each moment her beauty became more revealed, and her expressive eyes appealed more directly to the heart than the songs of the slaves. Every one was enchanted, especially the prince, who called her his little foundling; and she danced again quite readily, to please him, though each time her foot touched the floor it seemed as if she trod on sharp knives.

The prince said she should remain with him always, and she received permission to sleep at his door, on a velvet cushion. He had a page’s dress made for her, that she might accompany him on horseback. They rode together through the sweet-scented woods, where the green boughs touched their shoulders, and the little birds sang among the fresh leaves. She climbed with the prince to the tops of high mountains; and although her tender feet bled so that even her steps were marked, she only laughed, and followed him till they could see the clouds beneath them looking like a flock of birds travelling to distant lands. While at the prince’s palace, and when all the household were asleep, she would go and sit on the broad marble steps; for it eased her burning feet to bathe them in the cold sea-water; and then she thought of all those below in the deep.

Once during the night her sisters came up arm-in-arm, singing sorrowfully, as they floated on the water. She beckoned to them, and then they recognized her, and told her how she had grieved them. After that, they came to the same place every night; and once she saw in the distance her old grandmother, who had not been to the surface of the sea for many years, and the old Sea King, her father, with his crown on his head. They stretched out their hands towards her, but they did not venture so near the land as her sisters did.

As the days passed, she loved the prince more fondly, and he loved her as he would love a little child, but it never came into his head to make her his wife; yet, unless he married her, she could not receive an immortal soul; and, on the morning after his marriage with another, she would dissolve into the foam of the sea.

“Do you not love me the best of them all?” the eyes of the little mermaid seemed to say, when he took her in his arms, and kissed her fair forehead.

“Yes, you are dear to me,” said the prince; “for you have the best heart, and you are the most devoted to me; you are like a young maiden whom I once saw, but whom I shall never meet again. I was in a ship that was wrecked, and the waves cast me ashore near a holy temple, where several young maidens performed the service. The youngest of them found me on the shore, and saved my life. I saw her but twice, and she is the only one in the world whom I could love; but you are like her, and you have almost driven her image out of my mind. She belongs to the holy temple, and my good fortune has sent you to me instead of her; and we will never part.”

“Ah, he knows not that it was I who saved his life,” thought the little mermaid. “I carried him over the sea to the wood where the temple stands: I sat beneath the foam, and watched till the human beings came to help him. I saw the pretty maiden that he loves better than he loves me;” and the mermaid sighed deeply, but she could not shed tears. “He says the maiden belongs to the holy temple, therefore she will never return to the world. They will meet no more: while I am by his side, and see him every day. I will take care of him, and love him, and give up my life for his sake.”

Very soon it was said that the prince must marry, and that the beautiful daughter of a neighboring king would be his wife, for a fine ship was being fitted out. Although the prince gave out that he merely intended to pay a visit to the king, it was generally supposed that he really went to see his daughter. A great company were to go with him. The little mermaid smiled, and shook her head. She knew the prince’s thoughts better than any of the others.

“I must travel,” he had said to her; “I must see this beautiful princess; my parents desire it; but they will not oblige me to bring her home as my bride. I cannot love her; she is not like the beautiful maiden in the temple, whom you resemble. If I were forced to choose a bride, I would rather choose you, my dumb foundling, with those expressive eyes.” And then he kissed her rosy mouth, played with her long waving hair, and laid his head on her heart, while she dreamed of human happiness and an immortal soul. “You are not afraid of the sea, my dumb child,” said he, as they stood on the deck of the noble ship which was to carry them to the country of the neighboring king. And then he told her of storm and of calm, of strange fishes in the deep beneath them, and of what the divers had seen there; and she smiled at his descriptions, for she knew better than any one what wonders were at the bottom of the sea.

In the moonlight, when all on board were asleep, excepting the man at the helm, who was steering, she sat on the deck, gazing down through the clear water. She thought she could distinguish her father’s castle, and upon it her aged grandmother, with the silver crown on her head, looking through the rushing tide at the keel of the vessel. Then her sisters came up on the waves, and gazed at her mournfully, wringing their white hands. She beckoned to them, and smiled, and wanted to tell them how happy and well off she was; but the cabin-boy approached, and when her sisters dived down he thought it was only the foam of the sea which he saw.

The next morning the ship sailed into the harbor of a beautiful town belonging to the king whom the prince was going to visit. The church bells were ringing, and from the high towers sounded a flourish of trumpets; and soldiers, with flying colors and glittering bayonets, lined the rocks through which they passed. Every day was a festival; balls and entertainments followed one another.

But the princess had not yet appeared. People said that she was being brought up and educated in a religious house, where she was learning every royal virtue. At last she came. Then the little mermaid, who was very anxious to see whether she was really beautiful, was obliged to acknowledge that she had never seen a more perfect vision of beauty. Her skin was delicately fair, and beneath her long dark eye-lashes her laughing blue eyes shone with truth and purity.

“It was you,” said the prince, “who saved my life when I lay dead on the beach,” and he folded his blushing bride in his arms. “Oh, I am too happy,” said he to the little mermaid; “my fondest hopes are all fulfilled. You will rejoice at my happiness; for your devotion to me is great and sincere.”

The little mermaid kissed his hand, and felt as if her heart were already broken. His wedding morning would bring death to her, and she would change into the foam of the sea. All the church bells rung, and the heralds rode about the town proclaiming the betrothal. Perfumed oil was burning in costly silver lamps on every altar. The priests waved the censers, while the bride and bridegroom joined their hands and received the blessing of the bishop. The little mermaid, dressed in silk and gold, held up the bride’s train; but her ears heard nothing of the festive music, and her eyes saw not the holy ceremony; she thought of the night of death which was coming to her, and of all she had lost in the world. On the same evening the bride and bridegroom went on board ship; cannons were roaring, flags waving, and in the centre of the ship a costly tent of purple and gold had been erected. It contained elegant couches, for the reception of the bridal pair during the night. The ship, with swelling sails and a favorable wind, glided away smoothly and lightly over the calm sea. When it grew dark a number of colored lamps were lit, and the sailors danced merrily on the deck. The little mermaid could not help thinking of her first rising out of the sea, when she had seen similar festivities and joys; and she joined in the dance, poised herself in the air as a swallow when he pursues his prey, and all present cheered her with wonder. She had never danced so elegantly before. Her tender feet felt as if cut with sharp knives, but she cared not for it; a sharper pang had pierced through her heart. She knew this was the last evening she should ever see the prince, for whom she had forsaken her kindred and her home; she had given up her beautiful voice, and suffered unheard-of pain daily for him, while he knew nothing of it. This was the last evening that she would breathe the same air with him, or gaze on the starry sky and the deep sea; an eternal night, without a thought or a dream, awaited her: she had no soul and now she could never win one. All was joy and gayety on board ship till long after midnight; she laughed and danced with the rest, while the thoughts of death were in her heart. The prince kissed his beautiful bride, while she played with his raven hair, till they went arm-in-arm to rest in the splendid tent. Then all became still on board the ship; the helmsman, alone awake, stood at the helm. The little mermaid leaned her white arms on the edge of the vessel, and looked towards the east for the first blush of morning, for that first ray of dawn that would bring her death. She saw her sisters rising out of the flood: they were as pale as herself; but their long beautiful hair waved no more in the wind, and had been cut off.

“We have given our hair to the witch,” said they, “to obtain help for you, that you may not die to-night. She has given us a knife: here it is, see it is very sharp. Before the sun rises you must plunge it into the heart of the prince; when the warm blood falls upon your feet they will grow together again, and form into a fish’s tail, and you will be once more a mermaid, and return to us to live out your three hundred years before you die and change into the salt sea foam. Haste, then; he or you must die before sunrise. Our old grandmother moans so for you, that her white hair is falling off from sorrow, as ours fell under the witch’s scissors. Kill the prince and come back; hasten: do you not see the first red streaks in the sky? In a few minutes the sun will rise, and you must die.” And then they sighed deeply and mournfully, and sank down beneath the waves.

