“Trust is the glue of friendship.”

When friends do not trust each other, they both fall into trouble. The fox and the wolf live together, but the wolf is a bully, and secretly the fox hates him. They both find themselves at the bottom of a trap set by a man. Their only hope of escape is to trust one another. Can a wolf trust a fox? And vice versa?

Read by Elizabeth.
Adapted by Bertie from the 1001 nights.
Duration 18 minutes.

The Wolf and the Fox, from the 1001 Nights

Praise be to Allah, Sherehezade is married to the Sultan Sharyar. He says to her: “My eloquent Queen, I love stories about animals: although they live apart from us, their friendships and fights are like ours in so many ways. There is much wisdom to be had from tales of their world.”

And Sherehezade replied, “Oh Great One, you are right to say that there is much we can learn from the Animal Kingdom. And one such story comes to my mind. It is a tale of betrayal and trust. It is a story about The Wolf and the Fox. ”

And the Sultan rested his head on his hand, and stretched out on the couch to listen to her story.

The Wolf and the Fox had so much in common that they were like brothers. They both loved to steal and to hunt, but given the choice, they would always prefer to steal. These two strong-pawed bandits of the animal world lived together in one den. But the Wolf was far bigger and more powerful than the fox, and he thought himself to be the better of the pair. The Fox, though smaller, knew that he was much smarter than the wolf, and he resented the way that the Wolf always acted like he was the Big Boss.

One day, as they sat in the sun outside their cave, the Fox said to the Wolf:

“My friend. You are like a brother to me. So let me give you some kind advice. Mend your ways. Be a bandit no more. Do not steal from the Son of Adam again”. (By the Son of Adam he meant Man).

The Wolf turned his great head to his friend, and lifted up one shaggy ear. The Fox went on:

“I know how you love to creep into man’s vineyard, dig up his vines, and eat his grapes. I know how you like to jump into his fields and steal his lambs. I also see how he hates you for this, and how he is planning your destruction. You would be wise to fear him for he is full of cunning. He knows how to shoot birds down from the sky, how to lift fish from the water, how to burn wood, and how to cut up rocks. Someone that smart is bound to out-wit one like you eventually. So do as I advise: Make peace with the Son of Adam, and steal from him no more.”

The Wolf listened, and he did not welcome these words, for he felt deep down that the Fox was insulting him. Did he mean to hint that he was just a bit stupid? Or at any rate, he realised that the Fox thought himself to be far cleverer than him. And so he lifted up his great paw, and punched his friend hard in the face. The poor animal went rolling over and over and was quite stunned. When he staggered back to his feet the Wolf growled at him:

“It is not for you to advise your betters.”

It took the Fox a moment or two to recover himself. When he could manage a smile he said softly: “Of course, you are right Brother Wolf. Forgive me. I am full of regret for my sin against you, whom I love more than any other creature in the world.”

And the Wolf looked him up and down, saw that the Fox was fittingly afraid of him, and added in a stern voice:

“Learn from this lesson. Don’t poke your nose into other people’s business.”

The Fox bowed his head and said:

“To hear your voice is to obey, my brother.”

“That’s more like it,” said the Wolf. “At least those were wise words said in the right place.”

“Oh yes,” said the Fox, more humbly than ever, “As the poet once said, the blow of a teacher is at first hurtful, but in the end it is sweeter than honey.”

And from that time on, he was always careful to show the Wolf the greatest respect, and to flatter him whenever possible. But inwardly he hated the tyrant, and was looking for the chance to take his revenge. The months passed, and the Wolf forgot all about the incident, but the Fox did not. One day, he was skulking along the wall of the vineyard, looking for a way to sneak in and steal some grapes, when he found a hole large enough for a fox – even for a wolf – to creep through.

At first he was delighted, and then he thought to himself, “This is to good to be true. I think The Son of Adam is plotting something here.” And he stretched through the hole and gently tapped the ground on the other side with his paw. It was just as he thought. The man had laid sticks and leaves across a deep pit. It was a trap to catch a thief.

“Praised be Allah that I have found this cunning trap!” said the Fox happily, “And may my enemy the Wolf fall straight into it !” And he ran back to the den with a spring in his step.

“Good news,” he said as the Wolf was just shaking off his sleep. “I have found an easy way into the vineyard. You can sneak in and fill your belly with man’s juicy grapes. The ripe fruit is shining on the vines, ready for you to eat.”

The Wolf had no reason to doubt the Fox’s words, and he went trotting off to the vineyard in search of a delicious and easy breakfast. He found the hole in the wall, just where the Fox had told him to look, and he easily crawled through it – but on the other side he fell through the sticks and leaves tumbled straight down into the the trap. The Fox saw his friend’s misfortune, and he was jubilant.

“At last fortune has taken pity on me! Greed has pulled the Wolf down to his doom!”

And with tears in his eyes, he peered over the edge of the pit and saw the sorrowful Wolf looking up at him:

“My one true friend,” said the Wolf, “I see that you are crying for me.”

“No! Not one bit !” laughed the Fox. “I am crying because I am thinking how long you lived before this day, and I am sad because you didn’t fall into this deep hole sooner.”

These cruel words stunned and hurt the wolf even more than his fall had done. Quite shocked, he replied:

“In the name of Allah, have mercy on your brother. Go and speak to my mother. She will know what to do and will bring help.”

But the Fox was quite unmoved by the Wolf’s plea. He snarled up his muzzle to show his yellow teeth and said:

“You stupid, witless beast, why should I help you who have been a tyrant over me?”

“But, but” pleaded the Wolf, “You have always protested your love for me. You have sworn to be my servant. You have promised to look after me, even in my old age. How can you turn against me like this?”

“Oh you deluded, self-deceiving fool,” jeered the Fox, “That was my fear talking, not my heart. In truth I hate you for you are a bully and a brute.”

Still unable to fully believe these words, the Wolf, half thinking that his friend was joking, said, “I pray, Do not speak to me with the tongue of an enemy. Do not look at me with the eyes of a foe. For the wise poet spoke well when he said: ‘Forgiveness is noble, and kindness is the best of treasures’.”

“Oh now you beg and scrape,” said the Fox, “But that is only because you are down there in the dark hole, and I am up here in the sun.”

“If you rescue me from this pit, I shall repent my ways!” howled the Wolf. But the Fox just laughed at him.

And at last the Wolf realised that his former friend truly did hate him, that there was no hope in him helping him, and all was lost. He began to weep and howl more piteously ever.

Now, even the Fox had a place in his heart that was not either filled with hatred or cunning, At last he was moved by the fate of the Wolf. He went over to the hole and said:

“My friend. Why are you crying so? I was only joking when I said those words. Here, pull on my tail and heave yourself out.” And so saying he dangled his red bushy tail into the hole for the Wolf to take hold of. But the Wolf, full of dumb desire for revenge, did not make use of the tail to save himself. Instead, he seized it, pulled the Fox down into the hole with him, and growled triumphantly:

“So now you have fallen into the snare of your own intent, you traitor, and in it, you shall share my fate!”

The Fox, full of fear, began to beg and scrape: “Oh Brave and powerful master, do not strike me and kill me now, or you will not benefit from my plan and we shall both die here. Is it not better that we should both save ourselves?”

The Wolf, already feeling a little calmer, began to regret that he had not saved himself when he had the chance, and he asked:

“And how exactly do you propose to save us?”

“Easy,” said the Fox, “Lift me up on your head, and I can scramble out of this pit. I will run and fetch a vine to use as a rope to help you climb out.”

But the Wolf shook his shaggy head and said: “Oh Fox, I respect you for never giving up, but I am not the fool you take me to be. As the poet said, ” The worst of enemies is your nearest friend. Greet him with a smiling face, but be ready to do battle with him.” And that is why I do not trust your words. No. It would be a bad thing for me to die here alone. You shall wait here with me, and we shall die together when the man comes and finds us trapped here.”

“Wise words,” said the Fox, “But not for every case. It cannot be right to always be suspicious. Trust is the glue of friendship. Without trust, each one of us is on his own. Without Trust there can be no working together. The choice is yours. Trust me or die. What have you to lose? For if you do not trust me, your number’s up anyway.”

Now the Wolf, who of course did hope to live, saw that he had little to lose by helping the Fox, and he lifted him up on his head. The Fox grasped at the edge of the hole with his claws, got a hold of a vine, and scrambled up into the daylight.

“Be sure to keep your word,” called up the Wolf, “Run and fetch that rope and pull me out.”

“Ha! HA!” cried, the Fox, Not a Chance! If I help you out, you will take your revenge and kill me. ” And he ran off up the hill towards the village. There he started to make a great din, so much so that the man came out holding a rake in his hand. He saw the Fox and started to chase him. The Fox turned and ran, meaning to lead him to the pit where he would find the wolf and kill him. But as he ran, the fox thought: “Is it not sad that we are all alone in this world, and can trust no one.”

And when he reached the pit, he dangled his tail down into the hole once again and said:

“Wolf, quick, pull yourself out by my tail. If you drag me down into the pit once again, we are both dead, because the man is no more than a minute away. Be wise. See that we are joined together by our common enemy. Either we live or die together.”

And the Wolf, seeing that he had but one chance to live, pulled himself out by the Fox’s tail and ran for the woods. The Fox ran too, but in a different direction, because he did not wish to debate trust and suspicion with the Wolf again. There was too much danger in that discussion.

And as Sherehezade reached the end of her story, the light of morning began to creep in through the window.

“That was truly a wonderful and instructive story,” said the Sultan. “How right I was when I said that we have much to learn from stories of the animals.”

“Your instructions were indeed wise’, said Sherehezade, ‘and if you shall spare my life today, tomorrow night I will tell you another tale even more wonderful. And the Sultan, who delighted in her stories, could hardly wait for the next of the 1001 nights.

And that was the story of the Fox and the Wolf. We don’t quite have a 1001 stories on Storynory.com yet, but we do have several hundred free audio tales, and they should be enough to keep you going for quite a while. So be like the Sultan, and listen to a Story every night.

The Sun is our narrator for these three stories adapted from Aesop’s Fables. He looks down on the Earth and sees all the human folly. He tells us the tale of the Milkmaid whose head is full of dreams. Then he relates the famous story of Juno and the Peacock about a bird who wants magnificent feathers. And his last story features himself and the North Wind.

As ever, these charming tales by Aesop come with morals for life.

Kindly sponsored by Audible. Claim your special offer here.

Read by Natasha.
Adapted by Bertie
Pictures by Milo Winter
Duration 12.10.

In the morning I am soft and gentle. In the middle of the day, I am harsh and white. When the evening comes, I rest my red head on the mountains. Yes, as you have probably guessed by now, I am the sun.

All day long, I look down on the Earth and I see all the things that go on – all the wisdom – and the folly – but mostly the folly. As for the things that go bump in the night – I don’t see any of those – but I hear all the best gossip from my pretty lady friend, the moon.

From my vantage point, I can’t help but see a few juicy stories unfold. I will tell you three of them today, and with the help of the Great storyteller, Aesop, I shall give you a moral for each of them.

The Milkmaid

My first tale is of a milkmaid. Only yesterday, I Looked down and caught sight of her – I did not fail to notice how pretty she was. I watched her going along the lane with a pail of milk on her head. I shone brightly for the lovely girl, and my rays set off her blond hair and made her heart happy. I could see that she was chatting away to nobody but herself. I tuned in my ear and listened to what she was saying:

“This lovely creamy milk will give me plenty of butter to churn,” she said, “Yes, I will make the best butter, and I will take it to market. I will get a good price for my butter, and with the money I make, I will buy a lot of eggs for hatching. How nice it will be when the yard is full of fine young chicks! Then, when May Day comes I will sell the hens, and with the money I’ll buy a lovely new dress for the fair. All the young men will look at me. They will come and try out their smooth talk on me , —but I shall very quickly send them about their business!”"

She smiled , as she thought of the witty one-liners that she would deliver to all the smooth-talking young men. And as she imagined the scene, she tossed her head scornfully. But oh ! Down fell the pail – and out spilled the milk onto the ground. The white creamy liquid trickled into the ditch, and with it, the pretty maid’s day dreams – her butter, her profit, her chickens, her eggs, her new dress, and her vain young men – all disappeared into the ground.

I looked down on all this and tried not to smile at the poor milkmaid’s misfortune. But I could not help remembering the words of a wise old lady : Don’t count your chickens before they are hatched. It’s a  very valuable lesson in life.

Juno and The Peacock

My next story is about the Peacock. He is the most royal of birds – or so he thinks.. When I shine down with my bright rays, [ We are keeping the Sun in the Story] he loves to open up his feathers to show off all his wonderful colours. How he gleams with emerald gold, purple, and azure ! Why, he is so shining, that he considers himself a worthy rival to me ! But he was not always so bright and beautiful. Once, long ago, he was just an ordinary, dusty sort of farmyard bird. This bothered him, for in his heart, he longed for greatness. His life abruptly changed when, one day, as he was pecking grass by the lake, he met the goddess Juno. He knew that his chance for transformation had come .

“Divine Juno, lovely goddess,” he said, “Why are my feathers so plain and ordinary? I want to be beautiful. I long for everyone to admire me. In fact, I want to be the most indisputably magnificent bird in the world. You are a goddess. You can do this for me in an instant. If you work your will, even the Emperor will admire and envy me . I pray, Dear Goddess – make me magnificent.”

Juno looked at the dull and ordinary bird and thought, “How vain and pretentious he is! I will give him what he wants, but I will teach him a lesson.”

When the peacock next saw his reflection in the water, he realised that she had granted his wish – for he was beautiful beyond his dreams. His feathered tail was more magnificent than the tapestry that hung behind the Emperor’s throne. The other birds gathered round to admire him – and how he strutted up and down like a king ! And how he patronised all the scruffy farmyard birds – the hens, the geese, the ducks, and other such riff-raff !

But the the other birds were not gazing at him, as he thought they should. They were looking up into the sky. He too looked up, and he saw how the powerful, and kingly eagle span out his wings, and soared high into the heavens – so high that he flew up to wish me Good Morning through the clouds.

Who could doubt that the eagle was the most royal of all the birds? Not the Ducks and the Geese who squawked in homage to the soaring king.

“Pa,” said the Peacock, “I will fly even higher.” He lifted his wings – but they were heavy and weighed down with decorative feathers. Yes, he looked wonderful, but the sly goddess had made him pay a price for his beauty – he could not longer fly.

“Hmmm”, I thought, as I looked down. “That peacock is all show”. There’s an important lesson here. It’s not only feathers that make fine birds. Oh yes, there is a good the moral in this tale: Don’t harm your strength and your health for the sake of beauty.

The Wind & The Sun

And my last story features a truly radiant character. This, if you will permit me, is a story about myself. I have a rather gusty friend called the North Wind. I was watching in amusement one day how he tormented a man who was walking along the road. He was trying to blow the man’s hat off, and how he huffed and he puffed with all his might. But the man was wise to him, and he held his hat firmly down on his head.

I laughed: “Ho ho North Wind. That man’s got one up on you.”

“Well I bet you can’t do any better,” hissed the North Wind testily.

“I bet I can,” I said. And I shone down with my warmest, most health-giving rays. The man felt gladness as he walked along. He smiled. And then he took his hat off to cool his head.

“There you see,” I said, “Gentle and kind persuasion win where force and bluster fail.”

Portia is the heroine of Shakespeare’s play, The Merchant of Venice. At the end of the play she appears as an extremely clever lawyer. This tale is adapted from near the beginning of the story – where her husband is chosen by an unusual test. As you will hear, it is rather like a fairytale.

Read and written by Elizabeth for Storynory. Duration 23 minutes.

A long time ago, in Italy , there lived a beautiful young woman named Portia. Everyone who knew her thought that she was the luckiest girl alive. She wore the finest dresses, and ate the most delicious food. Every evening, the funniest jesters in Italy performed for her and the best musicians played. And she had the most glorious bedroom any Princess could wish for, draped in cloths of satin and velvet. And on a dressing table sat an oak box of necklaces and bracelets dripping with diamonds and pearls.

But in spite of this wonderful life, there was one thing that troubled Portia, and that was, now she had reached the age of eighteen she was expected to find a husband.

Her parents had died some years before. And her father, a very intelligent man who loved his daughter dearly, had not left her future happiness to chance. He knew that he would not be around to help her choose a husband, and so, he came up with a test to see that the right man got the job.

And this was the test…

Behind a red curtain at the end of the grand hall was a platform. And on it were placed three caskets: one of gold, one of silver and one of lead. Inside one of the caskets was a portrait of Portia. Whoever wanted to be Portia’s husband had to choose the correct casket, where he would find her picture.

But there was a risk that came with this challenge. Every man who tried his luck had to promise that if he picked the wrong casket, not only would he never see Portia again, but he would never marry anyone! This was to make sure that anyone who tried had very serious intentions.

Word of Portia’s beauty had spread to every corner of the world, and men, young and old, tall and short, fat, thin, pale, tanned, handsome, ugly, charming, rude, pretty much men of every variety flocked to her town, fair Belmont, to meet her.

It was after a day of meeting and greeting that she finally managed to have some time alone with her maid, Nerissa.

“Did you really not take a shining to any of the young lads?” asked Nerissa.

“It’s not up to me, is it?,” replied Portia, “This has got to be the most random way of choosing a husband ever.”

“Portia! Do you really have such little faith in your father?” responded Nerissa, and then she said more softly, and slyly…”Supposing that young Bassanio turned up…. I know you thought he was a nice lad”

“Him ! Oh yes, well he was, I admit, rather nice…. for a man… but he’s not been here for at least two years.”

“Well you never know..” said the serving girl. “Anyway what did you think of today’s batch?”

“You’ll have to remind me of them – I saw so many!”

Nerissa drew out a scroll from her apron pocket. Unrolling it, she said,

“First there was the Neapolitan, what did you make of him?”

“Oh him!” sighed Portia, “All he did was talk about his horse and how wonderful it was,” To amuse her companion, she did an impression of him: “It runs so fast, it jumps so high, oh and his teeth!” and “oh his coat!” and “I must tell you about his neck…!”

