Stories To Tell To Children
S >>
Sara Cone Bryant >> Stories To Tell To Children
Pages:
1 |
2 |
3 |
4 |
5 |
6 |
7 |
8 | 9 |
10 |
11 |
12
The Tortoise forgot everything except
that she wanted to say, "Hush, you foolish
people!" She opened her mouth,--
and fell to the ground. And that was the
end of the Tortoise.
It is a very good thing to be able to hold
one's tongue!
ROBERT OF SICILY[1]
[1] Adapted from Longfellow's poem.
An old legend says that there was once
a king named Robert of Sicily, who was
brother to the great Pope of Rome and
to the Emperor of Allemaine. He was
a very selfish king, and very proud; he
cared more for his pleasures than for the
needs of his people, and his heart was so
filled with his own greatness that he had
no thought for God.
One day, this proud king was sitting in
his place at church, at vesper service; his
courtiers were about him, in their bright
garments, and he himself was dressed in
his royal robes. The choir was chanting
the Latin service, and as the beautiful
voices swelled louder, the king noticed one
particular verse which seemed to be
repeated again and again. He turned to a
learned clerk at his side and asked what
those words meant, for he knew no Latin.
"They mean, `He hath put down the
mighty from their seats, and hath exalted
them of low degree,'" answered the clerk.
"It is well the words are in Latin, then,"
said the king angrily, "for they are a lie.
There is no power on earth or in heaven
which can put me down from my seat!"
And he sneered at the beautiful singing,
as he leaned back in his place.
Presently the king fell asleep, while the
service went on. He slept deeply and long.
When he awoke the church was dark and
still, and he was all alone. He, the king,
had been left alone in the church, to awake
in the dark! He was furious with rage and
surprise, and, stumbling through the dim
aisles, he reached the great doors and beat
at them, madly, shouting for his servants.
The old sexton heard some one shouting
and pounding in the church, and thought
it was some drunken vagabond who had
stolen in during the service. He came to
the door with his keys and called out,
"Who is there?"
"Open! open! It is I, the king!" came
a hoarse, angry voice from within.
"It is a crazy man," thought the sexton;
and he was frightened. He opened the
doors carefully and stood back, peering
into the darkness. Out past him rushed
the figure of a man in tattered, scanty
clothes, with unkempt hair and white,
wild face. The sexton did not know that
he had ever seen him before, but he looked
long after him, wondering at his wildness
and his haste.
In his fluttering rags, without hat or
cloak, not knowing what strange thing
had happened to him, King Robert rushed
to his palace gates, pushed aside the
startled servants, and hurried, blind with
rage, up the wide stair and through the
great corridors, toward the room where
he could hear the sound of his courtiers'
voices. Men and women servants tried to
stop the ragged man, who had somehow
got into the palace, but Robert did not
even see them as he fled along. Straight
to the open doors of the big banquet hall
he made his way, and into the midst of
the grand feast there.
The great hall was filled with lights and
flowers; the tables were set with everything
that is delicate and rich to eat; the courtiers,
in their gay clothes, were laughing
and talking; and at the head of the feast,
on the king's own throne, sat a king. His
face, his figure, his voice were exactly like
Robert of Sicily; no human being could
have told the difference; no one dreamed
that he was not the king. He was dressed
in the king's royal robes, he wore the royal
crown, and on his hand was the king's
own ring. Robert of Sicily, half naked,
ragged, without a sign of his kingship on
him, stood before the throne and stared
with fury at this figure of himself.
The king on the throne looked at him.
"Who art thou, and what dost thou here?"
he asked. And though his voice was just
like Robert's own, it had something in it
sweet and deep, like the sound of bells.
"I am the king!" cried Robert of Sicily.
"I am the king, and you are an impostor!"
The courtiers started from their seats,
and drew their swords. They would have
killed the crazy man who insulted their
king; but he raised his hand and stopped
them, and with his eyes looking into
Robert's eyes he said, "Not the king; you
shall be the king's jester! You shall wear
the cap and bells, and make laughter for
my court. You shall be the servant of
the servants, and your companion shall be
the jester's ape."
With shouts of laughter, the courtiers
drove Robert of Sicily from the banquet
hall; the waiting-men, with laughter, too,
pushed him into the soldiers' hall; and there
the pages brought the jester's wretched
ape, and put a fool's cap and bells on
Robert's head. It was like a terrible dream;
he could not believe it true, he could not
understand what had happened to him.
And when he woke next morning, he believed
it was a dream, and that he was
king again. But as he turned his head,
he felt the coarse straw under his cheek
instead of the soft pillow, and he saw that
he was in the stable, with the shivering
ape by his side. Robert of Sicily was a
jester, and no one knew him for the king.