The little mermaid drew back the crimson curtain of the tent, and beheld the fair bride with her head resting on the prince’s breast. She bent down and kissed his fair brow, then looked at the sky on which the rosy dawn grew brighter and brighter; then she glanced at the sharp knife, and again fixed her eyes on the prince, who whispered the name of his bride in his dreams. She was in his thoughts, and the knife trembled in the hand of the little mermaid: then she flung it far away from her into the waves; the water turned red where it fell, and the drops that spurted up looked like blood. She cast one more lingering, half-fainting glance at the prince, and then threw herself from the ship into the sea, and thought her body was dissolving into foam. The sun rose above the waves, and his warm rays fell on the cold foam of the little mermaid, who did not feel as if she were dying. She saw the bright sun, and all around her floated hundreds of transparent beautiful beings; she could see through them the white sails of the ship, and the red clouds in the sky; their speech was melodious, but too ethereal to be heard by mortal ears, as they were also unseen by mortal eyes. The little mermaid perceived that she had a body like theirs, and that she continued to rise higher and higher out of the foam. “Where am I?” asked she, and her voice sounded ethereal, as the voice of those who were with her; no earthly music could imitate it.

“Among the daughters of the air,” answered one of them. “A mermaid has not an immortal soul, nor can she obtain one unless she wins the love of a human being. On the power of another hangs her eternal destiny. But the daughters of the air, although they do not possess an immortal soul, can, by their good deeds, procure one for themselves. We fly to warm countries, and cool the sultry air that destroys mankind with the pestilence. We carry the perfume of the flowers to spread health and restoration. After we have striven for three hundred years to all the good in our power, we receive an immortal soul and take part in the happiness of mankind. You, poor little mermaid, have tried with your whole heart to do as we are doing; you have suffered and endured and raised yourself to the spirit-world by your good deeds; and now, by striving for three hundred years in the same way, you may obtain an immortal soul.”

The little mermaid lifted her glorified eyes towards the sun, and felt them, for the first time, filling with tears. On the ship, in which she had left the prince, there were life and noise; she saw him and his beautiful bride searching for her; sorrowfully they gazed at the pearly foam, as if they knew she had thrown herself into the waves. Unseen she kissed the forehead of her bride, and fanned the prince, and then mounted with the other children of the air to a rosy cloud that floated through the aether.

“After three hundred years, thus shall we float into the kingdom of heaven,” said she. “And we may even get there sooner,” whispered one of her companions. “Unseen we can enter the houses of men, where there are children, and for every day on which we find a good child, who is the joy of his parents and deserves their love, our time of probation is shortened. The child does not know, when we fly through the room, that we smile with joy at his good conduct, for we can count one year less of our three hundred years. But when we see a naughty or a wicked child, we shed tears of sorrow, and for every tear a day is added to our time of trial!”

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Storynory was three years old towards the end of 2008. As anyone who has been three years old knows, it’s a very special age to be. We asked you to tell us what your favourite stories are and why, and to send us mp3 files with your voices.

And Bertie and Natasha would like to thank everyone for listening to Storynory over the first three years. We’ve got plenty more stories for you to come.

Introduced by Natasha. Voices by you.

Update ! You didn’t send us your MP3? Don’t worry there’s still time. Miguel from Spain has sent us his voice which you can listen to here.

In Seo From Korea has sent us New Year Greetings ! … You can listen here.

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We present the classic story with music by Tchaikovsky from his famous ballet.

Clara and Fritz have a very special godfather who makes inventions out of clockwork  (or perhaps they are magical) and his Christmas presents are always amazing and wonderful.  This year he gives them something rather small and simple -  a nutcracker-doll in the form of a soldier.  It’s rather ugly, and soon it is broken, but Clara loves it all the same. And then it comes to life and proves himself to be a true hero.

The original book in German, “The Nutcracker and the Mouse King” was by ETA Hoffmann, who wrote it in 1816.   This is our own Storynory adaptation, with music and magic.

Read by Natasha.   Duration 28 minutes.

It was the night before Christmas.  Clarla and Fritz were sitting  by the door of the kitchen.  Their cheeks were red after throwing snowballs outside in the cold air.   Their eyes shone brighter than the candles on the Christmas tree.  They were chattering very excitedly about something.

And what were two children so excited about on Christmas Eve? You don’t have to be a genius to guess the answer to that question.  For they were talking about -

Presents.

And the presents for Clara and Fritz were wrapped up and waiting for them  on the kitchen table, just on the other side of the door.  But the children were forbidden to go through the door until it was time.  Time for presents.  And as they couldn’t see the presents, they talked about them instead.

“I bet, ” said Fritz, “That this year, Godfather Drosselmeyer has made a two entire armies of clockwork soldiers – thousands and thousands of them -  Cavalry, and infantry, and artillery – and they’ll go to war with each other and fire cannons and guns like this  BAAAMMMMM !  It is will be just like a Real Battle !”

“Oh NO! ” said Clara.  “I do hope he’s made something more pretty than that.  I think he’s made a toy theatre, with an orchestra that plays, and ballerinas  who look like swans and dance on their tip-toes. In fact, Godfather Drosselmeyer has told me himself that he had been to see the Russian dancers – and that they were the most marvelous thing he had ever seen – and that’s why I think he’s making a magic theatre for us.”

“You’re such a silly nincompoop sometimes,” said Fritz.  “Godfather Drosselmeyer doesn’t do magic.  He makes clockwork that you can wind up.”

“Oh yes he does do magic,” said Clara.  “And in any case, you’re the silly nincompoop – so there.”

And  the children chattered on, until at last the door bell rang to announce that Godfather Drosselmeyer himself had arrived at the house. The children rushed to meet him in the hall.

“Oh Godfather  do please come into the kitchen so we can open our presents,” begged Clara.

He was a funny-looking man, who wore a wig that sometimes slid half off his head.  He had a faint mustache that had never grown very bushy, and his left eye was usually half closed.  His hands and fingers were very tiny, but he was ever so-clever with them – for Fritz was right; Godfather Drosselmeyer was a watch and clock maker and one of the cleverest who ever lived.  But then perhaps Clara was right too.  Maybe, just maybe he also could do a little magic.  But in any case, his presents were always amazing and wonderful.

It took a while to gather the whole family including parents, children, aunts, uncles and godparents.  But at last it was time to open the presents. Sweets, dolls,and tin-soldiers all  emerged out of the wrapping, and even a Sultan’s palace beautifully carved and painted.  They were exciting, lovely presents – and  at last they were all opened – except that they hadn’t yet found a gift from Godfather Drosselmeyer.   Clara understood that he was keeping back an extra special surprise for them, but Fritz thought that their godfather such a strange man, that perhaps he had forgotten all about Christmas this year.  Both children were too polite to ask – but Clara gave her Godfather a gift of her own – a picture of a sugar-plum fairy that she painted herself. The old man was clearly delighted with it,  he said.

“And what have I got for dear Clara and Fritz this year?  Ah yes, I remember now. It’s here in my waistcoat pocket.”

And he pulled out a very small present – no longer than his hand.  “Which one of you two wants to open it this year?”

Fritz saw how small the present was and said : “Let Clara open it.  She’s so excited about it because she’s still a baby.”

And Clara took the present and felt it.    Yes here was its head – a little on the large size,   and here were its legs. She smiled and said:

“It’s a doll.   I bet it dances.”

And she carefully unwrapped it.

But it wasn’t just a doll.   It was nutcracker – painted to look like a soldier.  The handles were legs, in bright red trousers, and with feet in shiny boots,  and the part where you put the nuts to crack them looked like an oversized head with giant jaws. On top of its head it wore a tall fury hat.  To tell you the truth, it was rather ugly.

“Why thank you,” said Clara.