“No, you’re right!” Nerissa cut in. Portia laughed.

“I think he was starting to look a bit like a horse!” Portia added.

“Well, then there was the Roman.” said Nerissa.

“Goodness he was a misery guts! He didn’t laugh at a single joke. And before you say anything, my jokes aren’t that bad!… Oh yes he said to me,
“What’s the point of beauty in the world when everything decays…? If he’s like that as a young man imagine what he’ll be like when he’s older.
I’d rather marry a skull – it’d have a better sense of humour!”

“Next was Monsieur Le Bon, The French lord.” said Nerissa, looking down the list of suitors.

“Monsieur Le Bon! I’d never met anyone like him before, or like “them” I should say!”

“Sorry?” inquired Nerissa.

“He was certainly more than one person. He kept becoming different personalities. One minute he was dancing on his own (to no music), the next he was fencing his own shadow: ‘Don’t you think for one moment you will get away you pesky little shadow. -But it is me, Monsieur Le Bon. Non! I am Monsieur Le bon. -This cannot be! Aha – I have surprised you! Oh non! Mais oui! Oh non!’ I think he is all the company he will ever need. If I did marry him, I’d be marrying twenty husbands!”

“So that’s Italy and France crossed off the list! What did you make of that nice young man from England?” asked Nerissa.

“Falconbridge? He was lovely to look at, but it was hopeless. He spoke no Latin, French or Italian and you know how ropey my English is. There’s little conversation to be had with a mime artist! And as for his outfit, he was dressed in such a strange way. Certainly a man of international style – he was wearing an Italian jacket, French trousers, and a German hat – it was peculiar!”

“Speaking of Germans, how did you like the Duke of Saxony?”

“I didn’t like him very much in the morning when he was sober, but it only got worse in the afternoon when he was drunk!”

“Oh well you needn’t worry, love. When they heard about the text, they all decided they weren’t up to it and will be leaving Belmont tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow, a new day, and a new hoard of visitors will arrive!” , Portia sighed.

The next day, as the sun first appeared on the horizon, and its beams danced across the choppy waves, a fleet of ships could be seen approaching the port of Belmont. These belonged to the Prince of Morocco. He, like many other princes before him, had come to seek Portia’s hand in marriage.

Portia was fast asleep when the ships docked at dawn. She never received visitors before midday and this gave the new guest time to prepare for their meeting. He was due to meet Portia on the stroke of noon in the grand hall where he would face the challenge.

When 12 o’clock arrived, Portia, with Nerissa at her side, was sitting in the grand hall, at the far end where the red curtains were hung. Noble ladies and gentlemen, sworn to secrecy, gathered at the other end of the hall to watch the challenge, (for royal romance has always been a great spectator sport.)

As soon as the Prince of Morocco walked into the room, his eyes were drawn to Portia and he was struck by her beauty.

Portia watched as he entered with his train of servants. She had never seen a man dressed so exotically. He wore brilliantly dyed clothes in orange and sapphire blue, and an elaborate turban clasped with a ruby. She met him with a smile, and nodded to the the red curtains. He walked towards them with his attendants. On reaching the curtains, one of Portia’s servants drew them open to reveal the three caskets.

“My picture is in one of them,” said Portia, “and if you chose correctly, you will win me as your bride.”

“Thank you, I must choose carefully then,” said the prince.

Looking at the three caskets, one of gold, one of silver and one of lead, he noticed the clues that hung above each one.

Stopping first at the box made of lead, he read the clue,

“Who chooseth me must give and hazard all he hath!”

He pondered over this, “‘Must give’, What would I be giving for? What would I get in return for everything I already have? Lead? I should give up everything I am worth for lead? No. When people risk everything, they do it hoping the outcome will be worth it. I shall not give up all my wealth and honour for something paltry!”

“What about the silver?” He said stepping in front of the second casket. He read aloud the clue that hung above it.

“Who chooseth me shall get as much as he deserves.”

“As much as he deserves.” I must think about this carefully. I do deserve a lot, and yet is a lot, enough to deserve the lady. I do in birth deserve her and in wealth and in upbringing, but more than any of these I deserve her in love. For no-one could be more loving than I am. Why should I carry on? I could stop at this silver chest.”

He looked around for the servant that guarded the three keys, but checking himself, he spoke,

“I’ll have one last look at the gold casket, just to be sure.”

He read its clue,

“Who chooseth me shall gain what many men desire.”

“That has to be Portia, every man alive wants to marry her! Now I think about it, how could she possibly be placed inside lead? What a terrible thought. And why would she be placed in the silver casket? It was foolish of me to think so. Silver is worth a tenth of the value of gold. The finest jewels are set in gold and nothing less!”

He turned to Portia.

“I’ve made my decision and I will stand by it. The key to the gold casket if you please.”

Portia nodded to the servant holding the three keys.

“If you find my portrait inside it, I shall be yours!” She said.

Without hesitation, the prince unlocked the golden box and lifted its lid.

“Oh No!” He cried. He lifted out the contents of the chest. There was no sight of Portia’s picture, but instead he had found a skull. In its eye socket was lodged a piece of parchment. He unrolled it and read out loud,

“All that glitters is not gold.”

“Oh what a fool, I’ve been,” he said. “Yes of course, many men desire what is beautiful on the surface and are tricked just as I have been. Farewell, Portia, it is with great sadness I leave you and you have my word I shall never tell anyone which casket I chose.”

And the Moroccan Prince and his attendants left the grand hall.

The court sat down for lunch, during which, Portia was told that another suitor had arrived. This time it was a nobleman from Spain, the Prince of Aragon.

At two o’clock, Portia and Nerissa took up their places in the grand hall to wait for the visitor’s arrival. As the clock chimed upon the hour, the large panelled doors were opened to receive the young Prince. He was very handsome, with a jacket of crimson velvet and jet black hair.

With great confidence he strutted down the hall towards Portia.

“There are the caskets, noble prince.” said Portia. “ Do you agree to the terms of the challenge?” she asked.

“I do indeed. I swear that I will never tell anyone which casket I chose, and that if pick the wrong one, I shall leave right away, never return, and never, in all my life, marry.”

“He seems to take these vows as if they were nothing to him.” whispered Nerissa, “He must be pretty confident!”

The Prince began to examine the caskets.

Standing in front of the lead, he read its clue,
“Who chooseth me must give and hazard all he hath.”

“Give everything I have!” he exclaimed, “Never – what’s mine is mine, I’d never risk it for anything!”

“What’s written on the golden chest?”

“Who chooseth me shall get what many men desire.”

“What many men desire? I don’t belong to the common masses, my tastes are by far superior!”

“On to the silver.” “Who chooseth me shall get as much as he deserves.”

“Well said. For he that wins the lady must deserve her. Her father would not give her away to anyone unworthy. I know I am deserving! The key to the silver chest, please!”

Portia nodded to her servant who handed the silver key to the Spaniard.

Seizing it from his hand, the Spanish Prince hastily unlocked the casket, flashing a smile over his shoulder to the assembled crowd, before lifting the lid.

But the crowd saw his smile leave is face pretty swiftly as he pulled out a picture of a clown.

“What is this? Who chooseth me shall have as much as he deserve. Is this all I deserve? A fool in place of a beautiful bride?” and then all of a sudden realising, “By valuing myself so highly I have made a fool of myself in front of all these people and so I have become the fool in the picture! Farewell lady, I shall never trouble you again.”

And with that he left. As he was on the way out, a servant passed him in the doorway on his way to the princess:

“My lady, a young Venetian man has arrived at the gate. He is very witty and brings you all manner of gifts. He asks if he might take the challenge.”

“Claudio,” replied Portia, “Are you related to him? I don’t think I’ve ever heard you speak so highly of anyone!”

“I promise you I’m not, my lady.”

“Admit him!”

“Very good. My lady.”

Shortly after this exchange Claudio reentered followed by a young man. Portia recognised him at once. It was Bassanio – the one she had always liked, but had not seen for two years. He was a scholar and a soldier, whose wit was as sharp as his sword. But after her father’s death, Bassanio had been away at war.

He approached the chairs on which Portia and Nerissa sat , before bowing deeply. Then he took Portia’s hand and kissed it.

But Portia looked downcast.

“Oh please don’t take the test”, she said, “It would be too cruel for me to get my hopes up, and then for you to fail it, and never be able to marry another. ”

He smiled at her and she returned his smile.

“Couldn’t you delay the challenge a day or two?” she asked.

If Bassanio chose the wrong casket like the other suitors before him, this would be the last time she would ever see him.

But he replied resolutely. “I can’t put it off any longer. It is torture to stand in front of the three caskets, knowing that in one of them lies the future I have always dreamed of.”

Portia felt herself about to blush, but determined not to, quickly replied,

“Torture? Men speak to please when they are being tortured!”

He smiled. “I promise you nothing but the truth.”

All this had been said privately, but now Portia said out loud so that the audience could hear:

“Choose as you think best. In one of the caskets lies my portrait, which if you find, you’ll find me as a wife,” she said trying to seem calm whilst her heart raced inside her.

He picked up the gold casket that the Moroccan prince had chosen. Portia looked away. Nerissa nudged her as the young man put it down. Next he studied the silver casket – looking at the marks which showed what weight of silver it was. Portia felt certain he was about to choose the wrong one. But he put it back on the table and pondered over the lead casket.

“Lead, silver, and gold.” said Bassanio. “Well often the most worthless things are decorated to make them seem of value, so I won’t be tricked by gaudy gold or even silver. Material wealth is worthless in comparison with the truly precious treasures in this life, love and happiness…”

Portia and Nerissa looked on as Bassanio examined the caskets once again.

“Oh you poor thing.” Nerissa whispered as she noticed Portia biting her lip in anticipation. “He’s a clever lad, that Bassanio, he’ll not go wrong.”

“ And so, I have made my decision.” Bassanio announced. “The key to the lead casket please,” he requested.

Portia sighed with relief. She knew it to be the correct choice after the previous suitors had failed with gold and silver.

Bassanio opened the chest to find her portrait and a scroll. He read it aloud,

“You that choose not by the view
Chance as fair and choose as true.
Since this fortune falls to you.
Be content and seek no new.
If you be well pleased with this
And hold your fortune for your bliss.
Turn you where your lady is
And claim her with a loving kiss.”

Bassanio did exactly that.

Nerissa thrilled by the sight of the young couple wiped a tear of happiness from her eye. Portia and Bassanio were to be married…

Download Audio Chicken Little is one of those traditional fairy tales in which some cute animals are eaten – so don’t say we didn’t warn you !

Several parents on our Facebook Group. have been lobbying us to publish this fast-paced and popular story. We have based our version on Henny-Penny by Joseph Jacobs. One of the great attractions of the tale is in the amusing names like Cocky-locky, Ducky-daddles, Goosey- Loosey and Turkey-lurkey, and of course, the baddy, Foxy-Woxy. As the fast-paced story goes on, the names build up into a long string.

But just once again – this story does involve animals being eaten. Comments are welcome but please dont’ say we the ending came as a nasty surprise.

Read by Elizabeth. Duration 7.51.

Chicken Little

Hello, This is Elizabeth, and I am dropping by a story that has been requested by several our of listeners including two parents, Clare and Teresa, both on our Facebook group.

It’s a fun, fast-paced tale, but I have to warn you that if you really mind stories where sweet little animals get eaten up by bad foxes, then this really isn’t the story for you.

ONE day Chicken Little was picking up corn in the cornyard when–whack!– something hit her upon the head. “Goodness gracious me!” said Chicken Little; “the sky’s a-going to fall; I must go and tell the Big Boss.”

So she went along and she went along and she went along till she met Cocky-locky. “Where are you going, Chicken Little?” says Cocky-locky. “Oh! I’m going to tell the Big Boss the sky’s a-falling,” says Chicken Little. “May I come with you?” says Cocky-locky. “Certainly,” says Chicken Little. So Chicken Little and Cocky-Locky went to tell-the Big Boss the sky was falling.

They went along, and they went along, and they went along, till they met Ducky-daddles. “Where are you going to, Chicken Little and Cocky- locky?” said Ducky-daddles. “Oh! we’re going to tell the Big Boss the sky’s a-falling,” said Chicken Little and Cocky-Locky. “May I come with you?” says Ducky-Daddles. “Certainly,” said Chicken Little and Cocky- Locky. So Chicken Little, Cocky-Locky and Ducky-Daddles went to tell the Big Boss the sky was a-falling.

So they went along, and they went along, and they went along, till they met Goosey-Loosey, “Where are you going to, Chicken Little, Cocky- Locky and Ducky-Daddles?” said Goosey-Loosey. “Oh! we’re going to tell the Big Boss the sky’s a-falling,” said Chicken Little and Cocky-Locky and Ducky-Daddles. “May I come with you,” said Goosey-Loosey. “Certainly,” said Chicken Little, Cocky-Locky and Ducky-Daddles. So Chicken Little, Cocky-Locky, Ducky-Daddles and Goosey-Loosey went to tell the Big Boss the sky was a-falling.

So they went along, and they went along, and they went along, till they met Turkey-Lurkey. “Where are you going, Chicken Little, Cocky- Locky, Ducky-Daddles, and Goosey-Loosey?” says Turkey-Lurkey. “Oh! we’re going to tell the Big Boss the sky’s a-falling,” said Chicken Little, Cocky-Locky, Ducky-Daddles and Goosey-Loosey. “May I come with you? Chicken Little, Cocky-Locky, Ducky-Daddles and Goosey-Loosey?” said Turkey-lurkey. “Why, certainly, Turkey-Lurkey,” said Chicken Little, Cocky-Locky, Ducky-Daddles, and Goosey-Loosey. So Chicken Little, Cocky- Locky, Ducky-Daddles, Goosey-Loosey and Turkey-Lurkey all went to tell the Big Boss the sky was a-falling.

So they went along, and they went along, and they went along, till they met Foxy-woxy, and Foxy-woxy said to Chicken Little, Cocky-Locky, Ducky-Daddles, Goosey-Loosey and Turkey-Lurkey: “Where are you going, Chicken Little, Cocky-Locky, Ducky-Daddles, Goosey-Loosey, and Turkey-Lurkey?” And Chicken Little, Cocky-Locky, Ducky-Daddles, Goosey-Loosey, and Turkey-Lurkey said to Foxy-Woxy: “We’re going to tell the Big Boss the sky’s a-falling.”

“Oh! but this is not the way to the Big Boss, Chicken Little, Cocky-Locky, Ducky-Daddles, Goosey-Loosey and Turkey-Lurkey,” says Foxy-Woxy; “I know the proper way; shall I show it you?” “Why certainly, Foxy-woxy,” said Chicken Little, Cocky-Locky, Ducky-Daddles, Goosey-Loosey, and Turkey-lurkey. So Chicken Little, Cocky-Locky, Ducky-Daddles, Goosey-Loosey, Turkey-Lurkey, and Foxy-Woxy all went to tell the Big Boss the sky was a-falling. So they went along, and they went along, and they went along, till they came to a narrow and dark hole. Now this was the door of Foxy-woxy’s cave. But Foxy-woxy said to Chicken Little, Cocky-Locky, Ducky-Daddles, Goosey-Loosey, and Turkey-Lurkey:

“This is the short way to the Big Boss’s palace you’ll soon get there if you follow me. I will go first and you come after, Chicken Little, Cocky-Locky, Ducky-Daddles, Goosey-Loosey, and Turkey-Lurkey.” “Why of course, certainly, without doubt, why not?” said Chicken Little, Cocky-Locky, Ducky-Daddles, Goosey-Loosey, and Turkey-Lurkey.

So Foxy-woxy went into his cave, and he didn’t go very far but turned round to wait for Chicken Little, Cocky-lLocky, Ducky-Daddles, Goosey- Loosey and Turkey-Lurkey. First Turkey-Lurkey went through the dark hole into the cave. He hadn’t got far when “Hrumph,” Foxy-Woxy swallowed up Turkey-Lurkey.

Then Goosey-Loosey went in, and “Hrumph,” she was eaten too.

Then Ducky-Daddles waddled down, and “Hrumph,” snapped Foxy-Woxy, and Ducky-Daddles made the next course.

Then Cocky-Locky strutted down into the cave and he hadn’t gone far when “Snap, Hrumph!” went Foxy-Woxy.

But Foxy-Woxy had made two bites at Cocky-Locky, and when the first snap missed, he called out to Chicken Little. So she turned tail and ran back home. And she never told the Big Boss the sky was a-falling

And that was the story of Chicken Little. Don’t say I didn’t warn you about sweet little animals getting eaten. Bertie say Storynory listeners seem to fall into two sorts – those who are outraged that not all the animals get away and write in to complain – and those who like the traditional tales which are a little more true to life. These ones tells us not to coddle kids and to give them the real stuff straight from the storyteller’s mouth. You can always leave a comment and let us know where you stand on this great issue !

And I thought you might like to know that we based our version on the English Tale by Joseph Jacobs where Chicken Little is actually called Henny-Penny, but as this story seems to be best known in America we used used the American name, Chicken Little. In some versions even Chicken Little doesn’t get away. In the Disney film of a few years ago, of course nobody gets eaten, so you can safely watch that one.

Does the story have a moral? Bertie says it’s hard to find, but perhaps it shows how mad mass panic only creates danger. Keep your head, so to speak, and you will keep your head.

For now, from me Elizabeth, Bye.

This traditional story from Japan is about the time a Samurai Warrior challenged a Tea Master to a duel. It shows how if you are the master of yourself, you can be the master of anything.

The steadfastness of the Japanese character has been much on display during the aftermath of the recent Tsunami. People all over the world have been filled with admiration for the dignity and manner in which the Japanese nation has endured so much suffering.

We hope that you will enjoy this story which is full of wisdom about how to be the master of yourself in the face of great danger.

Read by Natasha. Adapted by Bertie from various sources. Duration 12.32.

Kindly supported by the Centre for Guided Montessori Studies.