Three long years passed. Sicily was
happy and all things went well under the
king, who was not Robert. Robert was
still the jester, and his heart was harder
and bitterer with every year. Many times,
during the three years, the king, who had
his face and voice, had called him to
himself, when none else could hear, and had
asked him the one question, "Who art
thou?" And each time that he asked it
his eyes looked into Robert's eyes, to find
his heart. But each time Robert threw
back his head and answered, proudly,
"I am the king!" And the king's eyes
grew sad and stern.
At the end of three years, the Pope bade
the Emperor of Allemaine and the King
of Sicily, his brothers, to a great meeting
in his city of Rome. The King of Sicily
went, with all his soldiers and courtiers
and servants,--a great procession of
horsemen and footmen. Never had been a
gayer sight than the grand train, men in
bright armor, riders in wonderful cloaks
of velvet and silk, servants, carrying
marvelous presents to the Pope. And at the
very end rode Robert, the jester. His
horse was a poor old thing, many-colored,
and the ape rode with him. Every one
in the villages through which they passed
ran after the jester, and pointed and
laughed.
The Pope received his brothers and
their trains in the square before Saint
Peter's. With music and flags and
flowers he made the King of Sicily welcome,
and greeted him as his brother. In the
midst of it, the jester broke through the
crowd and threw himself before the Pope.
"Look at me!" he cried; "I am your
brother, Robert of Sicily! This man is
an impostor, who has stolen my throne.
I am Robert, the king!"
The Pope looked at the poor jester
with pity, but the Emperor of Allemaine
turned to the King of Sicily, and said, "Is
it not rather dangerous, brother, to keep
a madman as jester?" And again Robert
was pushed back among the serving-men.
It was Holy Week, and the king and
the emperor, with all their trains, went
every day to the great services in the
cathedral. Something wonderful and holy
seemed to make all these services more
beautiful than ever before. All the people
of Rome felt it: it was as if the presence
of an angel were there. Men thought of
God, and felt his blessing on them. But
no one knew who it was that brought the
beautiful feeling. And when Easter Day
came, never had there been so lovely, so
holy a day: in the great churches, filled
with flowers, and sweet with incense, the
kneeling people listened to the choirs
singing, and it was like the voices of angels;
their prayers were more earnest than ever
before, their praise more glad; there was
something heavenly in Rome.
Robert of Sicily went to the services
with the rest, and sat in the humblest
place with the servants. Over and over
again he heard the sweet voices of the
choirs chant the Latin words he had heard
long ago: "He hath put down the mighty
from their seat, and hath exalted them of
low degree." And at last, as he listened,
his heart was softened. He, too, felt the
strange blessed presence of a heavenly
power. He thought of God, and of his
own wickedness; he remembered how
happy he had been, and how little good
he had done; he realized, that his power
had not been from himself, at all. On
Easter night, as he crept to his bed of straw,
he wept, not because he was so wretched,
but because he had not been a better king
when power was his.
At last all the festivities were over, and
the King of Sicily went home to his own
land again, with his people. Robert the
jester came home too.
On the day of their home-coming, there
was a special service in the royal church,
and even after the service was over for
the people, the monks held prayers of
thanksgiving and praise. The sound of
their singing came softly in at the palace
windows. In the great banquet room, the
king sat, wearing his royal robes and his
crown, while many subjects came to greet
him. At last, he sent them all away, saying
he wanted to be alone; but he commanded
the jester to stay. And when they were
alone together the king looked into Robert's
eyes, as he had done before, and said,
softly, "Who art thou?"
Robert of Sicily bowed his head. "Thou
knowest best," he said, "I only know that
I have sinned."
As he spoke, he heard the voices of the
monks singing, "He hath put down the
mighty from their seat,"--and his head
sank lower. But suddenly the music
seemed to change; a wonderful light shone
all about. As Robert raised his eyes, he
saw the face of the king smiling at him
with a radiance like nothing on earth,
and as he sank to his knees before the glory
of that smile, a voice sounded with the
music, like a melody throbbing on a single
string:--
"I am an angel, and thou art the king!"
Then Robert of Sicily was alone. His
royal robes were upon him once more;
he wore his crown and his royal ring. He
was king. And when the courtiers came
back they found their king kneeling by
his throne, absorbed in silent prayer.
THE JEALOUS COURTIERS[1]
[1] Adapted from the facts given in the German of H. A. Guerber's
Marchen und Erzahlungen (D. C. Heath & Co.).
I wonder if you have ever heard the
anecdote about the artist of Dusseldorf and
the jealous courtiers. This is it. It seems
there was once a very famous artist who
lived in the little town of Dusseldorf. He
did such fine work that the Elector, Prince
Johann Wilhelm, ordered a portrait statue
of himself, on horseback, to be done in
bronze. The artist was overjoyed at the
commission, and worked early and late
at the statue.