“You’re not disappointed are you?” asked Godfather Drosselmeyer.

“No,” she said. “I love the nutcracker-soldier because he’s funny.” And she gave her godfather a hug and a kiss.

But Fritz did not like the nutcracker-soldier at all.  He thought it was useless. Well almost, you could use it to crack nuts – and after dinner that’s what they did.  Clara and Fritz sat under the Christmas tree and cracked walnuts in the mouth of the soldier.

Clara wasn’t quite strong enough to break the shells, but Fritz found it easy.  Until he tried to break open an extra hard nut.  He squeezed and squeezed and squeezed  until eventually – the nutcracker broke.  One of its jaws came off, leaving the poor solider with half a mouth.

“Oh no!” Squealed Clara. “Why did you do that?”  And she grabbed the nutcracker and the broken-off piece its jaw and ran off to find their mother.

But what could her mother do? All she could do was to hug Clara and promise that Godfather Drosselmeyer would make the nutcracker as good as new in the morning.   It was funny, but now that the nutcracker-soldier was damaged,  Clara felt sorry for it, and even though it had an ugly face, she began to love it as much as if it were the most beautiful doll in the world.

And when Clara went to  lay it  under the Christmas tree,  she felt so sad that she lay down and held the broken solider closely to her.  She cried a little, and soon she fell asleep among the presents.  And if you came into the room just then, you might have thought that Clara herself was a big doll, like the others flopped under the tree.

At midnight, the 12 chimes of the grandfather clock roused Clara from her sleep.   She sat up and wondered for a  where she was.  And as she looked up she saw Godfather Drosselmeyer sitting on the very top of the tree in the place of the angel.

“Godfather !  What are you doing up there? ” she said.

But he did not answer, because he was just a doll.

And then she saw the nutcracker.  Oh, how sad it looked, lying there with a piece missing.  But then the nutcracker-soldier turned over… and it smiled at her with its broken face.

She screamed and started to run for the door.  But she had only taken a few steps when she saw that the whole floor in front of her was covered with mice  -  only they weren’t ordinary mice because they were dressed as soldiers and they had swords and rifles.   Out in front they were lead by a terrible rodent with seven heads, each with a golden crown on it.

I think that anyone can get a fright from a mouse – they are so small and squeaky, but at the same time they appear out of holes and cracks so suddenly that they catch us by surprise.  But an army of mice!  And a Seven-headed Mouse-King.  This was a terrible sight indeed !  Perhaps I don’t need to tell you that Clara let out a scream !

But before she could scream, or cry , or run,  the Nutcracker Doll rushed forward followed by his own army of dolls and tin soldiers, and the battle between the toys and the mice broke out all around Clara’s feet.   The mice squeaked and guns and cannons fired on both sides.  Clara wondered why they whole family was not awoken by the noise.  Toys and mice lay wounded on all sides, and the nutcracker was fighting  with the Mouse King.  The Mouse King was biting the nutcracker with his seven heads, but the nutracker fought on – if only he was not broken he could have caught the Mouse King in his jaws, but as it was, all he could do was to dance, jump, and kick with his long legs.   He was winning the fight with the King, but losing the battle, for he was surrounded by mice solders who caught him by the feet and started to drag him away.

“Oh no you don’t !” screamed Clara, “and she took off her shoe and threw it as hard as she could at the Mouse King.  She just missed him, but he took fright and started to run.   When the army of mice saw their king running from a giant girl and her flying shoes they turned and fled in terror. In a moment they had vanished into the cracks between the floor boards, leaving their prisoner, the nutcracker, behind them.  All the toys cheered and began to dance, until at least, when the first light came through the window they crept back into the toy box, or went back to sleep under the Christmas tree.

And Clara pulled herself back to her own room and fell into a deep sleep.

She awoke late on Christmas Morning. When she went downstairs, she found Godfather Drosselmeyer. He had already fixed the nutcracker doll so that he was as good as new …

“Thank you so much dear Godfather,” said Clara. “He’s the best present I ever had.”  And then she told him all about her strange dream.

And her Godfather put his head on one side, while he listened to her dream, and when she had finished telling him, he said.

“Interesting. Very interesting indeed. Your dream reminds me of a story.  Let me tell it too you now”

And this is the story that he told Clara.

One Christmas some bad mice crept into the Royal Palace and gobbled up all the sausage meat that was meant for the King’s special Christmas lunch.  The king was furious, and he summoned his special inventor – whose name was Drosselmeyer and who made many wonderful things.   He ordered him to make some mouse traps – which he did – and these were left in the palace kitchens.  Soon they had caught lots of mice.   The Queen of the Mice was furious – for the mice that lay in the traps were her children. A  She climbed up onto the Human Queen’s dressing room table, and just as the Queen was going to bed, the Queen Mouse said:

“So you dared to kill my children did you?   Well I’ll have my revenge, I will.   I’ll make your little Princess turn quite ugly”

The Queen screamed, and her guards rushed in to the room with drawn swords – but the Mouse Queen had disappeared behind the skirting board.

It so happened that the King and Queen had a beautiful daughter called Princess Pirlpat.  When The king heard about the threats of the Mouse-Queen, he ordered bed of the princess must be guarded by seven fierce cats so that no mouse could get near her.  But even cats must sleep. And when they were curled up and purring softly, the Queen Mouse crept past them and climbed up on to the end of Princess Pirlpat’s cot. There she said an evil magic spell, and in the morning, when she looked in the mirror, she saw that her face had been turned quite, quite ugly.  Her nose was long and had a wart on the end of it,  her eyes were small and squinty, her hair was standing up on end and would not settle down,  she had spots on her chin.  In fact, she wasn’t just ugly. She was hideous.

As you can imagine, the Queen was utterly distraught – and the King, well he was beside himself.  He summoned Drosselmeyer again and gave him just four weeks to find a cure for the princesse’s ugliness – or else.

But Drosselmeyer was an inventor, not a magician.  He did not know any spells or anti-spells.  He did not know what to do, and so he asked the Court Astrologer for his advice.  And the advice he received was that Princess Pirlpat must eat a nut called a Crakatook.  But first the Nut must be cracked by a boy who had never shaved,  and he must do it without opening his eyes, and then he must take seven steps backwards without stumbling.

Well Drosselmeyer searched the land for a Crakatook nut, and eventually, after almost four weeks were up, he found one in a small shop. He brought it before the King.

“This nut sire, ” he said, “is the cure for your daughter’s ugliness.  She must eat it.  But first the nut must be cracked by a boy who has never shaved, and he must do it with his eyes closed, and then he must take seven steps backwards without stumbling”.

The King was pleased that the cure for his daughter was so straight forward.  He made a law that that any boy who fulfilled the conditions and cured his daughter of ugliness would have the hand in marriage of the princess.

And many boys came to the palace and tried to crack the nut.  But not one could succeed.

Until one day, Drosselmeyer’s own nephew was visiting his uncle in the palace.  His face was still smooth, he had not quite reached the age when he needed to shave, and his uncle asked if he would like to try his hand at cracking the nut.

And the nephew held the nut between his teeth. And he closed his eyes.  And he cracked it. Then he took seven steps backwards, and on the seventh step — he stumbled.

And although Princess Pirlpat was cured of her ugliness, and was beautiful once more- Drosselmeyer’s nephew caught the spell – and his face became ugly.   In place of his nice kind mouth, he wore a stupid grin, and his smooth cheeks grew a white curly beard.  And his head grew too large for his shoulders. And he looked not only ugly, but stupid too.

And although the King had promised that his daughter would marry the boy who cured her,  his daughter refused to marry one who was so ugly.  And the king had to agree that it would not be proper for the princess to marry such an ugly, stupid-looking boy.

And as Drosselmeyer’s nephew went home, people pointed and laughed at him.  His teacher said he could no longer come to school because he looked so stupid.  And so he stayed at home, all alone.