A Samurai warrior is as spiritual as a monk. He is the ruler of of his mind as much as of his body. He trains his spirit through the form of meditation known as zen. He can sit still for hours on end, gradually reducing his thoughts until his sole focus is on his breath. No base passion, fear, discomfort or excitement shall control him even for a single second. He can endure the bitterest cold or the fiercest heat. When faced with death itself, his mind is perfectly still. The odds, the dangers and the enemies may be massively against him and yet his concentration, as sharp as his sword, may cut through them all.

Yes he is a spiritual being indeed. But his spirit is the distilled essence of violence.

But such self control is not confined to the fighters of Japan. The Master of the Japanese Tea ceremony performs his peaceful duties with just the same concentration and focus of attention, as this story from Ancient Japan shows.

Several centuries ago, a tea master worked in the service of Lord Yamanouchi. No-one else performed the way of the tea to such perfection. The timing and the grace of his every move, from the unfurling of mat, to the setting out of the cups, and the sifting of the green leaves, was beauty itself. His master was so pleased with his servant, that he bestowed upon him the rank and robes of a Samurai warrior.

When Lord Yamanouchi travelled, he always took his tea master with him, so that others could appreciate the perfection of his art. On one occasion, he went on business to the great city of Edo, which we now know as Tokyo.

When evening fell, the tea master and his friends set out to explore the pleasure district, known as the floating world. As they turned the corner of a wooden pavement, they found themselves face to face with two Samurai warriors.

The tea master bowed, and politely step into the gutter to let the fearsome ones pass. But although one warrior went by, the other remained rooted to the spot. He stroked a long black whisker that decorated his face, gnarled by the sun, and scarred by the sword. His eyes pierced through the tea maker’s heart like an arrow.

He did not quite know what to make of the fellow who dressed like a fellow Samurai, yet who would willingly step aside into a gutter. What kind of warrior was this? He looked him up and down. Where were broad shoulders and the thick neck of a man of force and muscle? Instinct told him that this was no soldier. He was an impostor who by ignorance or impudence had donned the uniform of a Samurai. He snarled:

“Tell me, oh strange one, where are you from and what is your rank?”

The tea master bowed once more. “It is my honour to serve Lord Yamanouchi and I am his master of the way of the tea.”

“A tea-sprout who dares to wear the robes of Samurai?” exclaimed the rough warrior.

The tea master’s lip trembled. He pressed his hands together and said: “My lord has honoured me with the rank of a Samurai and he requires me to wear these robes. “

The warrior stamped the ground like a raging a bull and exclaimed: “He who wears the robes of a Samurai must fight like a Samurai. I challenge you to a duel. If you die with dignity, you will bring honour to your ancestors. And if you die like a dog, at least you will be no longer insult the rank of the Samurai !”

By now, the hairs on the tea master’s neck were standing on end like the feet of a helpless centipede that has been turned upside down. He imagined he could feel that edge of the Samurai blade against his skin. He thought that his last second on earth had come.

But the corner of the street was no place for a duel with honour. Death is a serious matter, and everything has to be arranged just so. The Samurai’s friend spoke to the tea master’s friends, and gave them the time and the place for the mortal contest.

When the fierce warriors had departed, the tea master’s friends fanned his face and treated his faint nerves with smelling salts. They steadied him as they took him into a nearby place of rest and refreshment. There they assured him that there was no need to fear for his life. Each one of them would give freely of money from his own purse, and they would collect a handsome enough sum to buy the warrior off and make him forget his desire to fight a duel. And if by chance the warrior was not satisfied with the bribe, then surely Lord Yamanouchi would give generously to save his much prized master of the way of the tea.

But these generous words brought no cheer to the tea master. He thought of his family, and his ancestors, and of Lord Yamanouchi himself, and he knew that he must not bring them any reason to be ashamed of him.

“No,” he said with a firmness that surprised his friends. “I have one day and one night to learn how to die with honour, and I will do so.”

And so speaking, he got up and returned alone to the court of Lord Yamanouchi. There he found his equal in rank, the master of fencing, he was skilled as no other in the art of fighting with a sword.

“Master,” he said, when he had explained his tale, “Teach me to die like a Samurai.”

But the master of fencing was a wise man, and he had a great respect for the master of the Tea ceremony. And so he said:

“I will teach you all you require, but first, I ask that you perform the way of the Tea for me one last time.”

The tea master could not refuse this request. As he performed the ceremony, all trace of fear seemed to leave his face. He was serenely concentrated on the simple but beautiful cups and pots, and the delicate aroma of the leaves. There was no room in his mind for anxiety. His thoughts were focused on the ritual.

When the ceremony was complete, the fencing master slapped his thigh and exclaimed with pleasure :

“There you have it. No need to learn anything of the way of death. Your state of mind when you perform the tea ceremony is all that is required. When you see your challenger tomorrow, imagine that you are about to serve tea for him. Salute him courteously, express regret that you could not meet him sooner, take of your coat and fold it as you did just now. Wrap your head in a silken scarf and and do it with the same serenity as you dress for the tea ritual. Draw your sword, and hold it high above your head. Then close your eyes and ready yourself for combat. “

And that is exactly what the tea master did when, the following morning, at the crack of dawn he met his opponent. The Samurai warrior had been expecting a quivering wreck and he was amazed by the tea master’s presence of mind as he prepared himself for combat. The Samurai’s eyes were opened and he saw a different man altogether. He thought he must have fallen victim to some kind of trick or deception ,and now it was he who feared for his life. The warrior bowed, asked to be excused for his rude behaviour, and left the place of combat with as much speed and dignity as he could muster.

And that was the story of the Samurai and the Tea Master. Bertie loves this story because it shows that if you can gain mastery over your mind and spirit, you can overcome almost any difficulty or danger. In fact, the impossible will soon become become possible.

Natasha’s Post Recording Comment

Storynory PCR
Zen and The Faith of The Samurai,

Dear Listeners,

The principals of Zen used by the Samurai soldiers, which formed part of their practice, we can see as the guiding principal for the characters in this story.

The philosophy of Zen was formed by the Japanese into 13 sects and is part of their Northern School of Buddhism. It was adopted by The Japanese in the Confucian era. The Confucian soldier Wang Yang Ming used its principals as part of the basis for his military school in the training of young men to become samurai soldiers. It’s distinctive elements were of use to its art and practice, as follows:

Principals of Zen Philosophy.

It denounces emphasis on scriptural authority and places more importance on the act of mind, body and the spoken word to convey religious truth; providing a good guide for the physical and mental training for the Confucian soldiers.

It holds Buddha as a spiritual model they hope to obtain; someone of an acclaimed position that they worship and follow, useful for Confucian soldiers in learning how to follow the hierarchy of a ruling leader.

It express its religious practice through the act of specific physical actions like the picking up of a sword or the moving of a chair or a loud cry, extremely useful for the precise military act carried out by the soldiers with a characteristic slicing action and ‘ hi ya’ sound of the sword.

These are just some of the aspects of Zen used by the Samurai soldiers and show how it easily became the faith first of the Samurai in the Sung Dynasty between 1358 and 1659. And was hugely influential to men of the military, statesmen and letters.

And further more Zen’s over riding principal; to obtain a harmony of mind, both physical and mental, not to rash or not too calm, not too emotional or unsympathetic not to stressed or relaxed but a balanced equal both of mind and body combined, is one that we westerner’s can still learn from. The Japanese and Chinese are still devoted to Zen Buddhism today and its prominent in their culture.

Our sister site Storynory Japan helps Japanese speakers with English based on our stories.

http://storynory.jp/ 

 
The site is very interesting as Japanese speakers can listen to the audio Stories and follow along with the text and visuals, enjoying the culture of storytelling and learn English at the same time.

In the mean time I do hope you enjoy the far eastern story of The Samurai and The ‘T’ master and the good principals of Zen that it implies.

N*

Sadko lived in the Russian city of Novgorod and was famed for his beautiful singing voice and his skill on the gusli, a wooden instrument shaped like a wing. His music won the favour of Tsar Morskoi, the Lord of the Sea, who brought him great fortune… but his adventures did not end there.

Our recording features the wonderful Gusli playing of Olga Shishkina and we would like to thank Olga for giving us permission to use her lovely music.

The chelo / chamber music is Chanson from Sadko by Rimsky Korsakov (royaltyfreemusic.com)

Read by Elizabeth. Version by Bertie. Duration 16 min.

The ancient city of Novgorod is older than Russia itself. If you visit it now, you can still see its scarred white-washed cathedral, St. Sophia, with its domes that are shaped like the turbans of an Eastern Sultan. The red walls of its Kremlin run up and down the hill, while below flows the broad river Volkva that freezes over in winter.

Many centuries ago, when Yaroslav the Wise was Prince of this holy city, there lived among its people a musician, whose name was Sadko. His nimble fingers plucked the strings of the wing-shaped instrument called a gusli, and those who heard him sing compared his voice to that of Orpheus who charmed open the gates of the Underworld.

Sadko made his living by playing at the wedding celebrations and birthday parties of the wealthy merchants of Novgorod. The merchants were not the finest connoisseurs of music. They paid him with the left-overs of their feasts, or if he was lucky, with coins.

There were occasions when Sadko had no work, no money, and little food. At those times he would seek inspiration for his music from nature. On one such day, he sat by the shore of Lake Ilmen, and sang to himself.

He sang of the loveliness of the lake and compared its blue waters to the eyes of the girl he was yet to meet and marry.

When he had finished his sweet, heartfelt song, he laid down his instrument on the grass. He closed his eyes and felt the sun on his face. A gushing sound caused him to open them again. He stared into the middle of the lake where the water was swirling round into a great whirlpool. The whirling waters began to form the features of a face, wise and old, surrounded by flowing hair and a long beard, surmounted by a tall crown. The face became more and more real until at last Sadko was left in no doubt that he was looking at Tsar Morskoi, the King of the sea. He fell to his knees to honour the apparition. Then the lips of the watery face began to move, and the voice of Tsar Morskoi rose out of the lake.

“We thank you, musician, for delighting our guests below the surface with your performance. We wish to reward you. Listen to this secret, and heed it well. Next time you return to this lake, cast a net three times into the water, and on the third occasion you shall pull out a golden fish. Use this secret wisely, and you shall have a rich reward.”

When he had finished speaking, the waters washed over the apparition and the face shimmered and dissolved into nothing more than a few ripples. Sadko remained kneeling for sometime afterwards, for his legs seemed to have lost all their strength, he was so overcome by what he had seen and heard.

He returned to his garret in the city, wondering whether too much sun had been the cause of the vision. He wearily climbed the steps to the garret that served for his home, fell asleep on his mattress, and dreamed of food. But his fortune did not take long to turn. The following morning, the richest merchant in Novgorod sent his servant to the musician’s door. He invited him to grace a feast with song and story that very evening.

Sadko’s voice and skill had never been on finer form than that night – not that many of the diners took much notice of his artistry as he passed among the diners and sang. For them, one musician was much the same as another. When they had consumed a fair amount of food and drink, the merchants grew more and more boastful, as was their habit. Some bragged of their wealth, some of their fine horses, some of their noble pedigree, others of their beautiful women. At last the host of the feast asked Sadko if he too would like to speak of his greatest pride. Sadko, however, replied.

“I have no money, no horse, no family, no woman that I can boast of. I am but a poor musician. My only possession is my instrument.”

There was contemptuous laughter around the room, and one of the loudest-mouthed merchants said:

“Any cat can sing on a spring evening. Surely you must have something more worthwhile than music to speak of ?”

For a moment, Sadko could not think how to reply, and the laughter grew more uproarious. Then he remembered the words of Tsar Morskoi – Use this secret wisely, and you shall have a rich reward.

“Wait, Wait!” he called out. “I have something which not one of you possess. It’s a fish with fins made of gold that can swim. “

There were calls for him to show this remarkable fish, and when he protested that he could not, for it was still swimming in Lake Ilmen, there was yet more laughter.

“But I speak the truth,” he shouted, not knowing where his courage came from, “I and only I can catch it, and if any of you will join me in a wager, I shall prove it to you tomorrow.”

And because the merchants were in fine spirits, many of them were willing to bet large sums that the musician could not catch the golden fish, even though he himself had nothing to wager in return.”

The following day, towards sunset, Sadko cast his net into Lake Ilmen, and pulled it out empty. The merchants who were watching shrugged their shoulders. He cast the net in a second time, and again pulled it back empty. One or two of the merchants began to walk away. Sadko cast his net a third time, and now, just as the Tsar of Sea had foretold, he pulled out a fish with golden fins.

That was the moment that Sadko made his fortune. The merchants may have been a boastful lot, and they may not have been all that cultured, but a merchant of Novgorod was as good as his word. Sadko had won the bet, and they paid up handsomely.

And now he had made it good, the musician became a merchant. He moved into a fine villa. He married a beautiful woman. And his ships sailed the seas carrying his goods. Some time later, he travelled abroad on a business trip. As he was crossing the sea, a wild storm tossed his ship on the waves. Even the captain of the ship was white with fear.

“Tsar Morskoi is angry, and he will sink us unless we give him a offering,” he declared. The rich men on board threw gold and jewels into the water, but it did nothing to appease the sea god. As he slid from one side of the ship to the other, Sadko realised that it was he whom the Tsar Morskoi wanted. Not once since he had become a rich man had he returned to the shores of Lake Ilmen to play for his benefactor. In fact he had given up music almost altogether and carried his gusli round with him, more as a lucky charm than an instrument! …..And now all those on board would drown because of his ingratitude. In a moment of remorse and anger with himself, Sadko leaped over the side of the ship holding his gusli in his hand, and sank beneath the waves.

All was calm below the surface of the sea, and deep down at the bottom, Sadko found himself before the throne of Tsar Morskoi, and all around the coral reef swam his eleven daughters. He began to play his gusli, because he was certain that was the reason he had been summoned to this under-water palace. The Tsar floated up from his throne and began to dance, looking like a giant octopus. When the merriment was at an end, the Tsar invited Sadko to choose one of his lovely daughters to marry. He thought of his wife, back on the dry land, and was reluctant to choose – but one of the daughters whispered to him

“Pick me, and I will show you the way home.”

And as she was no less lovely than any of the others he indicated that he wished to marry her.

“A good choice,” exclaimed the Tsar. “This daughter of mine is the River Volkva that flows by your home.”

And later that night, in Novgorod a young boy found the body of Sadko washed up on the river bank. His gusli was still strapped to his back. At first he thought that the man was drowned, but then he belched up river water, and the boy called for help. Sadko revived and returned to his home and family, and from then on, he never neglected to play his gusli for the Tsar of the Sea.

We present a Magical and Musical Story for the Christmas Holiday Season (or any time of year when you feel like some music and romance).

The story is based on the ballet by Tchaikovsky. We have incidental music from the ballet, but the highlight is a Swan Lake song specially written and recorded for this production. All this and two stunning original pictures. We have a few more credits than usual:

Song sung and arranged by Gabriella Burnel.
Song recorded and produced by Auburn Jam
Original Pictures by Sophie Green
Orchestral Music by Partners in Rhyme
Audio hosted by SoundCloud.
Story read by Elizabeth Donnelly
Story and Lyrics by Bertie.

If you like this story, you might also enjoy, A Christmas Nutcracker and Sadie’s Broken Heart – the latter is rather loosely based on Swan Lake.

A voice exclaimed, “Ah, here he comes,”

And the Queen, who was greeting her guests on the terrace of the palace, looked up with some relief, and saw her son, arriving on horseback, late for his own birthday celebration. By the gate of the garden he dismounted with arrogant agility, before springing up the steps on his long legs.

Many of the guests were gathered on the lawns before the palace. The royal and noble families of all Europe were well represented. And there was a particularly plentiful supply of pretty princesses of marriageable age. Now the message went around:

“He’s here, he’s arrived,”

All eyes were trained on the terrace, where the Queen was presenting her son with his birthday gift. It was a crossbow with a silver handle that was intricately engraved with scenes of wild birds, hares, deer, and other game. There was polite applause, as Prince Siegfried slung the hunting weapon across his shoulder by its leather strap. He still wore the gift while he did his duty and mingled with the guests.

The Prince had to find a handful of polite words for each and every guest. He found it somewhat trying at the best of times to make courtly small talk, and each time he was presented with a blushing princess, he could not help but feel irritated. He knew perfectly well what everyone, especially his mother, expected him to do. He was supposed to pick a Princess for his bride.

That evening, he was greeted by mouths that were toothy and grinning, others that were delicate and demure, and still others that were luscious and red. He could choose from eyes that were feline green, chocolate brown, sky blue, or owl grey. There certainly was no shortage of princesses in all shapes sizes and complexions. But the whole situation seemed to him quite unbearable. Even a prince cannot be pressured into falling in love right on cue. As darkness fell, he slipped away from the crowd and retrieved his horse. By the time his birthday fireworks were lighting up the sky, he had reached the edge of the forest.

Very little light from the stars of the moon came through the canopy of trees, but he and his horse knew the track well. They trod carefully, but he may have taken a different turning from usual, because he soon came across an unfamiliar clearing in the forrest, which, as he soon found, opened up onto a lake. The Prince sat down on a tree stump not far from the water’s edge and listened to the gentle lapping of the waves. His thumb stroked the silver handle of his crossbow. When a group of swans came gliding across the moonlit water, he recalled that swans are said to mate for life. That, he thought, is because their love is natural and sincere. No-one tells a swan when he or she is supposed to marry.

One of the swans rose out of the water onto the bank ,where she stretched her long neck and flapped her wings. Prince Siegfried raised his crossbow and took aim. His finger felt the trigger, but although hunting was one of the keenest pleasures of his gilded life, he could not bring himself to shoot a creature so peaceful and beautiful. He lowered the weapon and put it on the mossy ground beside him. As he did so, his eyes grew a little misty.

“Dash it. Not tears,” he thought. His finger wiped away a salty drop from the corner of his eye. Now he saw that that a star was shining directly onto the swan. But she was no longer quite a swan. Her feathers were fading, and she was undergoing some sort of magical moonlit transformation. He stood up and walked towards the remarkable vision. By the time he reached the spot where she stood, she was more woman than a swan, and then she fell gently backwards into his arms.