At last the work was done, and the artist
had the great statue set up in the public
square of Dusseldorf, ready for the
opening view. The Elector came on the
appointed day, and with him came his favorite
courtiers from the castle. Then the statue
was unveiled. It was very beautiful,--
so beautiful that the prince exclaimed in
surprise. He could not look enough, and
presently he turned to the artist and shook
hands with him, like an old friend. "Herr
Grupello," he said, "you are a great artist,
and this statue will make your fame even
greater than it is; the portrait of me is perfect!"
When the courtiers heard this, and saw
the friendly hand-grasp, their jealousy of
the artist was beyond bounds. Their one
thought was, how could they safely do
something to humiliate him. They dared
not pick flaws in the portrait statue, for
the prince had declared it perfect. But at
last one of them said, with an air of great
frankness, "Indeed, Herr Grupello, the
portrait of his Royal Highness is perfect;
but permit me to say that the statue of the
horse is not quite so successful: the head
is too large; it is out of proportion."
"No," said another, "the horse is really
not so successful; the turn of the neck,
there, is awkward."
"If you would change the right hind-
foot, Herr Grupello," said a third, "it
would be an improvement."
Still another found fault with the horse's
tail.
The artist listened, quietly. When they
had all finished, he turned to the prince and
said, "Your courtiers, Prince, find a good
many flaws in the statue of the horse;
will you permit me to keep it a few days
more, to do what I can with it?"
The Elector assented, and the artist
ordered a temporary screen built around
the statue, so that his assistants could
work undisturbed. For several days the
sound of hammering came steadily from
behind the enclosure. The courtiers, who
took care to pass that way, often, were
delighted. Each one said to himself, "I
must have been right, really; the artist
himself sees that something was wrong;
now I shall have credit for saving the
prince's portrait by my artistic taste!"
Once more the artist summoned the
prince and his courtiers, and once more the
statue was unveiled. Again the Elector
exclaimed at its beauty, and then he turned
to his courtiers, one after another, to see
what they had to say.
"Perfect!" said the first. "Now that
the horse's head is in proportion, there
is not a flaw."
"The change in the neck was just what
was needed," said the second; "it is very
graceful now."
"The rear right foot is as it should be,
now," said a third, "and it adds so much
to the beauty of the whole!"
The fourth said that he considered the
tail greatly improved.
"My courtiers are much pleased now,"
said the prince to Herr Grupello; "they
think the statue much improved by the
changes you have made."
Herr Grupello smiled a little. "I am
glad they are pleased," he said, "but the
fact is, I have changed nothing!"
"What do you mean?" said the prince
in surprise. "Have we not heard the sound
of hammering every day? What were you
hammering at then?"
"I was hammering at the reputation of
your courtiers, who found fault simply
because they were jealous," said the artist.
"And I rather think that their reputation
is pretty well hammered to pieces!"
It was, indeed. The Elector laughed
heartily, but the courtiers slunk away,
one after another, without a word.
PRINCE CHERRY[1]
[1] A shortened version of the familiar tale.
There was once an old king, so wise and
kind and true that the most powerful
good fairy of his land visited him and
asked him to name the dearest wish of his
heart, that she might grant it.
"Surely you know it," said the good
king; "it is for my only son, Prince Cherry;
do for him whatever you would have done
for me."
"Gladly," said the great fairy; "choose
what I shall give him. I can make him the
richest, the most beautiful, or the most
powerful prince in the world; choose."
"None of those things are what I want,"
said the king. "I want only that he shall
be good. Of what use will it be to him to
be beautiful, rich, or powerful, if he grows
into a bad man? Make him the best prince
in the world, I beg you!"
"Alas, I cannot make him good," said
the fairy; "he must do that for himself.
I can give him good advice, reprove him
when he does wrong, and punish him if he
will not punish himself; I can and will be
his best friend, but I cannot make him
good unless he wills it."
The king was sad to hear this, but he
rejoiced in the friendship of the fairy for
his son. And when he died, soon after,
he was happy to know that he left Prince
Cherry in her hands.
Prince Cherry grieved for his father
and often lay awake at night, thinking of
him. One night, when he was all alone
in his room, a soft and lovely light
suddenly shone before him, and a beautiful
vision stood at his side. It was the good
fairy. She was clad in robes of dazzling
white, and on her shining hair she wore
a wreath of white roses.
"I am the Fairy Candide," she said to
the prince. "I promised your father that
I would be your best friend, and as long
as you live I shall watch over your happiness.
I have brought you a gift; it is not
wonderful to look at, but it has a wonderful
power for your welfare; wear it, and
let it help you."
As she spoke, she placed a small gold
ring on the prince's little finger. "This
ring," she said, "will help you to be good;
when you do evil, it will prick you, to
remind you. If you do not heed its warnings
a worse thing will happen to you, for
I shall become your enemy." Then she
vanished.