And that was the story that Godfather Drosselmeyer told to Clara. And she thanked her Godfather for telling her such an interesting story, but she had to admit that it had made her feel rather sad.

That night Clara was thinking about the strange tale, and she could not fall asleep.  After a long while of laying awake, she heard a voice whispering in her ear.

It was the mouse king who had come back. And he said to her:

“Feed me your sweets, or I will bite of the head of your precious nutcracker, and I will spit it out where nobody will find it again, not even your ingenious godfather.”

And Clara was so afraid for the nutcracker that she got up and found some sweets for the Mouse king.  He gobbled them up with this seven heads in an instance, and then he demanded more. And she went down the the pantry and found some cake – and he ate all of that too – and the Christmas pudding – and the newly baked biscuits.  And still he wanted more.

“How much more shall I give you?” Asked Clara.  And the Mouse King said:

“It is for me to say when to stop.  Give me more. More I say !”

And Clara began to cry – for what would her mother say in the morning when she found that all the sweets, cake and biscuits in the house had been eaten?

And as she was crying, the Nutcracker came striding into the room.  The Mouse king turned round and said:

“Prepare to die oh Ugly One ”

but the Nutcracker bit off each of the Mouse King’s seven heads.  And soon he lay dead.

And when he had defeated his enemy, Clara picked up her hero and took him back to her room.  And instead of going to sleep they watched a wonderful show.  Toys came out to dance and sing for them all night long.  Never before had Clara seen such a lovely performance.

In the morning she could not wait to tell her mother all about what she had seen.

But when she began to explain about the seven headed mouse king and the brave little nutcracker, her mother said, “Clara – your imagination is running wild.  Don’t you realise that what you saw is just a dream?”

“But look mother,” said Clara reaching into her pocket, “Here are the seven crowns of the mouse king that the nutcracker defeated !”

“Just toys !” said her mother. “stop being silly.  Can’t you see I’m busy.”

And so clara went into the nursery and sat down and cried.

“It is true, it is true,” she said.  “And if the nutcracker was a person, not just a, well, a nutcracker, then I would love him and marry him even if he was ugly.  I would not be like that Princess Pirlpat in the story.  I would love a boy for his good heart – not for his handsome face.”

And as she said that, she heard the door bell, followed by her Godfather’s voice in the hall.  She went to see him and to tell him what she was thinking.

But there was no need. For Godfather Drosselmeyer had come with his nephew.  And his nephew was no longer ugly – but handsome and bright eyed and smiling.

For when Clara had promised to marry an ugly but good boy, she had broken the spell.  And he had regained his looks of old.   And they both knew that one day they would be married to each other and live happily ever after.

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This charming fable by Aesop is retold here in the voice of a simple country mouse. His uncle tempts him to come to the bright city, but he soon finds that its pleasures come with dangers.

If you like this story, you can also hear it in a verse which Natasha read some time ago. This version has been adapted by Bertie.

Read by Natasha. Duration 8.43.

I don’t mind admitting that I’m a simple sort of mouse. I live inside a nice cosy log by the side of a field. My needs are not great. A few sunflower seeds or wheat stalks will do me for a meal. For a special treat, the farmer sometimes leaves me a some crumbs of bread and cheese from his lunch. When I am thirsty, I drink from the bubbling stream. And I swear that that pure cold water is the freshest, most delicious taste in the world. Finer than champaign even – and I don’t just mean that as a boast or a figure of speech. I tried champaign once – so I know what I’m talking about.

How did a poor simple country mouse like myself try champaign? Well, I shall tell you.

A while back I received a visit from my uncle, the town mouse. Everyone in my family knows that Uncle Town Mouse is very rich and successful, and lives in a big smart house in the city. It was of course an honour that he should come and stay with me for a weekend away from his business. But to tell you the truth, I felt a little bit nervous? What would he make of my humble abode and my simple tastes?

Well of course he was very nice and polite.

“Charming, simply charming” he said as I showed him around my log.

And when I put some crumbs of cheddar cheese before him for his supper he exclaimed:

“Just the ticket. Exactly what I wanted. Thank you dear nephew for taking such good care of me.”

At night he slept in my spare bed in the hedgerow, and in the morning, when I asked him how he had slept he said:

“Splendid, just splendidly. This clear country air of yours is so restful.”

In fact, he was so full of praise for my country life-style that I asked him if he was planning to retire to the countryside. Uncle Town Mouse laughed, and I felt that I had perhaps said something silly or tactless.

“My dear nephew,” he said, “The countryside is all very well for a rest. But the town is the place to live if you appreciate gourmet food, fine wine, and, by the way, the most stylish and elegant lady-mice. Why, I thank you for your hospitality, but I would die or boredom if I lived your life for more than a weekend.”

I was very impressed by my uncles words, and I could not stop thinking about the attractions of the city that he had described.

That evening, as he was preparing to leave for home, my uncle said, “Say Nephew, why don’t you come back with me and give your taste buds a real treat. I say – a mouse hasn’t lived until he’s tried gorgonzola cheese – and we always keep a good supply in our lada, not to mention the ardennes Pâté, Avocado pears with french dressing, Chicken Vols-au-Vent, Mushrooms a la Grecque, and grilled Mediterranean vegetables. Come come. We’ll have a feast. And afterwards we’ll call on some pretty friends of mine.”

When he put it like that, I couldn’t resist. And so that very evening I travelled with my uncle to his house in the city.

And when I first set eyes on Uncle’s house I was truly impressed. It was four storeys heigh with white stucco pillars and cast iron railings. Inside it was not less magnificent. Crystal chandeliers sparkled over antique furniture and polished oak floors.

Uncle took me directly to the pantry, where the remains of a magnificent banquet were laid on the table. Uncle insisted that we begin with an aperitif of champaign – and as I had never tried it before, the bubbles went straight to my head. I dived into a custard tart and came out all sticky and yellow .

Uncle sat up and his nose switched:

“Oh what a lucky mouse you are,” he exclaimed. “I can smell Truffles !”

And he led me to the other side of the table where we tried some black food that he said was known to be the most delicious in the world. I didn’t like to admit that it tasted a little strange to me.

But then we tried the gorgonzola cheese. Oh my Goodness! Uncle had been right. I hadn’t lived until I tried that wonderful cheese. I didn’t like to be vulgar, but gobbled up a large chunk in a flash. And I was still stuffing myself when I saw a shadow move in the corner. I dived for cover. It probably wasn’t polite to shoot off like that in mid-mouthful, but the reflex action saved my life, for the very next moment a terrible cat pounced on where I had been sitting and eating my fill. Uncle and I scurried across the table and the cat followed, smashing glasses and knocking over jugs and vases. We both jumped off the edge of the table and landed on the ground, but then the maid came in with a broom and was beating the floor with a broom, trying to squash us both. We made it to a hole in the skirting board – but only just. We were both within half an inch of being beaten to death!”

“Wow that was a close shave !” said Uncle. “Exciting hey what !”

My heart was pounding and I had to regain my breath before I could say,

“Yes, a little too exciting for a poor country mouse I’m afraid. I thank you for your hospitality, but I must be off home now. ”

And that’s the story of how I learned that other people’s lives are rarely quite as attractive as they sometimes make they appear to be.

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This delightful tale comes from Korea. It tells the story of Shimchung, who loved her blind father so much that she was willing to sacrifice all for him. We love the delicate eastern images – the lotus blossom in particular – and we hope you will too.

Bertie has adapted our text from various versions – and you can read more about the background to this traditional story here.

Read by Natasha. Duration 14.15

Many years ago there lived a poor blind man called Shim. He and his wife were childless, and never a day went past when the couple did not pray to the spirits for the blessing of a child. It was only after many years that their prayers were granted, and Shim’s wife gave birth to a beautiful daughter whom they named Shimchong. But sadly, the mother died soon after giving birth, and poor blind Shim was left to bring up the child alone, and as best he could.

The years went by, and Shimchong grew into a beautiful young woman, devoted to her father.