Song

Night
Falls upon the secret lake 
I wake
More woman than a swan

I
Dance upon my pointed toes
I pose
More woman than a swan

This lake of tears 
Sees me lift my chin
Sees me stretch my wing
Knows the hopes I cling 

These slender reeds 
See me twirl  around 
See me stroke the ground  
See me  fly unbound 

You
Chance upon my lonely lake
You take
The arrow from my heart 

We
Dance upon the moonlit stream
We seem
Quite destined for this part

This dawn of hope
Sees us form a pair
Sees us tour the air
Sees us bound to share

These skies of fire 
See you lift me high
See us soar and fly

See us turn into one
At light I’m gone
Back to a swan
woman no more

Magician condition enchanted
Only love that is loyal can grant it

Romantic quite frantic  I sigh
For love that is sudden can lie;

Can lie, can sigh, can die.

Light
Falls upon the secret lake 

Less
Woman than a
Woman than a
Swan

When the young prince returned to the castle, he was a different man from the one who had set out the night before, because now he knew what it meant to be in love with the mysterious and magical creature known as a woman. But this woman was even more elusive than most. At first light she had transformed back into a swan, and he had caressed her feathery neck before she returned to the cold waters of the lake.

Naturally he believed that their love was a secret. Little did he know, that one of the guests, Prince von Rothbart, had followed him to the lake, and had overseen his liaison with the Swan Princess. Von Rothbart was a master of the dark arts of sorcery. It was his magic that willed Prince Siegfried to aim his crossbow at the breast of the swan, but, on that occasion, the power of beauty overcame the evil spell before any harm was done. Now Von Rothbart was angry. He was afraid that Princess Odette – for that was who the swan really was – had found her true love. Love would smash the spell that he had used against Odette when he had imprisoned her inside the feathers of a swan. She could soon be free. A woman once more.

The following evening the champagne flowed and the orchestra poured out music for the guests at the castle. The grand ball, the climax of the birthday celebrations, was to be a magnificent spectator sport for the older generation. All eyes were following Prince Siegfried to see who he would invite to dance with him, and which pair of pretty feet would be most in step with his own. Those guests with daughters were than just passingly interested in the outcome. And none more so than Prince von Rothbart, for it was his plan that Siegfried should marry none other than his own daughter, Princess Odile. He did not believe in leaving a matter of such great importance to chance, let alone to the uncertainties of the heart. Before the ball began, he cast a spell on Odile to make her as alike in appearance to Princess Odette as his magic could manage.

Odile did not have long to wait for her invitation to dance, not just once but twice, and then thrice… four, five, six times. The onlookers were in no doubt that Prince had made his choice for the girl with a perfectly oval face elegantly balanced on a long neck, who held herself so perfectly, whose arms were so expressive, and who danced so lightly on her toes.

Von Rothbart congratulated himself. His connection by marriage to the royal family was all but in the bag. In fact, the only person in the ballroom who harboured any doubts was Prince Siegfried himself. He had seen his Princess only once before, and by moonlight. For sure, the way Odile looked and moved was perfection, but he could no longer feel the magic current of energy between them. Each time he asked her to dance, he was hoping to rediscover the enchantment that he had felt the previous evening. Was it her who was different, he wondered, or himself, or perhaps the situation with the crowd of onlookers?

Only when he had danced five times with her did be begin to realise that his commitment was growing all too publicly. In the satisfied eyes of his mother he was all but engaged. To back away now would cause talk, perhaps a minor scandal. The Queen would be far from pleased. And so he asked Odile to dance a sixth time. Now at last he did recognize the look in her eyes. He knew it too well. It was the satisfaction of a hunter who has shot and bagged a catch. At that moment he looked up, and saw, standing on the balcony, Princess Odette. The music played on. He could not stop the dance. Every beat seemed to last a tortuous eternity. Every step was weighed down by an iron ball chained to his ankle – or so he felt. And yet, for the sake of decorum, he must dance to the last bar. As soon as he was free from the arms of Princess Odile, he bowed, and backed away towards the door. He ran out of the castle and heard the clamorous wings of a swan, wheeling through the night sky for the forrest. He leapt onto his horse and pursued her to the lake. There he saw her land on the water, skidding on her feet before her. “Odette, Odette,” he called out. The swan turned her head toward him and then swam away into the shadows. The Prince waded into the water and swam after her. When he reached her they were both on the other side of life, where they are now together, for all eternity.

Words and Lyrics by Hugh Fraser aka Bertie 2010

Sherehezade is married to the Sultan. All his many previous brides have been beheaded the morning after their wedding. Her plan to stay alive is to keep the terrible tyrant amused with stories, always leaving him wanting more.

Her first story is an amusing tale which she heard from her father. It tells of a crafty donkey who advises a bull how to avoid work. He does not realise that their master can understand the speech of animals and will outwit him. But there is a twist to the tale. The master’s wife demands to know what the animals have said, but he cannot tell her or else he will die.

Bertie has adapted this story from the rather racy, x-rated (and no doubt true to the original), translation of the 1001 nights by the famous Victorian explorer, Richard Burton. We try to keep the spirit of the original as much as possible – and in fact we think this is much closer than most children’s versions out there – but there’s a lot in the 1001 Nights that just wouldn’t quite do for a children’s site.

Read by Elizabeth. Duration 19.30. Adaptation by Bertie.

Praise be to Allah, Sherehezade is married to the Sultan Sharyar. All the many brides of the sultan, who came before her have been put to death on the first morning of their marriage. It is late in the night, and the dawn is but a few hours away. The newly weds cannot sleep, and Sherehezade begins to tell her husband a story.

There was once a merchant who was rich in cattle and camels. He lived in the country with his wife and family and devoted himself to farming. Now, Allah in his wisdom had given him the power to understand the speech of all kinds of animals and birds. But this great gift came with a condition: he must not tell any human being what he heard the animals to say or he would surely die on the spot.

One evening he was sitting by the stables while he watched his children playing in the hay, when he heard his bull talking in his deep lowing voice:

“Oh donkey, ” he was saying to his fellow animal, “How come you have the best barley, the freshest water, and the easiest life? You stay here in doors all day while the men wait upon you like servants, sweeping your stall, and brushing your coat until it shines. But as for me, they lead me out to work at the call of the dawn prayer. The men make me wear a thing called a yoke around my shoulders and it is heavy and uncomfortable. They crack whips over my back and force me to pull the plough through the fields from morning to sunset. My life is nothing but toil and trouble. But your duties are light and pleasant. Once every two weeks, you carry the master to the market on your back. He is not fat, and the burden is not great, and on the way he learns to like you and appreciate you. Your life is so much better than mine. Dear donkey, pray do help me. Tell me how I can live like you?”

You can imagine how the merchant was intrigued by this conversation, and how he tuned in his ears in to make sure that he did not miss a word. He heard the donkey laugh with a great Eeeee-ore! and reply to the bull:

“Why you big old fool ! You are ten times as strong as I am, and yet you let the humans treat you without any respect for your superior force . Don’t you have any sense ? Do your horns grow inside your head where your brains should be? Listen to your wiser and better brother, and your problems shall be done and dusted. Do not show willingness for work, or of course the men will take advantage of you. When they come in the morning, and try to place the thing called a yoke over your neck, toss your head. When they try to drive you out to the fields, lie down in your manger and refuse to move. They cannot make a great hulk like you even budge and inch if you do not wish it. Bellow like you are angry or ill. They will soon get the message and leave you alone.”

The merchant heard all the words of the donkey, and he was curious to see whether the bull would head his advice. It was therefore not entirely surprising to him when, the next morning, the steward came to him, looking anxious and worried and and said:

“Sir, something has got into the bull. Perhaps it is a demon, or perhaps he is ill. When we try to put the yoke on his neck, he tosses his head so that we cannot manage it. When we try to drive him out of the stall, he bellows at us and paws the ground with his front leg. And now, finally, he is lying down in the straw. What are we to do sir? We cannot force the bull to go out into the fields if he does not wish it. He is far to big and strong.”

The merchant understood only to well what was wrong with the bull. He was not ill, and no demon had bedevilled him. All that had happened was that he was following the advice of his friend the donkey. The merchant had already decided what must be done. He would teach the donkey a lesson. He said to his steward:

“If the bull does not wish to work, then let him take a well earned rest. Put the yoke on the donkey, and make him plough the fields today, for it is only fair that he takes his share of the hard work.”

And following their master’s orders, the men placed the yoke over the shoulders of the donkey, and they dragged him out to the fields. When he stubbornly dug his heels into the ground, they cracked whips over his back. He had no choice but to pull the heavy plough through the earth all day, even though the sun was hot, and his mouth was dry. When at last he came back to his stall in the evening, his legs were weak and and his whole body was weary. He saw the bull lying down in clean straw, looking rested and happy. Indeed the bull welcomed him home cheerily saying:

“My true friend, the kind and wonderful donkey, I have done exactly as you advised me, and today I have enjoyed rest, water, and good food. I thank you from the bottom of my bull’s heart for your words of wisdom. “

But the donkey had little to say just then. He was unusually quiet beacuse he was so weary. He took a long drink of water and lay down in his hay, utterly exhausted by his day’s work.

When the morning came, the merchant rose early for he wanted to see how his animals had fared. He peeped in through the window of the stables and he saw that the the bull was swishing his tale happily. They donkey was still lying down in his straw, feeling less than his best. The bull was saying:

“I am so looking forward to another day’s rest. When the men come for me, I shall again toss my head, paw the ground, and bellow with my great voice. Then I shall lie down and they will not be able to lead me out to work.”

As the donkey stood up, he felt that his legs were still shaky from the previous day’s toil in the fields. When he heard the bull’s plans to stay at home, he reflected: “Oh foolish me! I am not half as clever as I thought. I gave the bull good advice, but I did not foresee how it would rebound on me and how I would pay for it. Now I must play a trick on him, or I shall suffer once more.”

And so now he said to the bull:

“My friend, I have advised you well once, and now I shall advise you again. When the men come today, do not toss your head and refuse to take the yoke. Nor should you bellow with rage or lie down in your straw, if you care for your life. For yesterday, I heard the merchant speaking to his steward. He gave orders that if the bull does not work, he should take him to the butcher and make meat for the poor people, and leather for shoes and saddles.”

The bull thanked the donkey for once again giving him wise advice, and when the men came to fetch him from the stall, he willingly took the yoke and went out to the fields for his day’s work.

The merchant saw all that had happened, and all day long he was laughing and smiling to himself whenever he thought of the trick that he had played on the donkey.

Now the merchant had a wife, whom he had been married to for many years, and whom he loved dearly. She did not fail to notice that he was smiling to himself all day, and she asked him the reason. He said:

“My beloved, I am laughing at a conversation that I overheard between the animals, but I cannot tell it to you for I will surely die on the spot. Long ago, I prayed to Allah that I should understand the speech of all kinds of creatures, and in return for this favour I offered that if ever I should ever betray what I heard to another human soul, then I should die immediately.”

The merchant’s wife only grew more curious when she heard this reply, and demanded more and more vehemently that he should tell her what he had heard the animals say and that she should share in his amusement.

“But I shall surely die if I tell you !” he protested.

“Nonsense! There can be no secrets between man and wife. I shall leave you if you do not tell me! “ she replied.

The argument went on so long that the merchant could bear her sulking no longer. He sat down to write his will and worked with his steward to make sure that all his affairs were in order and his debts were paid before he died. Then he called all his family and his servants to a meeting and told them of his decision:

“This evening I shall relate to my wife what I heard of the conversation between the bull and the donkey, and then I must surely die. And therefore this is my last farewell. May Allah be praised and always be with you.”

And so saying, he went about the family and servants distributing small gifts so that the would remember him well.

Now when Sherehezade reached this part of the story, she said to the Sultan:

“But great one, I must halt my tale, for the sunlight is at our window and it is time to rise and meet whatever the day holds in store for us,”

And the Sultan, who had been listening very intently to the tale, and was greatly amused by it, was anxious to hear what happened next. Would the merchant really tell his wife what had happened, and die on the spot? He begged Sherehezade to finish the tale, but the call to Prayer was already echoing around the rooftops of the palace, and the maids were busy sweeping the courtyards.

The wise and lovely woman stroked the Sultan’s head, and said, “If it so pleases you, great master, I shall finish telling the tale this following night.”

And as the Sultan so wanted to know the end of the story, he gladly agreed to her suggestion, and Sherehezade lived through that day as his queen. The following night, she continued her story of the merchant:

All of the merchant’s household was in tears and even the dogs got to hear of the terrible news and began to howl. Only the cockerel strutted about the farm looking as proud and as pleased with himself as usual. He made his call to the hens:

“Cock-a-doo-dool-do!! “

The behaviour of the cockerel angered the farm dogs who said :

“Why do you make merry when we are in mourning for the master? Have you not heard that he is about to die? Do you not have any respect for him?”

And the proud cockerel replied:

“I am not sorry for the master. I have 50 wives and he has but one. He should understand better how to behave with his wife.”

And it so happened that the merchant, was sitting in his study overlooking the farmyard , and when he overheard this conversation, he felt ashamed that he had given in to despair and not handled the situation better. He thought to himself:

“I am shrewd in business, and know all there is to know about farming, but in my own home I am like a fool, and understand nothing of diplomacy. I must be as cunning as…. as the donkey.”

And with new hope in his heart, he went to his wife’s room, and knocked softly on the door: His wife’s voice called out from within:

“Are you now ready to tell me what you heard the animals say that was so amusing?”

And the merchant replied that he was ready, and he came into the room:

“My dear, it is all very simple,” he explained. “The bull spoke like this:”

“LOWWWWWW!”

and the donkey replied like this

“EEEE-AWWWW!

And then the dogs said

“AOWWWWWW!”

and the cockerel said

“Cock-a-doodle-do!”

And when she heard her husband speak like this, the wife laughed so much that she forgot her anger and was happy.

And that was the very first story of the 1001 Nights that Sherehezade told to the Sultan, enchanting and amusing the cruel tyrant with her words and in so doing softening his heart. When she had finished the tale, her sister, Dunyazad, who shared the room with them spoke up and said:

“Your excellence, do you wish my sister to tell you another tale? For she has a great many others , some even more wonderful than this one.

And the Sultan who was not sleepy, said that he would gladly hear another tale, if it was as entertaining as the one they had just heard, and so Sherehezade began the second story of the 1001 nights.

But if you would like to hear it, you will have to come back another time to Storynory.com. We do of course have many stories on the site,including classic stories, adaptations and originals, all of which you can download for free.

This Jewish tale is wise, witty, and very ancient.

The story comes from the Talmud and has been very lightly adapted by Bertie.

Read by Natasha. Duration 7.25

In Roman times, The Emperor Hadrian, was riding with his army through Galilee. As he passed down a lane, he noticed a very old man planting a fig tree in his garden, The Emperor ordered a solider to bring the ancient gardener before him. He then spoke to him as follows:

“Old man, why are you planting that tree? The time to plant it was in your youth, to bear you fruit for your old age. It’s too late now. At this stage of life, you can’t hope to live to taste the fruit from it.”

The old man bowed before the Emperor as best as his back would let him, and answered:

“In my youth I worked, and I still work. With God’s good pleasure I may yet try the fruit of this tree, I plant. I am in His hands.”

“Tell me your age,” said the emperor.

“I have lived for a hundred years.”

“A hundred years old, and you still expect to eat from the fruit of this tree?”

“If such be God’s pleasure,” replied the old man; “if not, I will leave it for my son, as my father left the fruit of his labour for me.”

“Well,” said the emperor, “if you live until the figs from this tree are ripe, I pray you, let me know of it.”

Ten years went by, the tree bore fruit, and the old man enjoyed its figs for his breakfast. As it so happened, the Emperor was again visiting Galilee. The old man resolved to visit him. He took a small basket, filled it with the choicest figs from the tree, and made his way to the palace. At the gate, he told the guard his purpose, and after some time, he was admitted into the presence of the Emperor.

Again he bowed as deeply as his old back would permit him, and said:

“ Ten years ago, you saw an old man planting a fig tree. You said to him ‘If you live to eat its fruit, I pray you let me know;’ and behold I that same old man. I have come and brought you the fruit of that tree so that you may also taste it.”

The Emperor was very much pleased to see that the old man had lived to enjoy his the fruit of his labours. He emptied the man’s basket of its figs, and he ordered it to be filled with gold coins.

When the old man had departed, the courtiers said to the Emperor:

“You Excellence, Why did you so honour this old Jew?”

“Heaven has honoured him, so why not I?” replied the emperor.

Now next door to this old man there lived a crafty woman. When she heard of her neighbour’s good fortune, she was filled with envy. She thought her husband should try his luck in the same quarter. She filled an immense basket with figs, placed it on his shoulder, and said, “Now carry it to the emperor; he loves figs and will fill your basket with golden coins.”

When her husband approached the gates of the palace, he told his errand to the guards, saying, “I brought these figs to the Emperor.”

When this was told to the Emperor, he ordered the man to stand in the hallway of the palace, and all who passed pelted him with his figs. He returned home to his wife, sore and crestfallen.

She looked at her poor bruised husband, and at last she chuckled and said:

“Never you mind, you should look on the bright side. If had they been coconuts instead of figs you would have suffered harder knocks.”

This ancient Jewish story inspired Mary Shelly’s Frankenstein, and is creepy enough for us to rank it a “Halloween Story”. But don’t worry, in this version (written for children in 1911 by “Aunt Naomi“) he isn’t too terrifying.

The “golem” is a creature created by a rabbi of the city of Prague (these days the capital of Czech Republic). In real life the hero of the story, Rabbi Lion, was Loew ben Bezalel, the late 16th century Chief Rabbi of Prague, (Leow meaning “Lion”). The idea of a “golem” has biblical origins. Adam was an unshaped “golem” made of dust before he became a man.

We would like to thank our sponsor, therel=”nofollow” href=”http://guidedstudies.com”>Center for Guided Montessori Studies.