One day, Old Man Shim was walking out alone when he fell into a deep ditch that brought water to the fields. Every time he tried to scramble out, he slid back again into the mud. He had started to think that he would die in that ditch, and he was bemoaning his fate when he heard a voice speak to him from above.

“Old man,” said the voice, “We have heard you complain many times about your blindness. If you will give 300 sacks of rice to the temple as an offering to Lord Buddha, then we monks will pray for you to be able to see once again.”

The old man cried out: “Good monks ! Only save me now and return me safely to my daughter, and I will gladly offer you whatever you ask to give to Lord Buddha!”

And no sooner had he spoken, than he felt gentle but firm hands lift him up and out of the ditch – to the blind old man it seemed that those hands had reached down from heaven itself.

Shim was so grateful for his rescue that he thanked the monks again and again, and swore that he would bring the 300 sacks of rice to the temple.

It was not until later, when he was already home and dry, that he realised that he had no chance of keeping his promise to the monks.

“Oh Shimchong,” he said to his daughter, “What shall I do? We are so poor that I could not offer three bowls of rice, let alone 300 sacks? Now what a terrible fate will befall us? For I have offended Lord Buddha himself !”

And father and daughter both began to weep, for neither of them could think of any way to pay their debt to the temple.

That night, as Shimchong lay awake, unable to sleep, her mother appeared to her and said:

“Go down to the harbour tomorrow. There you will find a merchant looking for a young girl. Go with him, and he will provide the 300 sacks of rice.”

And it so happened that the Dragon King of the East Sea was angry with a rich merchant, and he had sent storms to sink the merchant’s ships on the way to China. After losing ship after ship in this way, the merchant had consulted the high priest of the Dragon King’s temple, and he told the merchant that he must take a beautiful young maiden out to sea and sacrifice her to the Dragon King.

The merchant offered a great quantity of gold to any family that would give up their daughter to the Dragon King of the East Sea – but none would enter into such a terrible deal. And then Shimchong appeared at the harbour, and she went to the merchant and offered herself in return for 300 sacks of rice to be sent to her father. The merchant could not believe his luck. 300 sacks of rice was nothing to him – a low price indeed !

And although the merchant sent 300 sacks of rice to the temple, and although the monks did indeed pray for the return Old Man Shim’s sight, nothing happened. And now not only was he poor and blind, but he had lost his daughter too – and he was utterly alone.

Shimchong borded the merchant’s ship, and the ship put out to sea. At first the waters were calm, but then the Dragon King began to thrash his tail and the waves started to toss the ship to and fro.

The merchant told Shimchong to put on her bright coloured wedding dress, and then he brought her out of the hold and up onto the deck. Shimchong quietly said a prayer, and then leapt over the side of the ship and into the waves. As soon as she had disappeared the violent sea grew calm again. The sailors wept because they had never seen a girl at once so beautiful and so brave.

Shimchong sank deeper and deeper into the icy cold sea. And when she opened her eyes she was surrounded by bright fish of every colour and shape, and they lead her to the palace of the Dragon King of the East Sea. And there she lived, happily at first. But it was not long before she began to miss her father deeply, and she began to look sad, and sometimes there were tears in her eyes.

At last, the Dragon King could no longer bear to see the lovely girl looking so sad. Her devotion to her father touched his heart. And as a reward for her goodness, he sent her back to the world above, only first he transformed her into a lotus flower.

A fisherman found the giant lotus blossom in the mouth of a river, and he was so overcome by its beauty, that he decided to make it a gift to the king of the land above. His queen had recently died, and he was in deep mourning. When he saw the flower, his eyes lit up in wonder. He thanked the fisherman with gold, and set the flower up in his room, and every time he felt sad, he stood and looked at it, admiring its beauty.

What he did not know was that each night, when the palace was asleep, Shimchong would come out of the blossom and walk through the many beautiful chambers and halls, and at first light, she would merge back into the flower.

One night, the king could not sleep, and he got out of bed and drew the blinds to let the moonlight into his room. He turned around and was amazed to see the most beautiful woman he had ever beheld.

“Who are you?” he said, “Are you a spirit?”

The girl tried to merge back into the lotus blossom, but it had vanished.

She could not say who she was, for surely the king would not believe her story. But the king could not help but fall in love with her, and she was moved that so powerful a man could be so gentle and so sincere.

Not long after, they were married, and on their wedding day he said to her:

“My blossom. Now you are my queen. Anything you wish, I shall grant. All you have to do is tell me your desire.”

And Shimchong replied:

“There is only one thing I wish for. Let there be a great banquet to celebrate our marriage, and may all the blind man of the Kingdom be invited to dine with us.”

His bride’s wish was strange and unexpected, but the King gladly granted it. And they held a banquet, and blind beggar men came from all four corners of the land to feast at the table of the king. And the new queen watched from behind the silk curtains, hoping to catch sight of her father. But though hundreds and hundreds of blind men came into the banqueting hall – not one was her father.

And the queen had given up all hope of seeing him .

“He must have died of grief when I went away,” she thought sadly to herself.

But one of the king’s kindest and most faithful stewards called out: “Do not close the doors for there is one more beggar for the banquet.”

And an old man entered the hall, leaning on one shoulder of the steward. His clothes were ragged, he was covered with dust from the journey, and he was so weak he could hardly walk.

Shimchong came out from behind the curtain and held his hand.

“Father,” she said, “It is I.”

And when the old man heard that familiar and much loved voice of his daughter – he opened his eyes.

And that was the story of the Blind Man’s Daughter.

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This amusing yarn has lots of tears in it, but all the same, it will make you laugh. It’s about a man who goes in search of three people even more silly than his fiance and her parents. And he soon finds them ! If you want to find out how to get a cow onto your roof to eat grass up there, or how an alternative way to get into your trousers in the morning, listen on !

Read By Natasha. English Traditional Story Collected by Joseph Jacobs. Duration 11.08

Once upon a time there was a farmer and his wife who had one daughter, and she was courted by a gentleman. Every evening he used to come and see her, and stop to supper at the farmhouse, and the daughter used to be sent down into the cellar to fetch the beer for supper. So one evening she had gone down to fetch the beer, and she happened to look up at the ceiling while she was fetching, and she saw a axe stuck in one of the beams. It must have been there a long, long time, but somehow or other she had never noticed it before, and she began a- thinking. And she thought it was very dangerous to have that axe there, for she said to herself: “Suppose him and me was to be married, and we was to have a son, and he was to grow up to be a man, and come down into the cellar to fetch the beer, like as I’m doing now, and the axe was to fall on his head and kill him, what a dreadful thing it would be!” And she put down the candle and the jug, and sat herself down and began a-crying.

Well, they began to wonder upstairs how it was that she was so long fetching the beer, and her mother went down to see after her, and she found her sitting on the settle crying, and the beer running over the floor. “Why, whatever is the matter?” said her mother. “Oh, mother!” says she, “look at that horrid axe! Suppose we was to be married, and was to have a son, and he was to grow up, and was to come down to the cellar to fetch the beer, and the axe was to fall on his head and kill him, what a dreadful thing it would be!” “Dear, dear! what a dreadful thing it would be!” said the mother, and she sat her down aside of the daughter and started a-crying too. Then after a bit the father began to wonder that they didn’t come back, and he went down into the cellar to look after them himself, and there they two sat a- crying, and the beer running all over the floor. “Whatever is the matter?” says he. “Why,” says the mother, “look at that horrid axe. Just suppose, if our daughter and her sweetheart was to be married, and was to have a son, and he was to grow up, and was to come down into the cellar to fetch the beer, and the axe was to fall on his head and kill him, what a dreadful thing it would be!” “Dear, dear, dear! so it would!” said the father, and he sat himself down aside of the other two, and started a-crying.

Now the gentleman got tired of stopping up in the kitchen by himself, and at last he went down into the cellar too, to see what they were after; and there they three sat a-crying side by side, and the beer running all over the floor. And he ran straight and turned the tap. Then he said: “Whatever are you three doing, sitting there crying, and letting the beer run all over the floor?”

“Oh!” says the father, “look at that horrid axe! Suppose you and our daughter was to be married, and was to have a son, and he was to grow up, and was to come down into the cellar to fetch the beer, and the axe was to fall on his head and kill him!” And then they all started a-crying worse than before. But the gentleman burst out a- laughing, and reached up and pulled out the axe, and then he said: “I’ve travelled many miles, and I never met three such big sillies as you three before; and now I shall start out on my travels again, and when I can find three bigger sillies than you three, then I’ll come back and marry your daughter.” So he wished them good-bye, and started off on his travels, and left them all crying because the girl had lost her sweetheart.

Well, he set out, and he travelled a long way, and at last he came to a woman’s cottage that had some grass growing on the roof. And the woman was trying to get her cow to go up a ladder to the grass, and the poor thing durst not go. So the gentleman asked the woman what she was doing. “Why, lookye,” she said, “look at all that beautiful grass. I’m going to get the cow on to the roof to eat it. She’ll be quite safe, for I shall tie a string round her neck, and pass it down the chimney, and tie it to my wrist as I go about the house, so she can’t fall off without my knowing it.” “Oh, you poor silly!” said the gentleman, “you should cut the grass and throw it down to the cow!” But the woman thought it was easier to get the cow up the ladder than to get the grass down, so she pushed her and coaxed her and got her up, and tied a string round her neck, and passed it down the chimney, and fastened it to her own wrist. And the gentleman went on his way, but he hadn’t gone far when the cow tumbled off the roof, pulling the string behind her. And the weight of the cow tied to her wrist pulled the woman up the chimney, and she stuck fast half-way and was smothered in the soot.

Well, that was one big silly.

And the gentleman went on and on, and he went to an inn to stop the night, and they were so full at the inn that they had to put him in a double-bedded room, and another traveller was to sleep in the other bed. The other man was a very pleasant fellow, and they got very friendly together; but in the morning, when they were both getting up, the gentleman was surprised to see the other hang his trousers between the two beds and run across the room and try to jump into them, and he tried over and over again, and couldn’t manage it; and the gentleman wondered whatever he was doing it for. At last he stopped and wiped his face with his handkerchief. “Oh dear,” he says, “I do think trousers are the most awkwardest kind of clothes that ever were. I can’t think who could have invented such things. It takes me the best part of an hour to get into mine every morning, and I get so hot! How do you manage yours?” So the gentleman burst out a-laughing, and showed him how to put them on; and he was very much obliged to him, and said he never should have thought of doing it that way.

So that was another big silly.

Then the gentleman went on his travels again; and he came to a village, and outside the village there was a pond, and round the pond was a crowd of people. And they had got rakes, and brooms, and pitchforks, reaching into the pond; and the gentleman asked what was the matter. “Why,” they say, “matter enough! Moon’s tumbled into the pond, and we can’t rake her out any which way!” So the gentleman burst out a- laughing, and told them to look up into the sky, and that it was only the reflection in the water. But they wouldn’t listen to him, and abused him shamefully, and he got away as quick as he could.

So there was a whole lot of sillies bigger than them three sillies at home. So the gentleman turned back home again and married the farmer’s daughter, and if they didn’t live happy for ever after, that’s nothing to do with you or me.

And that was the story of the three Sillies

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For the first time on Storynory we bring you fairies – Real Ones !  Yes, it’s true.  A man who was working near Merlin’s Craig in Scotland saw one, and then another, and then another.    And before too long he was dancing with the fairies and they were dragging him underground into their house beneath the moor.

Read by Natasha.  Duration 12 Minutes.
Version by Bertie (from original)Kesh Jig from audiosparx.  Bagpipes etc mixed on Garageband.

There are certain places where the very earth itself is charged with that fiery, unpredictable energy, known as magic.  One of those centers of enchantment, is in Lanarkshire, in Scotland.  You have to tramp for miles and miles across a bleak, soggy moorland to reach it – but eventually you will see a mound of jagged rocks rising out of the peat bog.  And that will be Merlin’s Craig.

The folk who live thereabouts say  that over a thousand years, ago the famous wizard called Merlin lived and practiced his magic among those rocks.  No doubt he made use in his spells of the black peat that was all around him.  You see peat is like no other earth:  For it burns, and gives warmth and life to the people who eek out a living on the moorlands.

A few hundred years ago, a poor but honest man, worked on a farm near Merlin’s Craig.  One day his master sent him to the Craig to dig up slabs of peat and fetch them back for fuel. The man did as he was told.  He had just begun to slice the ground with his shovel and lift up the peat when all at once the smallest wee woman that he had ever seen in his life appeared before him. She was certainly a dainty little creature – perhaps no more than two feet high.  She was clad in a green grown and red stockings, and her long yellow hair tumbled down to her waste.

The man was dumbfounded.  He stuck his spade in the ground and gaped at her.  She wagged her finger at him and said angrily:

“What do you mortals think you are doing when you dig up our roof? How would you like it if I came along with a giant spade and took the lid off your house?”

She stamped her wee foot and demanded:

“You put that turf back at once, or you will rue the day that you ever lifted it”.

Now the poor man’s teeth began to chatter with fright, for he had heard stories of how when a mortal offends the fairy-folk, the fairies reek a terrible revenge.  He swiftly shoveled the peat back into its place, patted it down nicely, and returned to his master to tell him what had happened.

But the master jeered at him: “A fairy you say?  Taking the roof off her house were you?  Drinking whiskey more like it… No go back at once and fetch me some peat or there will be no wages for you this very week.”

The poor man had little choice but to do as he was told – for he had to feed his wife and two wee bairns – those were his children.

And so he spent the next few days working hard, digging peat and fetching it back to the farm.  And during this time no fairies appeared to him – not a single one.

A year went by and the man still had not caught sight of another fairy – and he began to think that his master might have been right – perhaps he had only seen the fairy in a dream.

Autumn went by, and then winter and spring, and once again it was summer.  It was the very same day that he had lifted the peat the year before.  The man had been working hard on the farm, and his master was pleased with him, and gave him a present of some milk to take home to his family.   He set off on his journey home with a spring in his step, and was humming a happy tune.   As it was such a nice evening, he went home the long way over the moor, by a path that led past Merlin’s Craig.  When he reached the craig his legs felt strangely tiered, and he sat down on the ground, and soon fell into a deep sleep.

It was near midnight when he was awoken by some strange but lively music.  He rubbed his eyes and what a shock he had when he saw that a band of fairies was dancing around him, glowering at him, and pointing their wee fists in his face.

He got up and tried to start on his way, but where ever he went, the fairies danced in a ring around him.  Then out of the ring stepped the bonniest wee lady and the other fairies laughed and called out:

“Dance man, Dance !”

And when the lady reached up and took him by the hands.  And although he had never been much of a dancer in his youth, he found himself waltzing and reeling as if he had been a dancer all his life.  His head felt happy and light and he forgot all about his home, his wife, and his wee bairns.  The whole night long they danced on until at last they heard the shrill sound of the farmyard cock greeting the morning with his loudest crowing.

All at once  the merriment ceased.   The fairies stampeded headlong toward the Craig, and they dragged the man along with them.  A door opened up in the rocks and in they all clattered.

The door closed behind them and they led the man down below the ground into a dimly lit hall.

Here the fairies busied themselves with tasks: some dipped  quill pens in magic ink, and copied out spells and fairy laws onto scrolls of parchment.  Others were making fairy honey out of flowers.  And still others were distilling  fairy whiskey.

The man could do nothing but sit down and watch and be amazed.  Towards evening time, the wee woman in red stockings whom he had first seen a year ago came before him and led him back up to the door by which they had entered.  She said:

“The turf which you took from the roof of our house has reformed, and there is grass growing over it once again. Now you may go home. But you must swear never to tell any mortal any of our secrets.”