Read by Elizabeth. Duration 13.21

Rabbi Lion, of the ancient city of Prague, sat in his study in the Ghetto. Through the window he could see the River Moldau with the narrow streets of the Jewish quarter clustered around the cemetery, which still stands today, and where is to be seen this famous man’s tomb. Beyond the Ghetto rose the towers and spires of the city. He had a problem on his mind. He was unable to find a servant, even one to attend the fire on the Sabbath for him.

The truth was that the people were a little afraid of the Rabbi. He was a very learned man, wise and studious, and a scientist; and because he did wonderful things people called him a magician. His experiments in chemistry frightened them. Late at nights they saw little spurts of blue and red flame shine from his window, and they said that demons and witches came at his beck and call. So nobody would enter his service.

“If, as they declare, I am truly a magician,” he said to himself, “why should I not make for myself a servant, one that will tend the fire for me on the Sabbath?”

He set to work on his novel idea and in a few weeks had completed his mechanical creature, a woman. She looked like a big, strong, laboring woman, and the Rabbi was greatly pleased with his handiwork.

“Now to endow it with life,” he said.

Carefully, in the silence of his mysterious study at midnight, he wrote out the Unpronounceable Sacred Name of God on a piece of parchment. Then he rolled it up and placed it in the mouth of the creature.

Immediately it sprang up and began to move like a living thing. It rolled its eyes, waved its arms, and nearly walked through the window. In alarm, Rabbi Lion snatched the parchment from its mouth and the creature fell helpless to the floor.

“I must be careful,” said the Rabbi. “It is a wonderful machine with its many springs and screws and levers, and will be most useful to me as soon as I learn to control it properly.”

All the people marvelled when they saw the Rabbi’s machine-woman running errands and doing many duties, controlled only by his thoughts. She could do everything but speak, and Rabbi Lion discovered that he must take the Name from her mouth before he went to sleep. Otherwise, she might do mischief.

One cold Sabbath afternoon, the rabbi was preaching in the synagogue and the little children stood outside his house looking at the machine-woman seated by the window. When they rolled their eyes she did too, and at last they shouted: “Come and play with us.”

She promptly jumped through the window and stood among the boys and girls.

“We are cold,” said one. “Canst thou make a fire for us?”

The creature was made to obey orders, so she at once collected sticks and lit a fire in the street. Then, with the children, she danced round the blaze in great glee. She piled on all the sticks and old barrels she could find, and soon the fire spread and caught a house. The children ran away in fear while the fire blazed so furiously that the whole town became alarmed. Before the flames could be extinguished, a number of houses had been burnt down and much damage done. The creature could not be found, and only when the parchment with the Name, which could not burn, was discovered amid the ashes, was it known that she had been destroyed in the conflagration.

The Council of the city was indignant when it learned of the strange occurrence, and Rabbi Lion was summoned to appear before King Rudolf.

“What is this I hear,” asked his majesty. “Is it not a sin to make a living creature?”

“It had no life but that which the Sacred Name gave it,” replied the Rabbi.

“I understand it not,” said the king. “Thou wilt be imprisoned and must make another creature, so that I may see it for myself. If it is as thou sayest, thy life shall be spared. If not–if, in truth, thou profanest God’s sacred law and makest a living thing, thou shalt die and all thy people shall be expelled from this city.”

Rabbi Lion at once set to work, and made a man, much bigger than the woman that had been burned.

“As your Majesty sees,” said the rabbi, when his task was completed, “it is but a creature of wood and glue with springs at the joints. Now observe,” and he put the Sacred Name in its mouth.

Slowly the creature rose to its feet and saluted the monarch who was so delighted that he cried: “Give him to me, Rabbi.”

“That cannot be,” said Rabbi Lion, solemnly. “The Sacred Name must not pass from my possession. Otherwise the creature may do great damage again. This time I shall take care and will not use the man on the Sabbath.”

The king saw the wisdom of this, set the Rabbi at liberty and allowed him to take the creature to his house. The Jews looked on in wonderment when they saw the creature walking along the street by the side of Rabbi Lion, but the children ran away in fear, crying: “The bogey-man.”

The Rabbi exercised caution with his bogey-man this time, and every Friday, just before Sabbath commenced, he took the name from its mouth so as to render it powerless.

It became more wonderful every day, and one evening it startled the Rabbi from a doze by beginning to speak.

“I want to be a soldier,” it said, “and fight for the king. I belong to the king. You made me for him.”

“Silence,” cried Rabbi Lion, and it had to obey. “I like not this,” said the rabbi to himself. “This monster must not become my master, or it may destroy me and perhaps all the Jews.”

He could not help but wonder whether the King was right and that it must be a sin to create a man. The creature not only spoke, but grew surly and disobedient, and yet the Rabbi hesitated to break it up, for it was most useful to him. It did all his cooking, washing and cleaning, and three servants could not have performed the work so neatly and quickly.

One Friday afternoon when the Rabbi was preparing to go to the synagogue, he heard a loud noise in the street.

“Come quickly,” the people shouted at his door. “Your bogey-man is trying to get into the synagogue.”

Rabbi Lion rushed out in a state of alarm. The monster had slipped from the house and was battering down the door of the synagogue.

“What art thou doing?” demanded the rabbi, sternly.

“Trying to get into the synagogue to destroy the scrolls of the Holy Law,” answered the monster. “Then wilt thou have no power over me, and I shall make a great army of bogey-men who shall fight for the King.”

“I will kill thee first,” exclaimed Rabbi Lion, and springing forward he snatched the parchment with the Name so quickly from the creature’s mouth that it collapsed at his feet a mass of broken springs and pieces of wood and glue.

For many years afterward these pieces were shown to visitors in the attic of the synagogue when the story was told of the Rabbi’s bogey-man.

Aesop wasn’t the only teacher to compose short animal stories with morals. The Indian book, the Panchatantra, is also full of wise fables. This one about a tortoise explains why it’s wise to think before you open your mouth to speak. It’s framed by a little story about the King of Banaras, the Indian city which these days is known as Varanasi.

Read by Elizabeth. Length 10.23. Text adaptation by Bertie.

Kindly sponsored by Center for Guided Montessori Studies

It has been said that the city of Banaras is older than history. It stands on either side of the sacred River Ganges, which the Hindus believe to be the divine essence of Lord Shiva. Its holy streets are crowded with pilgrims, and wherever you look there is a temple or a shrine.

Many centuries ago, there was once a King of Banaras who loved nothing better than the sound of his own voice. He had lived a long time, seen many things, read many books, and met many fascinating people. But his thoughts rambled, and his speech was never brief. If one of his generals asked him about some military matter, he would begin, “What would the great Alexander do? When I met the invincible one 35 years ago, he told me that an army marches on its stomach,” and then would launch into an anecdote of little consequence. By the time he had finished telling the story, he had forgotten what the question was in the first place.

Or when the cook consulted him, he would tell tales about the great banquets of his youth. Or when a poor man came to beg for justice in a dispute over a field, he would talk about the wisdom of the great law-maker Solon.

One day, when the king was walking in the garden of his palace, he found a tortoise lying on the path. The poor creature was dead. Its shell was smashed into several pieces. He was puzzled by this strange discovery, for he was certain that it was a sign from the gods, but his mind struggled to think what the meaning of it might be. At last, he called the oldest and wisest holy man in the City of Banaras, and asked him to interpret. On seeing the smashed tortoise, the sage recounted the following tale.

Master. There was once a tortoise who lived by the side of a beautiful lake. He spent his days shaded by the long grass, and nibbling on the juicy weeds. But one year the rains failed to fall in season. The sun baked the land into hard clay. The water in the lake dried first into puddles, and then disappeared altogether The animals that came there in search of a drink were reduced to skin and bones, and tottered away on weak legs.

Now, this tortoise was on friendly terms with some of the geese of the lake. One day, a friendly pair of these birds came to wish him farewell, for their flock was planning to migrate to the Himalayas in search of water and fresh grass.

“And what will become of me?” asked the tortoise, “For I am 100 years old, and my shell is heavy, and my legs are short. If I plodded all day I would reach no further than that boulder that you see over there. I must stay here until I am all dried up.”

The two geese took pity on the old tortoise and they agreed to help him. This was the plan: they would hold a stick between them as they flew. The tortoise must hold on to the stick with his mouth – and in this unusual way they would transport him to cooler and wetter climes.

And so that was how the tortoise found himself flying through the skies. It was a most unusual feeling and he felt quite air sick . The other geese in the flock thought that the sight was hilarious.

“Hey look,” said one, “I’ve seen everything now. A tortoise has grown wings”.

“No he’s hasn’t,” said another, “He’s chewing on a stick because he’s hungry.”

“I’m sure he would fly better if he left his heavy shell behind,” remarked a third.

And so the comments continued, because the geese had nothing better to talk about than the tortoise and his unusual mode of transport. Eventually the tortoise could stand it no more:

“See here,” he said, “Do you think I’m enjoying this?”

And that, of course, was when he opened his mouth, let go of the stick, and started to fall. And he fell, and he fell, and fell, until he hit the ground, my Lord, here in the garden of your palace.

That was the end of his tale. In reply, the King began to talk at length about the hibernation of tortoises. The sage listened patiently, understanding that the King had not yet understood the message of his story. When the opportunity arose to speak politely to the sovereign without interrupting him, he walked once again around the body of the tortoise and said these lines:

And now, O mighty master, mark it well.
See thou speak wisely, see thou speak in season.
To death the Tortoise fell:
He talked too much: that was the reason.

And at last the King did understand that the gods had sent him a sign. From then on, he was careful to make sure that he used his words concisely and to the point.

And that was the story of the Tortoise and the Geese. And Bertie’s asked me to tell you a little bit about the origin of this story. Animal fables are some of the oldest stories in the world, and have long been used as a way to teach morals and wisdom. This story was written down in Sanscrit language over 2000 years ago in a book of fables called the Panchatantra, or the five Principles. According to legend, a King in Southern India appointed a wise man called Vishnu Sarma to educate his three sons, whom he considered to be rather stupid. Vishnu Sarma used short stories about animals to impart wisdom to the princes. A few of his tales are very similar to those written by the Greek story-teller, Aesop, about 300 years earlier. And another famous collector of animal stories, Jean La Fontaine, who wrote in France in the 17th Century, took many of his stories both from the Panchatantra and from Aesop. Bertie believes that this goes to show that the best stories have always connected people from around the world , hundreds, in fact, thousands of years before anyone had even dreamed of the internet.

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If you like sweet love stories, you will love this tale of the Cherokee Indians. The first man and the first woman quarrel, and the sun reunites them with a very special gift. Perhaps the relationship in this story shows that some things never change.

Natasha dedicates this story to Zed, Matthew, Bugsy and their families in California, and thanks them for their kindness and hospitality while she was in LA for the National Story Telling Conference.

Read by Natasha. Text adaptation by Bertie. Duration 5.18.

At the dawn of time, the first man and the first woman set up their home together by the side of a great broad river. They had everything they needed for a blissful life: fruit, and berries, meat and fish, plenty of wood and fresh water, and, of course, each other. They lived as happily as any man and woman have ever lived together, until they began to quarrel.

First it was the small things, like “Why didn’t you cook this?” and “Why didn’t you tidy that?” But then the insults, and a few wooden plates and bowls, began to fly.

The first woman was so upset that she decided to leave the first man. At the break of day, while he was still asleep, she set off down the valley, heading towards the rising sun. She walked and walked, always looking straight ahead of her, and not once turning back.

When the first man woke up and saw that she was gone, he waited for her to come back. She did not come back. He found her tracks along the valley, but she had a long head-start on him, and she did not stop or look round.

The sun was now high in the great blue sky. It looked down upon the first man, as he followed after the first woman, and it saw that there was sadness on the face of an otherwise pristine and perfect world.

And the sun asked the man if he was still angry with his wife.

He said that he was not angry with her.

The sun asked if he would like to have her back.

He said that he would like to have her back.

And the sun took pity on the first man, and decided to help him. His gentle rays touched the ground along the woman’s path, and a huckleberry bush sprang up. Its fruit was shiny and enticing, but as she passed her eyes remained fixed on the distance, and she did not see the berries.

And so the sun shone again on the ground up ahead of the woman. And he caused a clump of blackberries to grow up beside her path. She refused to even glance at them.

And then the sun thought that he must create something entirely new: something so vivid, fragrant, and delicious, that even the first woman would not fail to take notice of them in her resolute and unhappy mood.

And so he blessed the ground again with his rays, and the first patch of strawberries spread over the ground. Their sweet scent filled the woman’s senses, and her mood became lighter. She began to look around her, and she saw the bright red fruit hiding beneath he leaves. It looked so enticing that she picked one and tried it. She tasted the strawberry on her tongue, and she began to remember the happiness she knew when she first set up home with her husband. She found she no longer felt the pressing desire to leave him. She sat down on the ground and wondered what she must do. And then at last the first woman stood up and started to walk once again, to the West, and back to the first man.

And that was the story of the First Strawberries, and of course, of the first man and woman. It’s funny how so little changes.

It takes insight to understand the suffering of wild or strange creatures.

The hero of this tale is a boy who takes pity on a Wild Man kept in a cage in the courtyard of a castle. He risks his life to set him free, only to meet him later on, alone, in the woods.

This story has been told many times, in slightly different ways. The Brothers Grimm called their version “Iron Hans” and and Andrew Lang called his “The Hairy Man”. This is Bertie’s version, which follows the original plot, but which puts a little more emphasis on the themes – such as the indignity of the captive Wild Man, and the boy’s initial panic at the moment of success.

Read by Elizabeth. Version by Bertie. Duration 18.43.

There are many curious things in nature, and outside it. Take for example the Wild Man of this story – the scientists said he was a relic of a past age, the soothsayers that he was the creation of an evil wizard, but the peasants saw him simply as a devil. He was kept in the courtyard of the Prince’s castle. The people from the towns and villages around about came to see him. Some bad boys prodded him through the bars of his cage with sticks, but the wild man was no longer ferocious. He sat in a daze, with his back straight, and his great hairy arms hanging by his side. He did not even snarl, as he used to, he merely grunted when he was particularly bothered by flies or fleas, or the poking of sticks. One or two ladies of the court remarked how strange it was that his dark, deep-set eyes seemed almost thoughtful at times.

He had not always been held captive in a cage. He had lived in the forest, where even the wolves were wary of him. He ate berries and fish, and never harmed a human being, except when he accidentally scared the wits out of a poacher, or when he was attacked. His harmlessness did not stop the rumours about him. The villagers claimed he stole their goats and hens, and even that he took babies from their cribs. At first the Prince dismissed these reports for what they were – the superstitions of the simple-minded. But then one day a royal huntsman cornered the wild man in a cave. Instead of killing his quarry, the hunter received a terrible mauling with tooth and claw. He barely made it back to the castle alive. After that, the Prince had to believe in the Wild Man.

The Prince offered a fair reward to anyone who might capture the creature, dead or alive. Many tried to trap, shoot, or spear him, but for a long time no one met with success. Eventually, one night, the ferocious fugitive fell by chance into a bear pit. It had been dug a long time before by a circus performer, who had hoped to capture a cub and train it for his act. The wild man hurt his ankle in the fall, was caught up in the net at the bottom of the pit, and struggled in vain to climb up its steep walls. He remained there several days, while he grew weak and weary. Eventually he was found by an old peasant, who immediately called his four sons. They hurled rocks at the Wild Man to make sure that he behaved, and then they hauled him up in the net, before binding him further with rope. That was how this curious captive came to be caged in the courtyard of the Prince. The old man’s family received a rich reward, though it brought them no happiness, as they quarrelled violently over how to divide it amongst themselves.

Few took pity on the Wild Man. Why should they? Most found their own lives to be hard enough, without worrying about a devil in a cage. Besides, it is not natural to pity what you fear. But a boy who worked in the palace kitchens looked into the eyes of the beast and saw sadness there. He could not read, and therefore did not understand the sign that warned “Keep back or be bitten.” He reached through the bars of the cage and held out a piece of sweet meat. The Wild Man, who had seemed almost asleep, immediately seized the l boy’s hand, and yanked his arm until his shoulder was hard up against the bars. But his grip, although firm, did not crush the boy’s bones as it could have done. And his claws did not break his fair skin. His powerful jaw swivelled, his thick black lips curled, and the boy saw his yellow teach and fat red tongue far closer than he might have wished.

And then, the Wild Man said, in a low rough voice:

“You are the only one with a heart. You are my only hope. Bring me the key to this cage.”

The boy could do barely more than nod, and was immensely relieved to receive his hand back. He ran off, not knowing what he intended to do. He had heard it said that the key to the cage was kept under the pillow of the Princess. He could not imagine an opportunity to steal it from such a place, until a few days later, he was sent on an errand to the private quarters of the castle, and as he passed the royal bedroom, he decided to sneak inside. If by chance he was caught, he would say that he had a message for the chambermaid. He was in luck. Nobody was in the room. He slid his grubby hand beneath the silken pillow, and felt the key.

This is how the boy freed the captive: He walked by the cage in the courtyard with his hands behind his back tightly holding the key, and, making sure that nobody was looking, he turned round and dropped it through the bars onto the straw. In the morning, the Wild Man was gone.

The boy had not anticipated the scandal and the furore that the Wild Man’s escape would unleash. Everyone in the castle was gossiping about who might have been the thief and the traitor who had stolen the key from under the pillow of the princess. The prince announced that each and everyone of the servants would be questioned by the soothsayers, and if their magic suspected a lie, there would be a further test by torture. The boy grew greatly afraid for his life, and at the first opportunity, he ran away to the forest.

But the dark forest was hardly a less threatening place than castle. If the wolves did not make short work of the boy, then the cold and the rain would surely do for him before too long. He crawled into a hole between some boulders for shelter, and in the morning he awoke to find that entrance to his cave was being watched over and guarded by none other than the Wild Man himself.

“Friend,” said the beast, “You have helped me, and now I shall help you. I have a store of secret treasures, and I shall give freely from them. But first you must pass a test to prove that you are pure of heart.”