The man swore never to tell the fairy secrets to a living soul – for he had seen some things which I have not been able to tell you about -  and the door opened and he went back out onto the moor.

But when he reached home, his wife stared at him in amazement. She seemed somehow to aged.  Then his children came into the hall of the house – but they were not longer wee infants, but lads and lasses, and they did not know him.”

“Where have you been these long long years?” demanded his wife.”How could you do such a thing as to run off and leave your wife and wee bairns to fend for ourselves?”

The man did not know what to say  to this, but   he soon learned that the one day he had spent underground had lasted seven years, while the turf grew back over their roof.    And from that day on, he never again dug peat from that part of the moor, or even dared to venture near to Merlin’s Craig.

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Fidgety Philip is another horrid creature from the poem Shock-Headed Peter by Heinrich Hoffmann. He’s not quite so terrifying as Dreadful Harriet, but he’s certainly a bit of a brat. Hoffmann’s children are made from the same stuff as some of Roald Dahl ’s characters (see Augustus Gloop ) They are pretty horrid, and they sometimes come to sticky ends, but in the case of Philip, it’s his poor parents who suffer most.

Read by Natasha. Duration 3.15

“Let me see if Philip can
Be a little gentleman;
Let me see if he is able
To sit still for once at table”:
Thus Papa bade Phil behave;
And Mamma looked very grave.
But fidgety Phil,
He won’t sit still;
He wriggles,
And giggles,
And then, I declare,
Swings backwards and forwards,
And tilts up his chair,
Just like any rocking horse—
“Philip! I am getting cross!”

See the naughty, restless child
Growing still more rude and wild,
Till his chair falls over quite.
Philip screams with all his might,
Catches at the cloth, but then
That makes matters worse again.
Down upon the ground they fall,
Glasses, plates, knives, forks, and all.
How Mamma did fret and frown,
When she saw them tumbling down!
And Papa made such a face!
Philip is in sad disgrace.

Where is Philip, where is he?
Fairly covered up you see!
Cloth and all are lying on him;
He has pulled down all upon him.
What a terrible to-do!
Dishes, glasses, snapt in two!
Here a knife, and there a fork!
Philip, this is cruel work.
Table all so bare, and ah!
Poor Papa, and poor Mamma
Look quite cross, and wonder how
They shall have their dinner now.

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Original Pictures for Storynory by Sophie Green
Click any picture to enlarge to full size.

If you like SCARY STORIES, then this one is for you. We are putting it out for Halloween, but you can listen any time of year IF YOU DARE !

Baba Yaga is a famous witch of the East. She has spooked and scared little children across Eastern Europe for many a year. This is a her most famous story. A wicked Step-Mother sends Vasilissa to visit the witch in her hut in the woods to ask for some lights. She’s pretty sure that that will be the last she ever sees of her step-daughter -but is she right?

Read by Natasha. Version for Storynory by Bertie. Duration 30 min.

Somewhere in the Eastern part of Europe, where it gets bitterly cold in winter, there is a dark forest. If you are ever brave, foolish or ignorant enough to go wondering through that forest, there is a good chance that you might come across a peculiar house. It’s a wooden hut, but it’s like no other that you have ever seen, for it stands on giant chicken legs – and quite often it walks about, just like a monstrous farm-yard bird. This hut is the home of Baba Yaga. I don’t advise that you knock of the door of Baba Yaga’s hut, no matter how much you have lost your way through the forest. For Baba Yaga is a witch.

On the edge of Baba’s Yaga’s forest, there is a little village, and everyone who lives there knows about the strange hut and the lady who lives inside it. They know her, and they fear her, for it has long been rumored that she likes to eat children.

A long time ago, a man lived in this village with his beautiful daughter, who was called Vasilisa. The girl’s mother had sadly died some years before the start of this story. But before she died, she gave Vasilisa a wonderful gift. It was a little rag doll that did not look so different from any other. The girl’s mother told Vasilisa that she should take special care of the doll. Every night she must feed it a little milk and a little biscuit, and so long as she did so, the doll would always be ready to help her – no matter how much trouble she found herself in. Vasilisa did just as her mother bid her. And every night the little rag doll sat up and drank a little milk, and ate a little biscuit before smiling at Vasilissa and then going back to sleep.

As time went by, the girl’s father decided to marry again. His second wife had two daughters of her own, neither of whom could touch Vasilisa for beauty or sweetness of character. In fact, they were jealous of Vasilissa and they hated her terribly. So long as Vasilissa’s father remained at home, the stepmother and step-sisters had to pretend that they liked her, but every now and then one of the sisters would whisper in Vasilisa’s ear:

“Just you wait until your dear papa leaves us alone with you. Then you’ll see !”

When Vasilisa had recently passed her sixteenth birthday, her father said that he had to go away on a journey that would last at least a month. Vasilisa begged him to take her with him, but he just laughed and said he was traveling on business, and the girl would find the journey tiresome and dull.

The first night after the father had left, the step-mother gathered the three girls together in the parlor and spoke like this:

“Now my dears, I have a little task for each of you. Tanya” – that was the oldest ” – go in my room please my dear and sew a button on my red dress. Katya ” – that was the youngest – ” go to the kitchen table and roll some pastry so that it’s nice and flat. And Vasilissa dear, go to Baba Yaga’s hut in the forest and ask her to lend us some lights. Now run along sweetheart. Don’t waste any time. We don’t want you to get caught in the dark now do we.”

The stepmother shooed Vasilisa out of the house so fast that that she had hardly time to put on her hat and gloves. She walked forlornly to the corner of the street and took the little doll out of her coat pocket where it had been sleeping.

“Oh Little doll,” she said. “My mother told me that if I fed and looked after you, you would be ready to help me if I was ever in trouble. Well I have fed and looked after you. And now I’m in terrible trouble. I must go to Baba Yaga. And every one knows that she is a dreadfully wicked witch. So please tell me – what am I to do?”

And the little doll looked up at Vasilisa and said:

“Be as brave as you are beautiful. Go to Baba Yaga’s hut and no harm will come to you.”

And so Vasilisa mustered all her courage and walked down the path that led through the woods to the hut of Baba Yaga.

After a while, the young girl heard the sound of galloping hooves coming up behind her, and she stepped off the road to let a hose ridden by a rider in a blazing red cloak shoot past her.

“I wonder who that was?” thought Vasilisa before setting off on a her way once more.

A little further on, she once again heard the sound of galloping hooves, and this time a rider in a cloak of dazzling white sped past her and down the road that led to Baba Yaga’s hut.

And some time later, a third horse shot by. Its rider wore a cloak that was as black as night.

After about an hour of walking Vasilisa came to a clearing on the forest. Although it was now getting quite dark, she had no trouble seeing, for this neck of the woods was lit by skulls with blazing eyes.

The skulls were mounted on stop of a high fence. And beyond the fence, She saw the strange hut that stood on chicken legs. It turned round to face her, and it seemed to Vasilisa that the hut was looking at her.
Then the chicken legs began to kneel and the hut lowered to the ground. The door creaked open.

Baba Yaga’s nose was so long and bony that it appeared through the door before the rest of her. A moment or two later the nose was followed by tall skinny old woman holding a broom stick.

Vasilissa was so frightened that her legs would not obey her when she told them to run. The old lady came towards her – but she did not walk – her feet flew just a few inches above the ground.

“Well child,” she said,”Did the cat get your tongue? Or are you just badly brought-up? Speak Child ! Spit out your name and your business here ! I haven’t got all night hover around while you tremble and gibber like an idiot !”

For a few moments Vasilisa’s lips quivered so much that no proper words would come out of her mouth, just a kind of “ah, ah ah,” but she then remembered the doll’s words that no harm would come to her, and eventually she found courage to speak clearly.

“Good Ma’am,” she said. “It is only me, little Vasilisa. My step-mother sent me to the forest to borrow a light from Baba Yaga.”