He led the boy to a spring, and told him that he must spend the day sitting by it. On no account, no matter how hot or thirsty he became, should he touch the water in the spring. Anything that came into contact with the liquid would turn instantly into gold. And when he had given these instructions, the Wild Man left him.

For most of the day, the boy did exactly as he was told. But towards evening, as he placed a berry in his mouth, a wasp stung him on his finger. The bite burned like fire, and the boy instinctively dipped it into the cooling water. That instant, his finger became gilded with gold. In panic, he ran his hand through his long hair, and some drops sprinkled it, and that too turned to gold.

When the beast returned, he saw instantly that the boy had broken his word.

“I am disappointed,” he said. “You must go out in the world by yourself. But if after a year has passed, you are in need of my help, you may call for me.”

The following morning, the Wild Man escorted the boy to the edge of the forest and set him on his way along the road. The boy tramped on wearily but safely until he reached another castle. There he applied for work and was granted a job in the garden.

The boy always wore a bandage on his hand, and a scarf around his head to cover his gilded affliction. One day, the daughter of the Prince of this castle was passing through the garden, and said to him.

“Do you not know that you should take your hat off in my presence?’

The boy bowed and apologised to the princess, saying that he could not bare his head because it was scabbed terribly.

“Never mind,” said the Princess. “Bring me flowers to my room every morning.”

And so every day, the boy chose the most beautiful flowers from the garden and delivered them to the room of the Princess. He had special dispensation not to remove his head-gear as he entered her room.

A year went by, and the Princess viewed the boy with great favour, and thought it a pity that his head and hand were so afflicted that he did not dare show them to the world. And the boy with the golden hair beneath his scarf began to regret that he was too lowly to befriend this beautiful young woman.

At that time, a war broke out with the neighbouring princedom, which happened to be where the boy had come from originally. Now he saw his chance to distinguish himself, and to advance his position. One day, at sunrise, as he stood alone in the garden, he called out:

“Wild Man, if you can hear me now , help me as I once helped you.”

And in an instant the boy saw that a dark horse was champing the grass on the lawn. As he lifted his foot to walk towards it, his leg felt stiff and heavy, and he realised that he was wearing a suit of black armor.

In this guise, the boy fought with the Prince’s army, and distinguished himself in battle for his conspicuous valour. When the fighting was over, the Prince commanded the mysterious black knight to come forward and to receive a great reward. He had in mind the hand of his daughter, the Princess, in marriage. But when the opportunity for honour arose, the boy felt shy and afraid. He could not believe that such good luck should happen to him. He felt a terrible foreboding that he would be exposed as a lowly gardener and punished, and with sudden panic in his heart, he dug his spurs into the side of his charger and rode off. He returned to his station in the garden. Only the Princess noticed that he had ever been away.

The Prince celebrated his victory with a great banquet for the knights who had fought for him. At the height of the feasting, he called all to order. He announced that he was about to throw a golden arrow up into the air, and any bachelor who caught it would win the the hand of his daughter. It so happened that the boy was helping the servants at the table, for they were especially busy that evening. When the prince threw the arrow, it flew over the heads of all the knights, and straight towards the boy. He caught it. He only intended to be helpful, but in doing so, he committed a grave offence. The prince bellowed:

“How dare such scum lay claim to the hand of my daughter,” and the guards came forth to seize him.

The boy called out, “Oh Wild Man, help me now as I once helped you,” and that instant he was again clothed in the black armor of the knight who had won the battle. His horse came into the the banqueting hall, and the boy climbed up onto the table, and mounted his charger. He took up the reins and was about to clatter out of the castle and to make his escape, when the Prince called out:

“Wondrous and mysterious knight, do not leave, stay and marry my daughter.”

And this time the boy did not run away from good fortune. The guards helped him down from his charger, and he knelt before the Prince and his daughter, removed his helmet, and his long, glittering hair fell down over his shoulders. The wedding was announced for the following day. But the boy did not forget his wild and strange helper. He called out to him:

“Wild Man. Come now and be a guest at my wedding, for it is to you that I owe all my happiness.”

And an hour before the wedding, a strange, hairy, and ferocious beast turned up at the gates of the castle. The boy gave orders that he was to be treated as his best man and guest of honour. And for the rest of his life, good fortune smiled upon the boy, who later became the Prince of that land, and who lived and reigned in great happiness along side his wise and fair princess.

The world’s most famous collection of magical stories originated in Persia and only later became known in the West as the “Arabian” Nights. The collection includes stories, within stories, within stories. This is the story that wraps around them all.

A terrible sultan marries a new bride every night, and in the morning he executes her. Only Sherehezade, the greatest story-teller the world has known, has a chance to soften the heart of the man with a tyrannical grudge against all women.

The backdrop is quite harsh, but the stories are wonderful.

Read by Elizabeth. Version by Bertie. Duration 15 minutes.

Praise be to Allah, the beneficent king, the creator of the universe, Lord of the three worlds, who set up the sky without pillars to hold it aloft, who stretched out the earth like a bed, and who filled the ocean like a bath. Lend me the art and the craft of she who outwitted a great king. Of she who for 1001 nights captivated the shah, while she threaded her plots around him, the woman whose stories held conquered the all-powerful man, and prevented him from carrying out his terrible intent. I speak of her, Sherehezade, the greatest storyteller the world has ever known.

She lived in a time of sorrow for the ruler of the land held in his heart an awful grudge against all women. This grudge had terrible consequences for every family in the land. But it was not always so. He began his reign with a kinder heart. His name was Shahryar, He was in the fullness of his youth and power, but as yet, without a wife. One evening he stood with his younger brother, prince Zaman, on the balcony of the palace, which overlooked the pleasure gardens. They watched a young serving girl as she stepped out to the fountain to fetch water.

Shahryar whispered: “See brother. Is she not as lovely as the moon and as graceful as a gazelle?”

But Zaman, replied: “Do not let your eyes deceive you. Although you are older than me, and more powerful, yet I am more experienced in the ways of women, for I already have a wife. I tell you no woman on earth has a pure and faithful heart. Each day I watch my queen. I see her give a visiting prince such a look that makes my blood turn angry. But it does not stop there. She gives the chief chamberlain a cheeky smile that is quite inappropriate. Why, the day before I left my palace to pay honour to you, I saw her whispering to the cook! She brings nothing but shame upon me.“

Shahryar laughed “ My younger brother, you have been looking pale and ill of late. Now I know the cause. Jealousy is eating you up because you have such a lovely wife ! “

At this Zaman became quite offended, but he replied in no more than a mutter: “My brother, you will learn for yourself in due time.”

Shahryar was ready to marry. It seemed that wherever he looked he saw a beautiful woman. But none so lovely as the one the two brothers encountered the very next day. They got up at dawn to go hunting. Just as the sun was spreading its gentle rays, they rode their horses side by side along the sea shore. Walking to towards them, along the deserted beach, they saw a girl whose loveliness brought to mind the words:

She rose like the morn, as she shone through the night.
When she unveiled her face, the sun grew bright.

As the brothers drew near to her, she gave them the sort of smile that gladdens a man’s heart and Shahryar said to his brother:

“I would not be ashamed to take her for my queen.”

But no sooner had he spoken, than a huge wave came curling into the shore, and standing on top of the wave as a great geni. His skin was orange and his eyes blazing red.

As the wave broke into white foam the genie leapt onto the beach, and seized the girl up in his hands. He turned his awful eyes on the brothers, and they were so full of fire that they feared his gaze might burn them up. Then he spoke. His voice was terrible, but his words showed that he intended them no harm:

“hear me now and learn from my troubles. When I took this girl for my bride, I set her inside a trunk, and I placed the trunk inside another trunk, and that trunk inside yet another trunk – seven boxes in all, each with its own lock. And then I placed the sevenfold container at the bottom of the sea, so as to keep her faithful to me. But still she managed to escape, to flirt with strange men on the beach, and to bring shame upon me. If I, a genie with all the power of magic at my disposal cannot keep discipline over my bride, what hope have you mere men of doing so?”

As soon as he had issued this warning, both the genie and the girl span round and round until they became whirl wind that sped away across the sea.

For the rest of the day Shahryar was pale and brooding. By evening he had cheered up somewhat. As the brothers stood on the balcony overlooking the gardens, once again, he said:

“The remarkable occurrence of this morning has made a great impression on me. I see now that you are right. The genie has confirmed what you say. There was never one faithful woman on this earth. But I have thought deeply about this problem all day long, and I have formed a plan.

It was not long before his brother and everyone in the land found out what the Shah had in mind.

As he sat on his throne the next day, giving orders to his ministers about this and that, he sent for his chief minister, a man who had served him for many years, and who had two lovely daughters whom in time, we shall meet, ishallah ! God Willing!

He commanded the minister to bring a bride to him that very evening, and in the morning to take her way to be executed. Each and every day he was to do the same, to bring another bride for him to marry, and in the morning to strike off her head. And so it came to pass for three years on end. There was not a family in the land that was not touched by this tragedy. The people cried out against their shah, and called on Allah to destroy him and his reign utterly. But his heart was relentless. By this terrible plan he made sure that none of his people would ever gather in a corner and gossip that his queen was faithless to him either in thought or deed.

Mothers wept or fled abroad with their daughters. At last there was hardly a woman left in the city who was of marriageable age. At last, one day, as the minster searched the city, he could not find a bride for the shah that night. He returned home in sorrow and anxiety, for he was afraid for his own life when he failed that evening to present a new bride to the Shah.

Now he had two daughters, Sherehezade and Dunyazad [ending is long like a= ‘ard’’]. The eldest had read all the books, legends and stories in the library of the palace. She knew a great many poems off by heart, and had studied philosophy and the arts. She was pleasant, polite, wise and witty. She saw that her father was looking sad and she quoted some lines of a poem to him;

Tell whoso hath sorrow
Grief shall never last.
Even as joy hath no morrow
so woe shall go past

When the minister heard these words from his daughter, he told her the cause of his sorrow from first to last. When she had heard it all Sherehezade exclaimed:

“Who long shall we endue this slaughter of women? I will tell you what is on my mind. Take me to the Shah this night. Let me be his bride. Either I shall live by my whits and save the daughters of this land, or I shall join those who have perished already. “

The minister heard these words, and although he greatly respected his daughter’s wisdom, he thought these words were the greatest foolishness he had ever heard. he would not hear of his beloved daughter risking her life in this way. He went to the Shah and confessed that he was unable to bring him any more brides, for there were none left in the land. Shah Shahryar sat thoughtfully on this thrown and said:

“None, but your own two daughters. Do not hide them from me, or it will cost you your head.”

And so it was, after long deliberation, and much persuasion from Sherehezade, that he brought his own daughter to the shah as his bride.

That night, when the Sherehezade lifted the veil from her lovely face, the Shah was pleased with what he saw. But there were tears in her eyes.

“What troubles you?” asked the Shah, thinking that he knew the answer. But she replied not that she was afraid of what would happen to her in the morning, but that she was missing her sister. She begged that she could bring her to sleep with them that night, so that she would not be lonely. The shah willingly agree, and all went according to the plan that the ingenious Sherehezade had formed. Her sister Dunyazad slept on a couch at the foot of the royal bed, and towards morning, as she been told to do by her sister, she awoke and said:

“Oh Sherehezade, I cannot sleep. Will you not tell me one of your wonderful stories? For there is not a soul on this earth who can spin a tale as delightful and delectable as yours?’

And Sherehezade stirred and said: “I too cannot sleep and I will tell you a tale with joy, if this great king will permit me. “

The Shah, who was also sleepless and restless, was pleased with the prospect of hearing a tale. And so Sherehezade began to relate the first story of the 1001 and one nights.

English fairy tales are usually gutsy and adventurous - Jack and the Beanstalk for instance. Tom Thumb is no exception. Tiny Tom has numerous death-defying escapades, which make for a very lively story.

Our thanks to our sponsor, The Center for Guided Montessori Studies

Read by Elizabeth. Duration 15.41. Lightly adapted from text by Joseph Jacobs.

In the days of the great King Arthur, a poor beggar was tramping through the countryside of England. One evening, when his feet were sore, and his bones were weary, he knocked on the door of a ploughman and begged a bite to eat.

The countryman welcomed the stranger into his humble cottage, while his wife fetched some milk in a wooden bowl, and some brown bread and cheese on a plate. Little did this this good-hearted couple realise that their humble guest was, in fact, none other than Merlin, the greatest and most skillful wizard who ever lived.

Merlin was touched by the kindness of the ploughman and his wife, and he could not help noticing that though everything was neat and comfortable in the cottage, they seemed both to be less than perfectly happy. He asked them some subtle questions about their lives, and he soon learned that they were full of regrets because they had no children.

The poor woman said, with tears in her eyes, “I should be the happiest creature in the world if I had a son; although he was no bigger than my husband’s thumb, I would be satisfied.”
Merlin was so much amused with the idea of a boy no bigger than a man’s thumb, that he decided to grant the poor woman’s wish. The following year, the ploughman’s wife had a son, who, wonderful to relate! was not a bit bigger than his father’s thumb.

Even the Queen of the fairies was bursting with curiosity to see him. She came in at the window while the mother was sitting up in the bed admiring him. The Queen kissed the child, gave him the name of Tom Thumb, and sent for some of the fairies, who dressed her little godson according to her orders:

“An oak-leaf hat he had for his crown;
His shirt of web by spiders spun;
With jacket wove of thistle’s down;
His trousers were of feathers done.
His stockings, of apple-rind, they tie
With eyelash from his mother’s eye
His shoes were made of mouse’s skin,
Tann’d with the downy hair within.”

Tom never grew any larger than his father’s thumb, which was only of ordinary size; but as he got older he became very cunning and full of tricks.

In those days, children used to play at rolling cherry stones like marbles.

When Tom was old enough to play with the boys, and had lost all his own cherry-stones, he used to creep into the bags of his playfellows and fill his pockets.

One day, however, as he was coming out of a bag of cherry-stones, where he had been stealing as usual, the owner of the bag spotted him: “Ah, ah! my little Tommy,” said the boy, “so I have caught you stealing my cherry-stones at last, and you shall be rewarded for your thievish tricks.” On saying this, he gave the bag such a hearty shake, that poor little Tom became so dizzy that he could hardly stand when eventually he was let out again.

A short time afterwards his mother was making a batter-pudding, and Tom, being very anxious to see how it was made, climbed up to the edge of the bowl; but his foot slipped, and he plumped over head and ears into the batter – plop ! And his mother, who did not notice this, stirred him into the pudding-mixture.

The batter filled Tom’s mouth, and prevented him from crying; but he kicked and struggled so much in the pot, that his mother thought that the pudding was bewitched and she hurled it outside the door. A poor tinker, who was passing by, lifted up the pudding, put it into his basket, and walked off. As Tom had now got his mouth cleared of the batter, he then began to cry aloud, which so frightened the tinker that he flung down the pudding and ran away. Tom crept out of the pudding covered all over with the batter, and walked home. His mother, who was very sorry to see her darling in such a woeful state, put him into a teacup, and soon washed off the batter; Then she kissed him, and put him to bed.

Soon after the adventure of the pudding, Tom’s mother went to milk her cow in the meadow, and she took him along with her. As the wind was very high she tied him to a thistle with a piece of fine thread to stop him being blown away. The cow soon saw Tom’s oak-leaf hat, and took poor Tom and the thistle at one mouthful. While the cow was chewing the thistle Tom was afraid of her great teeth, which threatened to crush him in pieces, and he roared out as loud as he could: “Mother, mother!”

“Where are you, Tommy, my dear Tommy?” said his mother.

“Here, mother,” replied he, “in the red cow’s mouth.”

His mother began to cry and wring her hands; but the cow, surprised at the odd noise in her throat, opened her mouth and let Tom drop out. Fortunately his mother caught him in her apron as he was falling to the ground, or he would have been dreadfully hurt.

One day when he was out in the fields, being very careful to avoid the cows, a raven who was flying overhead spotted him. She swooped down, picked him up in her beak, and flew away with him. Poor terrified Tom was screaming and wriggling, but the bird only let go of her captive when she was over the sea. Down down down, he tumbled, into the water. And a moment after he was in the sea, a large fish swallowed him up.

Very soon after that, the fish was caught and bought for the table of King Arthur. When cook opened the fish, every one in the kitchen was astonished to find such a little boy, and Tom was quite delighted at being free again. They carried him to the king, who made Tom his miniature jester. Very soon, he because a great favourite at court; for by his tricks and games he not only amused the King and Queen, but also all the Knights of the Round Table.

It is said that when the King rode out on horseback, he often took Tom along with him, and if a shower came on, he used to creep into His Majesty’s waistcoat-pocket, where he slept till the rain was over.

King Arthur one day asked Tom about his parents, wishing to know if they were as small as he was, and whether they were well off. Tom told the King that his father and mother were as tall as anybody about the court, but rather poor. On hearing this, the king carried Tom to his treasury, and told him to take as much money as he could carry home to his parents, which made the little fellow caper with joy. Tom rushed to fetch his purse, which was made out of a water-bubble, and then returned to the treasury, where he found a silver threepenny coin to put into it.

Our little hero had some difficulty in lifting the weight of his treasure, but he at last managed to pick up the purse, and he set out on his journey. In two days and two nights he reached his father’s house in safety with a huge silver-piece on his back. He was almost tired to death, when his mother ran out to meet him, and carried him into the house. But he soon returned to Court.

As Tom’s clothes had suffered much in the batter-pudding, and the inside of the fish, his majesty ordered him a new suit of clothes, and he mounted as a knight on a mouse.

Of Butterfly’s wings his shirt was made,
His boots of chicken’s hide;
And by a nimble fairy blade,
Well learned in the tailoring trade,
His clothing was supplied.
A needle dangled by his side;
A dapper mouse he used to ride,
Thus strutted Tom in stately pride!

It was certainly very amusing to see Tom in this dress and mounted on the mouse, as he rode out a-hunting with the King and nobility, who were all ready to die with laughter at Tom and his fine prancing charger.

The king was so charmed with his tiny knight that he ordered a little chair to be made, in order that Tom might sit upon his table, and also a palace of gold, a foot high, with a door an inch wide, to live in. He also gave him a coach, drawn by six small mice.

The Queen was so enraged at the honours conferred on Sir Thomas that she resolved to ruin him, and told the king that the little knight had been rude to her.

The King sent for Tom, but he was fully aware of the danger of royal anger, and he crept into an empty snail-shell, where he lay for a long time until he was almost starved with hunger. At last he ventured to peep out, and he saw a fine large butterfly on the ground; he crept close to it and jumped onto its back. The Butterfly carried him up into the air and flew with him from tree to tree and from field to field, and at last returned to the court, where the the knights and ladies all did their best to catch him in a net. At last poor Tom fell from his seat into a water-pot, where he almost drowned.

When the Queen saw Tom back again, she was in a rage, and said he should be beheaded; and he was again put into a mouse trap until the time of his execution. In those days a mouse trap was like a little cage. Now the cat, when he something alive in the trap, patted it about till the wires broke, and set Thomas free.

It was only then, after his many adventures, that King Arthur’s tiniest knight returned to his rightful place at the round table, and sat down in his little chair among the likes of Sir Gawain and Sir Lancelot.

This picturesque Japanese tale has loads of charm, but is a little bit sad. It will take you to a beautiful underwater world, and back to the reality of mortality on dry land.

These days we adapt many of the traditional tales ourselves, but this one is taken more or less straight from the English text of B. H. Chamberlain who published a number of Japanese stories in the 1880s.

Read by Natasha. Duration 8.46.

Long, long ago there lived on the coast of the sea of Japan a young fisherman named Urashima, a kindly lad and clever with his rod and line.

Well, one day he went out in his boat to fish. But instead of catching any fish, what do you think he caught? Why! a great big tortoise, with a hard shell and such a funny wrinkled old face and a tiny tail. Now I must tell you something which very likely you don’t know; and that is that tortoises always live a thousand years,—at least Japanese tortoises do. So Urashima thought to himself: “A fish would do for my dinner just as well as this tortoise,—in fact better. Why should I go and kill the poor thing, and prevent it from enjoying itself for another nine hundred and ninety-nine years? No, no! I won’t be so cruel. I am sure mother wouldn’t like me to.” And with these words, he threw the tortoise back into the sea.

The next thing that happened was that Urashima went to sleep in his boat; for it was one of those hot summer days when almost everybody enjoys a nap of an afternoon. And as he slept, there came up from beneath the waves a beautiful girl, who got into the boat and said: “I am the daughter of the Sea-God, and I live with my father in the Dragon Palace beyond the waves. It was not a tortoise that you caught just now, and so kindly threw back into the water instead of killing it. It was myself. My father the Sea-God had sent me to see whether you were good or bad.

“We now know that you are a good, kind boy who doesn’t like to do cruel things; and so I have come to fetch you. You shall marry me, if you like; and we will live happily together for a thousand years in the Dragon Palace beyond the deep blue sea.”

So Urashima took one oar, and the Sea-God’s daughter took the other; and they rowed, and they rowed, and they rowed till at last they came to the Dragon Palace where the Sea-God lived and ruled as King over all the dragons and the tortoises and the fishes.

Oh dear! what a lovely place it was! The walls of the Palace were of coral, the trees had emeralds for leaves and rubies for berries, the fishes’ scales were of silver, and the dragons’ tails of solid gold. Just think of the very most beautiful, glittering things that you have ever seen, and put them all together, and then you will know what this Palace looked like. And it all belonged to Urashima; for was he not the son-in-law of the Sea-God, the husband of the lovely Dragon Princess?

Well, they lived on happily for three years, wandering about every day among the beautiful trees with emerald leaves and ruby berries. But one morning Urashima said to his wife: “I am very happy here. Still I want to go home and see my father and mother and brothers and sisters. Just let me go for a short time, and I’ll soon be back again.” “I don’t like you to go,” said she; “I am very much afraid that something dreadful will happen. However, if you will go, there is no help for it. Only you must take this box, and be very careful not to open it. If you open it, you will never be able to come back here.”

So Urashima promised to take great care of the box, and not to open it on any account; and then, getting into his boat, he rowed off, and at last landed on the shore of his own country.

But what had happened while he had been away? Where had his father’s cottage gone to? What had become of the village where he used to live? The mountains indeed were there as before; but the trees on them had been cut down. The little brook that ran close by his father’s cottage was still running; but there were no women washing clothes in it any more. It seemed very strange that everything should have changed so much in three short years. So as two men chanced to pass along the beach, Urashima went up to them and said: “Can you tell me please where Urashima’s cottage, that used to stand here, has been moved to?”—“Urashima?” said they; “why! it was four hundred years ago that he was drowned out fishing. His parents, and his brothers, and their grandchildren are all dead long ago. It is an old, old story. How can you be so foolish as to ask after his cottage? It fell to pieces hundreds of years ago.”

Then it suddenly flashed across Urashima’s mind that the Sea-God’s Palace beyond the waves, with its coral walls and its ruby fruits and its dragons with tails of solid gold, must be part of fairy-land, and that one day there was probably as long as a year in this world, so that his three years in the Sea-God’s Palace had really been hundreds of years. Of course there was no use in staying at home, now that all his friends were dead and buried, and even the village had passed away. So Urashima was in a great hurry to get back to his wife, the Dragon Princess beyond the sea. But which was the way? He couldn’t find it with no one to show it to him. “Perhaps,” thought he, “if I open the box which she gave me, I shall be able to find the way.” So he disobeyed her orders not to open the box,—or perhaps he forgot them, foolish boy that he was. Anyhow he opened the box; and what do you think came out of it? Nothing but a white cloud which floated away over the sea. Urashima shouted to the cloud to stop, rushed about and screamed with sorrow; for he remembered now what his wife had told him, and how, after opening the box, he should never be able to go to the Sea-God’s Palace again. But soon he could neither run nor shout any more.

Suddenly his hair grew as white as snow, his face got wrinkled, and his back bent like that of a very old man. Then his breath stopped short, and he fell down dead on the beach.

Poor Urashima! He died because he had been foolish and disobedient. If only he had done as he was told, he might have lived another thousand years. Wouldn’t you like to go and see the Dragon Palace beyond the waves, where the Sea-God lives and rules as King over the Dragons and the tortoises and the fishes, where the trees have emeralds for leaves and rubies for berries, where the fishes’ tails are of silver and the dragons’ tails all of solid gold?

This miniature fairy tale by Hans Christian Andersen is so short that it’s almost an anecdote, but although it’s small, it’s perfect in its own way.

Three animals have pretentions to jump above their stations in life and marry a princess. They all think that they have a grand and high society manner, but only one of them really understands that a little humility can go a long way in life.

Read by Elizabeth. Duration 6.30. Story by Hans Christian Andersen.

A Flea, a Grasshopper, and a Leap-frog once wanted to see which could jump highest; and they invited the whole world, and everybody else besides to come to see the festival. Three famous jumpers were they, as everyone would say, when they all met together in the room.

“I will give my daughter to him who jumps highest,” exclaimed the King; “for a competition without a prize would not be so amusing.”

The Flea was the first to step forward. He had exquisite manners, and bowed to the company on all sides; for he had noble blood, and was, moreover, accustomed to live close to human beings; and that makes a great difference.

Then came the Grasshopper. He was considerably heavier, but he was well-mannered, and wore a green uniform, which he had by right of birth; he said, moreover, that he belonged to a very ancient Egyptian family. The fact was, he had been just brought out of the fields, and put in a cardboard box.. “I sing so well,” said he, “that sixteen native grasshoppers grew thin from sheer envy when they heard me.

And that is how the Flea and the Grasshopper introduced themselves, and thought they were quite good enough to marry a Princess.

The Leap-frog said nothing; but because he said nothing, people thought he was all the cleverer. ; and when the housedog snuffed at him with his nose, he decided the Leap-frog was of good family. The old councillor asserted that the Leap-frog was a prophet; for one could see on his back, if there would be a severe or mild winter.

“I say nothing,” exclaimed the King; “but I have my own opinion, nonetheless.”

Now the contest was to take place. The Flea jumped so high that nobody could see where he went to; so they all said he had not jumped at all; and that he had cheated.

The Grasshopper jumped only half as high; but he leaped into the King’s face, and that was ill-mannered.

The Leap-frog stood still for a long time lost in thought; People began to think that he would not jump at all.

“I only hope he is not unwell,” said the house-dog; when, pop! he made a jump into the lap of the Princess, who was sitting on a little golden stool close by.

At this, the King said, “There is nothing above my daughter; therefore nobody should jump higher than her. But for this, one must possess understanding, and the Leap-frog has shown that he has understanding. He is brave and intellectual.”

And so he won the Princess.

“It’s all the same to me,” said the Flea. “She may have the old Leap-frog, for all I care. I jumped the highest; but in this world merit seldom meets its reward. Looks is what people appreciate now-a-days.”

The Flea then went to serve abroad in the army, where, it is said, he was killed.

The Grasshopper sat on a green bank, and reflected on worldly things; and he said too, “Yes, looks are everything. A fine appearance is what people care about.” And then he began chirping his peculiar melancholy song, from which we have taken this story; and which may, very possibly, be all untrue,

One of Japan’s oldest legends tells us how the gods invented fun and music. It all began when the Sun Goddess went into an epic sulk and hid in her cave. The gods had to find a way to cheer her up and coax her out. The story of how they did so is both beautiful and amusing.

Incidentally, the Japanese flag includes the symbol of the sun in the form of a red disk.

Read by Elizabeth. Duration 7.32. Text by Bertie.

At the dawn of time, Susano-o, the spirit of the sea and storms, was making ready to leave heaven and to gush down to Earth. His sister the far-shining Sun Goddess, said:

“Oh impetuous brother of mine. Before you go, let us exchange tokens of our love and affection for one another.”

Susano-o bowed to his sister, drew his sword from his side, and presented it to her. She accepted the gift, and then chewed off pieces of the metal blade in her mouth, before spitting them out.
Instantly, the fragments of the sword sprang up as three beautiful daughters. Then the sparkling Sun Goddess took jewels from her hair and gave them to her brother. He crunched them up with his teeth and spat them out. They became five strong sons.

“They are my sons,” said the goddess, “because they were born from my jewels.”

“No, they are my sons,” said the storm god, “because you gave me those jewels,”

And thus the brother and sister began to quarrel. The stormy tempered Susano-o grew so angry that he swept through his sister’s rice fields and destroyed them. He flung manure all over her garden, and frightened her maidens so that they hurt themselves on their spinning wheels.

The bright goddess was greatly offended by the evil pranks of her brother. She fell into a most dreadful sulk, and hid herself in a cave in a remote part of the earth. There was no more light, and heaven and earth were plunged into darkness.

Amid this gloom, thousands of gods and spirits gathered in a heavenly river bed to discuss what to do. One of the oldest and wisest gods proposed that they make a mirror, to tempt the goddess to come out hiding and gaze at her beauty. Another suggested that they should sew a beautiful dress as a gift to soothe her temper. And still other gods said that they must offer her jewels and even a palace. At last they decided to make all these thing gifts, and they set to work.

When they were ready, the divine ones gathered outside the cave of the Sun Goddess. They lit bonfires so that they could see in the darkness, and they called the goddess by her name, Amaterasu, but no matter how many times they called, she remaining lurking within the shadows of her hiding-place.

The gods needed to do better than if they were to gain her attention. And so they began to make music. They clashed symbols and banged wooden clappers together. The plump goddess of mirth, with dimpled cheeks and eyes full of fun, lead a dance. She performed on top of a giant drum that thundered with her every step. She held a stick in her hand with bells tied to it so that they rang out as she danced. Farmyard cockerels joined in with crowing. You can imagine what a lovely concert they made !

The dancing goddess of mirth wore a dress that was held together with vines. As she waved her arms and pranced about, the dress became looser and looser until it fell off altogether and she had not a stitch of clothing on her. The gods found this so hilarious that they all laughed until the heavens clapped with thunder.

Only then did curiosity get the better of the far shining one, and she peeped out of her cave. She saw her bright face reflected in the mirror that had been placed just in front of the opening, and she was astonished by her own beauty. But she did not have long to gaze, because a strong-handed god seized hold of her arm and dragged her out of the cave. Then all the heavens and earth were lit, the grass became green again, the flowers blazoned with a multitude of colours, and human beings looked upon one another’s faces.

And there was another benefit from this gloomy episode in the history of creation. This was the first time that music, dance, and fun were known on the face of the earth. And these divine gifts have brightened human lives ever since.

This parable from the Middle East has a mysterious and spiritual tone, and is also rather intriguing. It’s about a slave who asks his master for his freedom. A series of adventures bring him great good fortune, but fortune can always be reversed again.

Read by Natasha. Adapted for Storynory by Bertie. Duration 15.41.

In ancient times, in the city of Tyre, there lived a merchant, who had amassed a great fortune trading in silks, carpets, and dyes. He owned over 150 slaves, some of whom served in his magnificent mansion, and others in his warehouses by the docks. Most of his slaves worked hard, but only if they were being watched. If the master was not there, they would laze around or steal, for there is no great incentive for a slave to make an effort unless it is to avoid punishment.

There were some exceptional slaves, of course, and one of them was called Ziad. Ziad did his best for his master no matter whether he was being watched or not. He was intelligent, and diligent, and above all honest. Over the years the merchant began to rely on Ziad to keep his accounts and to oversee the goods being loaded and unloaded onto his ships. He rewarded him with tasty food, comfortable quarters, and smart uniforms. If you had met Ziad for the first time, it is unlikely that you would have taken him for a slave.

After Ziad had served his master faithfully for twenty years of his adult life, he came to him in his office and requested his freedom.

When the merchant heard the word “freedom” on the lips of his most trusted slave, he was dismayed, because he knew how difficult it would be to find another as reliable as this one.

“Ziad! Ziad ! ” he exclaimed, “ My dear dear Ziad, have I not treated you like my own son? Are you not satisfied with your privileges? Ask me for anything, but not your freedom, for it would grieve me too greatly to lose you. What is it you require? Fine clothes? A carriage and horses? Your own house? Just say the word, and it shall be yours.”

Ziad bowed his head and replied: “No master. I do not wish for any of these things from you.”

For a moment the merchant was mystified. He pondered what more he could offer. He thought: “The fellow bargains well. He’s holding out for something really costly.” And then he had an idea. He stood up from his chair, and walked round to the front of his desk where Ziad was standing. He put his arm around the slave’s shoulder and said,

“Come come. There is no need to be shy. I see now what it is that you desire. You have all that you need in my service except for your own family. But do not trouble yourself a moment longer, for there is no problem that a little money can’t solve. Come with me in the morning to the market place, and let us choose a beautiful wife for you. “

At this, the faithful slave became agitated and said:

“Master I thank you from the bottom of my heart for your kind treatment and generosity. But I did not come here to ask you for anything but my freedom. I lack for nothing but this one thing. I ask you for this, no more and no less. If I have served you faithfully all these years, if I have every helped your enterprises to prosper, if I have never asked for anything else from you, grant me this one request, for my life can have no meaning unless I am a free man.”

The merchant was baffled. He banged his fist on the desk and exclaimed: “Freedom? What use is freedom to you? You can’t spend it. You can’t eat it. You can’t wear it. Freedom, I tell you, will bring you nothing but struggle and stress. A free man has worries and responsibilities. Take it from me, it’s far , far better to be a slave in the service of a good master, and to have all your needs taken care of. “

But Ziad replied: “Sir, you are indeed a good master. The best a slave could hope for. You provide all my material needs and much more. But what use are possessions or a family to me, if I am not a freeman, and my children will be born into slavery? I long for the thrill of freedom, to succeed or fail in life, and either way, to be the only one who can take the credit or the blame. “

The merchant thought his slave had taken leave of his senses, and he dismissed him from his office at the top of his voice. He worried that the high standard of Ziad’s work would fall off, and when the merchant next went to the Temple, he thought he could hear the voice of the Goddess of Wealth telling him that he had had been ungrateful to his faithful slave, and would suffer accordingly. That evening he called Ziad to him, and gave him not only his freedom, but an entire ship that was already loaded with silks and merchandise. He thanked him for his good service, and told him he could set sail with the ship in the morning and keep all the proceeds of the trade.

And so it was, that Ziad’s life was transformed overnight. By noon the following day, the former slave was a free man at sea in charge of his own cargo. Below deck, the galley slaves leaned into their oars and pulled the ship away from the city of Tyre where he had been born and had lived all his life in the service of the merchant. The ship followed the coast northwards, and he watched the little rocky coves, the sandy beaches, the sparkling cliffs and the cyprus trees as they glided by. Eventually, when night fell, a cabin boy rolled out his bedding for him on the deck, and he slept under the stars. When he awoke the next morning, the coast had disappeared from view. All he could see was sky and blue-green water. He stood up, and went over to where the crew were eating their breakfast. He thought that the captain gave him rather a strange look, and he was right – because later that morning, as he was standing by the rail looking out to sea, three sailors came up behind him and tipped him overboard. The captain was now a rich man.

Ziad, the freeman of Tyre, was rising and falling below the waves and gulping sea water into his lungs. But the goddess of Tyre was watching over her newest merchant, and she did not wish to see him drown. She sent a smiling dolphin to his aid. Ziad clung to the dolphin’s neck, and it lifted him up on its back and carried him to an island. When they were not far from shore, some fishermen who were mending their nets on the beach, spotted the man riding on the dolphin and they came out in their boats to fetch him.

Freedom had still more surprises in store for the former slave. As the fishermen brought him to dry land, a crowd of people came down onto the beach to greet him. They lifted him up onto their shoulders and carried him to the gates of a great city, where he was met by still more people who hailed and cheered him on the way. He was placed in a carriage, and driven to a palace where slaves bathed him and dressed him in fine robes, placed a crown on his head, and led him to a throne of gold. Cymbals clashed, drums thundered, soldiers saluted, nobles and courtiers threw themselves prostrate on the ground, and priests sprinkled scented water over him.