“Did she now?” said Baba Yaga thoughtfully. “Well I am Baba Yaga, but you may call be Babushka.”

Vasilisa brightened a little at this, for Babushka is a kindly name that means “Grandma”. Baba Yaga went on:

“Now come with me into my hut. I will give you some simple tasks to do. If you are not lazy and you complete your work like a good girl, then I will give you the light that you ask for and let you go free. But if you do not manage these simple tasks then I shall cook you in my oven and eat you for my dinner ! Ha Ha Ha ! How do you like that for an offer?”

To tell you the truth, Vasilisa did not like it at all, but she had faith that all would be well, that she would complete the tasks, and return with the light, and so she curtsied and said:

“I like it well, dear Babushka”, and she followed the old lady as she floated back to the door of her hut and called out: “Locks ! Unlock!”

The doors creaked open, and then shut again behind Vasilisa as she stepped inside. The hut was surprisingly roomy, but a large part of it was taken up by a huge oven. Then Vasilisa had to hold in a scream, because the house started to rise up on its chicken legs and move about. She realised that there would be no escape unless Baba Yaga let her go. `

The witch sat down at the table and gestured to the larder. “Fetch me my supper, dear,” she said.

“Yes, Babushka,” replied Vasilisa, and she brought over some bread and cheese for the old lady.

“Ah well,” said Baba Yaga, “Soon I shall be enjoying a nice plate of roast meat, thinly sliced and pink in the middle.” and with those words she pinched Vasilisa’s arm.

“Now tomorrow my dear, you must complete my little task. When I am away from the hut, you must tidy the yard, clean the hut, and cook pumpkin soup for my super. Can you manage that?”

“Why yes, Babushka, I can.” said Vasilisa, who was relieved that the task did not sound by any means beyond her ability.

“That is good,” said Baba Yaga, “And when you have fished doing that you can sort all

Baba Yaga ate her bread and cheese and drank a tankard of frothy brown ale before falling asleep on top of a thick fur which was strewn above the stove, the warmest place in the hut.

The hut continued to move around and Vasilisa felt queasy. She certainly had no appetite herself, but before she lay down for the night, she did not forget to feed her doll a few crumbs of bread and some drops of milk. When the rag doll had finished her super, Vasilisa asked her:

“Oh dear what have I do? How shall I ever get out of here?”

And the doll replied. “Have courage and keep faith and all will be well, for Baba Yaga is unable to tell a lie and she is bound to keep her promise.”

The next morning, Baba Yaga arose from her bed on top of the stove, and drank another tankard of ale before flying up the chimney and onto the roof. Vasilisa looked out of the window and saw the witch flying away above the trees, but this time she she was riding what looked like a giant mortar. A mortar, by the way, is like a strong wooden bowl, and you can use it for cooking. You put some herbs or spices in there, and crush and grind them with a stick called a pestle. This is what the witch was flying in – only it was much bigger than a usual mortar. And a giant pestle was what the old lady was holding in her hand, and using as a rudder to guide her flight.

Vasilisa gazed at a the witch until she was out of site, and then she started to clean and to cook Sh managed to get everything spic an span, and get the soup on the cooker by mid day, but now she faced an impossible task. How could she possible pick the black peas out of a sack of white ones? Why, there must have been thousands, if not millions of peas in the sack.

She heard a noise outside the hut.

“Oh, Baba Yaga must be back early. Now I’m done for!” she exclaimed – but when she looked out of the window she saw not Baba Yaga, but the white horseman who had over taken her on her way to the hut. He galloped round the fence of the compound and then was off again into the woods. Vasilisa sighed and wished that he would only come and rescue her, whoever he might be. Then when she turned round from the window she saw that all the peas had been sorted into two piles – one black and one white. Her task was done.

That evening, after Baba Yaga flew back home from whatever business she had been on, the old witch could not hide her surprise at all that her guest had managed to achieve in one day.

“I see that you are good little worker my dear,” she said. “Well in that case, tomorrow you can make pea soup and fetch water from the stream to fill up the tank. Here, use this bucket”

But what she handed to Vasilisa was not a bucket, but a sieve, and the poor girl wondered how she would ever manage to use it to fetch water. Still that night, when the little rag doll urged her not to feel despair, she knew in her heart that something wonderful might happen to help her.

And it did. For as she stood by the stream holding the sieve in her hand, the red horseman rode by, took it from her and swept over to the hut where he hurled it through the open window. When Vasilisa returned she found that the tank was filled with fresh water.

That evening Baba Yaga dipped her bony finger in the tank, and tasted a drop of the fresh water. She said:

“Indeed you are a hard working girl. Let’s see if you are clever too. Tonight you can stay up and count the number of stars in the sky. If you tell me the right number in the morning, you can take your light and go free, but if your answer is wrong, even if you tell me one star too many or too few, then I shall have you for my breakfast.”

That night Vasilisa gazed out of the window at the sky and tried to count the stars – 1,2,3, 5.. but by the time she reached 100 stars she was no longer sure whether or not she was counting the same ones again, and she had to start all over again. It did not help that the hut kept moving around so that the view kept on changing.

Eventually, Vasilisa began to sob quietly. She took out her doll and said: “Oh dear little doll, who will come to the aid of poor little Vasilisa this time? I cannot guest the number of stars in the sky, and in the morning the witch shall surely eat me.”

“Do not worry said the doll. Have courage, and keep faith, and all will be well.”

And it was. For at the mid night hour, the black horseman came riding up to the window where Vasilisa was sitting and he whisper a number to her as if in a dream. It was a very big number, but I cannot tell you what it was, for it is a secret. But it was the exact number of stars in the sky that he told her, and in the morning, when Baba Yaga stepped with her bony legs onto the floor, Vasilisa said.

“Good morning Babushka, shall I tell you the number of stars now?”

And Baba Yaga yawned and said:

“Go on child. Tell me. But you had better not be wrong, for if you are, I shall eat you.”

And Vasilisa told the number to Baba Yaga. And Baba Yaga let out a terrible cry like

“Ha !”

And her eyes blazed like those of the skulls on the fence surrounding her hut.

“Who told you that?” she demanded so fiercely that Vasilisa shank back. Baba Yaga picked up plate and threw it across the room so that it smashed against the wall. Then she picked up a knife and Vasillisa was sure she meant to kill her:

“But Babushka,” she said, “You promised that if I told you the number correctly I could take a light and go free.”

And the Baba Yaga froze for a moment, and the fierce glare of her eyes lessened somewhat.

“Ah yes,” she said more calmly “So I did. And I suppose it was morning and day that helped you with the other tasks I set you?”

And Vasilisa nodded, for she now understood that the three horsemen were morning day and night.

“Then you are a good girl,” said Baba Yaga, “For if Morning Day and Night choose to help you, that means that your spirit is in harmony with the universe. I will do you no harm. Wait here while I go on my business. I have no tasks for you today. And tonight you shall return home with a light.”

And that evening, after Baba Yaga flew home on her mortar, she took Vasillisa out into the courtyard and gave her one of the skulls with blazing eyes.

“Take this,” she said, “And it will light up your step-mother and your two step-sisters very well.”

Vasilisa took the skull and returned back down the path to her village. She expected that her step-mother would have found a light by now, but in fact the house was not lit. Instead her relatives were sitting in complete darkness.

She stepped into the house. The skull lit up the inside as bright as day.

“I’m home,” called out Vasilissa

But she received no reply, for as soon as the light fell on her step-mother and sisters, they turned to dust.

And Vasilisa went to live with a kindly old lady in the village until her father returned from his business. When he came back, he thought that his wife and step-daughters must have run away. He did not miss them much. He lived happily with his beautiful daughter, Vasilisa, until one day a prince came riding by and caught sight of her. She was the most beautiful girl he had ever seen, and he had no hesitation in asking her to marry him, which she did, and they lived happily ever after.