King Ziad – because that was who he had become – served his people as faithfully as he had served his master. He passed wise laws and judgements, he made advantageous treaties, he stamped out corruption, and he upheld the island’s religion. One day at the temple, when he no longer needed an interpreter to speak to the island people, he had a confidential conversation with the High Priest. He asked him how it was that the people had chosen him, a wretched wanderer washed up on these shores, as their king.

The high priest answered, in a low voice so that nobody else could hear,

“Sire, every seven years the island spirits send a poor wandering soul to our island. It is our custom to elevate this sea-tramp to the thrown, and for him rule in splendor for seven years, and to enjoy all the luxuries of kingship. But at the end of his term, he is stripped of his royal garments, put aboard a ship, and deposited on a bare and desolate island, where he will live out the remains of his life as naked, wretched and miserable as the day that he was washed up on our shores.”

The former slave was greatly disturbed to learn that that there was a fixed term to his good fortune, and that he must end it all in misery. He was filled with thoughts of dark foreboding for the future, and his courtiers noticed that there were dark shadows under their king’s eyes, and that his forehead was knotted with strain.

After a week of sleepless nights, King Ziad returned to the temple, and prayed to the spirits of the Island for wisdom and guidance: A voice spoke to him thus:

“ At present thou art king, and mayest do as pleaseth thee; therefore, send workmen to this island, let them build houses, till the ground, and beautify the surroundings. The barren soil will be changed into fruitful fields, people will journey thither to live, and thou wilt have established a new kingdom for thyself, with subjects to welcome thee in gladness when thou shalt have lost thy power here.”

And the king heard these words, and saw their wisdom. He decreed for people and materials to travel to the desolate island, and for its transformation to begin. And for the remaining years of his reign, he prepared for the years that would follow it. The desolate island blossomed and prospered into a veritable paradise, and gradually more and more people went to live there At last its beauty and wealth far outshone even his present kingdom.

At the end of seven years, just as the priest had warned, his own guards stripped him of his royal robes and he was led naked to a ship, and transported to the desolate island where he was deposited on the beach on the spot where all the previous tramp kings who had proceeded him had also been marooned. But in his case, people came to greet him and to clothe him, and to hail him as their prince, and Ziad lived out his days on the once desolate island in even greater comfort and splendour than he had ever known before.

And that’s the story of the Desolate island. I have been wondering what the meaning of it all is and this is what Bertie told me. He says that if you like, you can see the story this way. The former slave arrives on the first island helpless and unclothed, just like a baby is born into the world. He lives his life on the island free to do as he pleases, but there is a fixed term to his time there – just as we all must live and then die. As he is wise, he makes preparations for the next world and stores up good things to make the desolate island into a paradise. When he is forced to leave the first island, it is as if he has died, but because he has thought of the next world, he arrives in a heavenly place.

Anyway you can often read lots of different things into stories.

Text Copyright Hugh Fraser 2010

Download Audio The Emperor of China has such a vivid dream of his true love, that he is able to describe her to an artist who paints her portrait. A courtier then takes the picture of the Emperor’s dream girl, and goes out in search of her in the real world.

Although this story is set in China, it actually comes from Persia. Bertie found it in a book called “Flowers from a Persian Garden and Other Papers by William Alexander Clouston” (1890) and he thought it was an exceptionally charming story. He’s rewritten his own version in modern English.

Read by Elizabeth. Duration 8.57. Storynory version by Bertie.

The Emperor of China was in love with a dream, or to be more precise, with a girl whom he had seen in his dreams, but never in real life. Every night when he fell asleep, he saw her walking in a garden, wearing the most beautiful silks. He could hear her soft voice singing to herself. He could see her pick a cherry from a bowl and pop it into her delicate mouth.

He was so entranced with his dream girl that he asked the court painter to create a portrait of her. He described her elegant feet, her rounded nose, and everything about her, including the exact way she shook her head with a playful frown on her forehead – like so. And as the artist was very skilled, he turned the Emperor’s words into their perfect likeness in paint.

Although the Emperor was pleased with the picture, his courtiers understood that he would be even more delighted by a living copy of the dream, made out of flesh and blood. One of them, realizing that he would receive a rich reward for discovering this beauty in real life, swore on oath to the Emperor that he would find her within a year. The Emperor agreed to let this young man take the portrait with him, and he set out in search of her.

He travelled through villages and cities, along rivers and over mountains, and wherever he went, he showed the portrait of the dream-girl to those whom he met. Often, a cunning stranger, hoping to connect his family to the Emperor, would lead him to his or her own daughter. He found several young women who indeed were very like the portrait, but none who bore an exact likeness to it. Eventually, as the year drew to a close, he began to fear the Emperor’s anger when he confessed that he had failed in his quest. He wondered if it was safe to return to the Imperial court without the dream girl. But as he was riding along the bottom of a deep ravine, he met an old hermit. He showed him the picture, and the hermit immediately recognized it as the portrait as Princess Rúm.

The young man hurried as fast as he could to the palace belonging to the father of the Princess. The father confirmed that the picture was the exact likeness of his daughter. The young man was allowed to glimpse her walking in the garden, and he saw that it was true. He had found the object of his quest. In great excitement, he told the Prince that The Emperor wished to marry his daughter. But the Prince replied:

“Unfortunately, my daughter has a great aversion to all men. On her sixteenth birthday she had a dream in which she saw a peacock and his family. He was a vain bird who liked to puff out his chest and make a great display of his plumage. All the females were greatly impressed by him. But when a polecat came into the garden, the proud peacock ran and hid behind the sheds while his wife and children were attacked and eaten. Ever since that dream, the Princess has taken the view that all men are selfish and good for nothing. She has resolved never to marry.”

The young man was greatly disappointed with this news. He returned to the Emperor’s palace, expecting to be punished for failing to live up to his boastful promise to bring back the real-life likeness of the picture. He fell down before the Emperor, told him of his discovery, and begged for mercy.

But the Emperor was not angry. In fact he was pleased, because it had turned out that the girl, like himself, was a great dreamer. He told the young man to return to the Princess’s father, to beg an audience with the young woman, and to relate to her the following story:

One morning in spring, a family of deer were nibbling grass on the river bank when suddenly a flood of melted snow flashed down from the mountains. The fawn was carried away by the water. The doe, in terror for her life, fled away from the banks. The stag, however, jumped into the water and struggled to save the fawn, until he himself was swept away and drowned.

The young man returned to the palace of Princess Rum. He knelt before her in the garden and said:

“Your Highness. One who dreams of your hand in marriage has asked me to tell you the following story…”

At the mention of “marriage”, young girl shook her head with a frown, but the messenger continued resolutely to relate the Emperor’s dream:
“One morning in spring, a family of deer were nibbling grass on the river bank when suddenly a flood of melted snow flashed down from the mountains. The fawn was carried away by the water. The doe, in terror for her life, fled away from the banks. The stag, however, jumped into the water and struggled to save the fawn, until he himself was swept away and drowned…. until he caught up with the fawn further down the stream and saved him”

The Princess listened to the story and was impressed by how closely it resembled her own dream, although one could draw a very different conclusion from it. She thought how remarkable it was that life had brought a reply to a concern that had existed only in her head. She told the messenger to wait while she walked around the garden and thought things over. Eventually she came back to the anxious young man and said:
“You may return to your master, the dreamer, and tell him that I accept his proposal of marriage. “

Seven weeks later, Princess Rum was married to the Emperor of China, and the couple lived and dreamed happily together to the end of their days.

The crane, an elegant and beautiful bird, is considered to be auspicious in Japan. In this story, a poor farmer receives good fortune after he rescues a wounded crane. But unfortunately his curiosity gets the better of him, and his luck does not hold out. It’s a short, rather sad, but beautiful story.

Read by Richard Scott. Version by Bertie Duration 7.23

It was winter. The fields were covered with snow, and the winding river was frozen so thickly that you could walk on it. A poor farmer was returning home along the river bank, when he heard a noise from inside a frosty thicket. He understood right away that it was a wounded bird, and his first thought was that it would make an easy catch to take home and boil his pot. But when he parted the twigs and undergrowth, he found a such a beautiful bird that he did not have the heart to kill it. It was a crane, whose side had been pierced by an arrow. He pulled out the shaft and rubbed some balm into the wound. The crane spread out its wings and soared into the the sky.

The farmer returned to his hovel, ate half a bowl of rice, and went to bed as soon as it was dark, because there was nothing else to do. In the early hours of the morning he heard a tap tap tapping at his door. At first he thought it was the wind, and then he wondered if it was a ghost. At last he realised that he would not sleep until he opened up and saw who or what was there. He lifted up the latch,expecting to see a ghastly apparition in the moonlight. He was prepared for a spectre from the spirit world. His hand, clasping a great knife, was ready for a robber. But he was utterly unready for the face of a beautiful girl. In fact, she was so lovely that he was quite startled. He was simply amazed that anyone could be so gorgeous, let alone standing at his door.

He let the girl in, and she slept on his bed, while he lay by the ashes of the fire. After she had stayed with him for three days and nights, he finally found the words to ask her to marry him, though he never expected her to accept. The girl replied that she had come to his door hoping that he would ask that very question, and she gladly accepted. The farmer thought to himself,

“Until just recently, I was lonely, poor and wretched. Now I am still poor, but chance or some god has brought me happiness.”

But nobody can live on love alone. The winter was long and hard, the couple ran out of rice to take the edge of their hunger. The farmer said: “What are we to? I have no food, no money, and nothing we can sell.” He himself was on the brink of tears, and he expected that his wife would either grow angry with him for failing to provide for them both, or to break down in sobs. This, he thought, was the end of their happiness. But instead she smiled and said:
“Dear Husband. Do not worry or fret. I will weave a cloth, and you shall take it to the market to sell.”

The farmer shrugged his shoulders, because they had no thread to weave. But his wife went into the one and only room of their house and as she closed the door she said:

“Whatever you do, do not come in.”

Some hours later, she came out of the room carrying a beautiful cloth. It was embroidered with flowers and birds and was so beautiful that it was fit for a princess. The next day the farmer took it to the market and sold it for a great sum. They couple had enough money to last them several winters.

But when you have money, there is a tendency to spend. You forget how careful you once were, you buy whatever you want, and you pay prices that are sometimes over the odds. In short, the money run out, and once again the couple were poor. The farmer was again on the edge of despair but his wife said.

“Do not fret. I will weave another cloth. I will go into the back room and work. But whatever you do, do not peep in until I come out.”

While his wife weaved, the farmer sat and wondered how he had been so fortunate to have found such a woman , one so lovely, one who loved him, and one who was able to weave cloth out of nothing. He recalled how she had turned up at his door on a winter’s night, and he thought about how little he knew or understood who she was, why she had come to him, or how she weaved the cloth.  He lived with her. He loved her. Yet he hardly knew her. At last his curiosity overcame him. He opened the door a crack and he peeped in.

And this is what he saw. It was his wife, but not a woman. She was the crane that he had saved from the thicket. On the floor was an intricate pattern of feathers, and as she worked, she plucked yet more feathers from her own breast. The cost to her was pain and loss of her own plumage, but she was ready to inflict this on herself for him. But then the bird looked up and saw him. She let out a cry and and shed a single tear from her eye. She flapped her wings and flew up and away, out through the hole in the roof that served as a chimney in the cottage.
And that was the last the poor farmer ever saw of the grateful crane who had become his wife, and who had plucked feathers from her own breast to keep him from poverty. He never married again, and lived to the end of his days alone.

The Fire-Fly Princess is a glittering beauty, and numerous insects want to be her husband. She has little interest in any of them, and declares that she will only marry the one who brings her a flame. This glittering story is full of the beauty of old Japan.

And we are delighted to introduce the very talented Elizabeth Donnelly, who joins Natasha and Richard as a narrator for Storynory. And for all those who have been asking us for news of Natasha, she will be very soon reading more chapters of Alice Through the Looking Glass.

Read by Elizabeth. Duration 12.32.

IN JAPAN the night-flies emit so brilliant a light and are so beautiful that ladies go out in the evenings and catch the insects for amusement. They imprison them in tiny cages made of bamboo threads, and hang them up in their rooms or suspend them from the eaves of their houses. At their picnic parties, the people love to sit on August evenings, fan in hand, looking over the lovely landscape, spangled by ten thousand brilliant spots of golden light. Each flash seems like a tiny blaze of harmless lightning.

One of the species of night-flies, the most beautiful of all, is a source of much amusement to the ladies. Hanging the cage of glittering insects on their verandahs, they sit and watch the crowd of winged visitors attracted by the fire-fly’s light. What brings them there, let this love story tell.

On the southern and sunny side of the castle, the water in the moat had long ago become shallow so that lotus lilies grew there luxuriantly. Deep in the heart of one of the great flowers whose petals were as pink as the lining of a sea-shell, lived the King of the Fire-flies, Hi-?, whose only daughter was the lovely Princess Hotaru-himé. While still a child the Princess was carefully kept at home within the pink petals of the lily, never going even to the edges except to see her father fly off on his journey. Dutifully she waited until of age, when the fire glowed in her own body, and shone, beautifully illuminating the lotus, and its light at night was like a lamp within a globe of coral.

Every night her light grew brighter and brighter, until at last it was as mellow as gold. Then her father said:

“My daughter is now of age to marry, she may fly abroad with me sometimes, and when the proper suitor comes she may wed whom she will.”

So Hotaru-himé flew in and out among the lotus lilies of the moat, then into rich rice fields, and at last far off to the indigo meadows.

Whenever she went a crowd of admirers followed her, for she had the singular power of attracting all the night-flying insects to herself. But she cared for none of them, and though she spoke politely to all she gave encouragement to none.

One night she said to her mother, the Queen:

“I have met many admirers, but I don’t wish a single one to be my husband. Tonight I shall stay at home, and if any of them love me truly they will come and pay me court here. Then I shall give them an impossible task. . If they are wise they will not try to perform it; and if they love their lives more than they love me, I do not want any of them. Whoever succeeds may have me for his bride.”

“As you wish, my child,” said the Queen mother, who dressed her daughter in her most resplendent robes, and set her on her throne in the heart of the lotus.

Then she gave orders to her bodyguard to keep all suitors at a respectful distance lest some stupid bug, dazzled by the light should approach too near and hurt the Princess or shake her throne.

No sooner had twilight faded away, than forth came the golden beetle, who stood on a flower and bowing said:—
“I am Lord Green-Gold, I offer my house, my fortune and my love to Princess Hotaru.”

“Go and bring me fire and I will be your bride” said Hotaru-himé.

With a bow of the head the beetle opened his wings and departed with a stately whirr.

Next came a shining bug with wings and body as black as lamp-smoke, who solemnly professed his passion.
“Bring me fire and you may have me for your wife.”

Off flew the bug with a buzz.

Pretty soon came the scarlet dragon-fly, expecting so to dazzle the Princess by his gorgeous colors that she would accept him at once.

“I decline your offer” said the Princess, “but if you bring me a flash of fire, I’ll become your bride.”

Swift was the flight of the dragon-fly on his errand, and in came the Beetle with a tremendous buzz, and ardently plead his suit.
“I’ll say ‘yes’ if you bring me fire” said the glittering Princess.

Suitor after suitor appeared to woo the daughter of the King of the Fire-flies until every petal was dotted with them. To every one of her lovers the princess in modest voice returned the same answer:

“Bring me fire and I’ll be your bride.”

So without telling his rivals, each one thinking he had the secret alone sped away after fire.

But none ever came back to wed the Princess. Alas for the poor suitors! The beetle whizzed off to a light that glimmered through the paper walls of a house.

The black bug flew into a room where a poor student was reading. His lamp was only a dish of earthenware full of rape seed oil with wick made of pith.

The dragon-fly flew to the light of a housewife who was working late at night,

Mad with love the brilliant hawk-moth, afraid of the flame yet determined to win the fire for the Princess, hovered round and round a candle flame, coming nearer and nearer each time. “Now or never, the Princess or death,” he buzzed, as he darted forward to snatch a flash of flame.

But none of the the lovers of Hi-?’s daughter succeeded in their quests. All met their ends in the flames or the lamp-oil.

As the priests trimmed the lamps in the shrines, and the serving maids cleaned the lanterns in the homes, each said alike:
“The Princess Hotaru must have had many suitors last night.”

The next day was one of great mourning and there were so many insect funerals going on, that Hi-mar? the Prince of the Fire-flies on the north side of the castle moat, asked after the cause .

Then he learned for the first time of the glittering Princess. He fell in love with her and resolved to marry her. The Princess’s father agreed to his proposal of marriage, on condition that the Prince should obey her wish in one thing, which was to come in person bringing her fire.

Then the Prince at the head of his glittering battalions came in person and filled the lotus palace with a flood of golden light. But Hotaru-himé was so beautiful that her charms paled not, even in the blaze of the Prince’s glory. The visit ended in wooing, and the wooing in wedding. On the night appointed, in a carriage made of the white lotus-petals, amid the blazing torches of the Prince’s battalions of warriors, Hotaru-himé was borne to the Prince’s palace and there, Prince and Princess were joined in wedlock.

Many generations have passed since Hi-mar? and Hotaru-himé were married, and still it is the whim of all Fire-fly princesses that their low-born admirers must bring fire as their love-offering or lose their prize. It is for this cause that each night insects hover around the lamp flame, and every morning a crowd of victims must be cleaned from the lamp. This is the reason why young ladies catch and imprison the fire-flies to watch the war of insect love, in the hope that they may have human lovers who will dare as much, through fire and flood, as they.

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 a 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 a 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.

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.

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.

If you would like to hear the original in Ancient Egyptian – and read the hieroglyphics – you can listen to Orlando’s rendition here on YouTube.

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 the 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 throughout 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 elephant 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, and health.

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 are 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 councillors 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 twenty 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 bodyguard, 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 bodyguard 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 deposited 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 coconuts. 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 marvelled 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

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 state of Kansas. One day the farmhouse, 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 scarecrow, a tin woodman, and a cowardly lion. They are all on their way to the Emerald City seek help from the Wonderful Wizard of Oz. The Wizard agrees to help them, but first 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 or 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 travelling 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.

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.

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 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 plains. 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 of 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.