Prince Cherry wore his ring, and said
nothing to any one of the fairy's gift. It
did not prick him for a long time, because
he was good and merry and happy. But
Prince Cherry had been rather spoiled by
his nurse when he was a child; she had
always said to him that when he should
become king he could do exactly as he
pleased. Now, after a while, he began to
find out that this was not true, and it made
him angry.
The first time that he noticed that even
a king could not always have his own way
was on a day when he went hunting. It
happened that he got no game. This put
him in such a bad temper that he grumbled
and scolded all the way home. The
little gold ring began to feel tight and
uncomfortable. When he reached the palace
his pet dog ran to meet him.
"Go away!" said the prince, crossly.
But the little dog was so used to being
petted that he only jumped up on his
master, and tried to kiss his hand. The
prince turned and kicked the little creature.
At the instant, he felt a sharp prick in his
little finger, like a pin prick.
"What nonsense!" said the prince to
himself. "Am I not king of the whole
land? May I not kick my own dog, if I
choose? What evil is there in that?"
A silver voice spoke in his ear: "The
king of the land has a right to do good,
but not evil; you have been guilty of bad
temper and of cruelty to-day; see that
you do better to-morrow."
The prince turned sharply, but no one
was to be seen; yet he recognized the voice
as that of Fairy Candide.
He followed her advice for a little, but
presently he forgot, and the ring pricked
him so sharply that his finger had a drop
of blood on it. This happened again and
again, for the prince grew more self-willed
and headstrong every day; he had some
bad friends, too, who urged him on, in the
hope that he would ruin himself and give
them a chance to seize the throne. He
treated his people carelessly and his servants
cruelly, and everything he wanted
he felt that he must have.
The ring annoyed him terribly; it was
embarrassing for a king to have a drop
of blood on his finger all the time! At
last he took the ring off and put it out
of sight. Then he thought he should be
perfectly happy, having his own way; but
instead, he grew more unhappy as he grew
less good. Whenever he was crossed, or
could not have his own way instantly, he
flew into a passion,
Finally, he wanted something that he
really could not have. This time it was a
most beautiful young girl, named Zelia;
the prince saw her, and loved her so much
that he wanted at once to make her his
queen. To his great astonishment, she
refused.
"Am I not pleasing to you?" asked the
prince in surprise.
"You are very handsome, very charming,
Prince," said Zelia; "but you are not
like the good king, your father; I fear you
would make me very miserable if I were
your queen."
In a great rage, Prince Cherry ordered
the young girl put in prison; and the key of
her dungeon he kept. He told one of his
friends, a wicked man who flattered him
for his own purposes, about the thing,
and asked his advice.
"Are you not king?" said the bad friend,
"May you not do as you will? Keep the
girl in a dungeon till she does as you command,
and if she will not, sell her as a
slave."
"But would it not be a disgrace for me
to harm an innocent creature?" said the
prince.
"It would be a disgrace to you to have
it said that one of your subjects dared
disobey you!" said the courtier.
He had cleverly touched the Prince's
worst trait, his pride. Prince Cherry went
at once to Zelia's dungeon, prepared to
do this cruel thing.
Zelia was gone. No one had the key
save the prince himself; yet she was gone.
The only person who could have dared
to help her, thought the prince, was his
old tutor, Suliman, the only man left who
ever rebuked him for anything. In fury,
he ordered Suliman to be put in fetters
and brought before him.
As his servants left him, to carry out
the wicked order, there was a clash, as of
thunder, in the room, and then a blinding
light. Fairy Candide stood before him.
Her beautiful face was stern, and her silver
voice rang like a trumpet, as she said,
"Wicked and selfish prince, you have
become baser than the beasts you hunt;
you are furious as a lion, revengeful as a
serpent, greedy as a wolf, and brutal as a
bull; take, therefore, the shape of those
beasts whom you resemble!"
With horror, the prince felt himself
being transformed into a monster. He tried
to rush upon the fairy and kill her, but
she had vanished with her words. As he
stood, her voice came from the air, saying,
sadly, "Learn to conquer your pride by
being in submission to your own subjects."
At the same moment, Prince Cherry felt
himself being transported to a distant
forest, where he was set down by a clear
stream. In the water he saw his own
terrible image; he had the head of a lion, with
bull's horns, the feet of a wolf, and a tail
like a serpent. And as he gazed in horror,
the fairy's voice whispered, "Your soul
has become more ugly than your shape is;
you yourself have deformed it."
The poor beast rushed away from the
sound of her words, but in a moment he
stumbled into a trap, set by bear-catchers.
When the trappers found him they were
delighted to have caught a curiosity, and
they immediately dragged him to the palace
courtyard. There he heard the whole
court buzzing with gossip. Prince Cherry
had been struck by lightning and killed,
was the news, and the five favorite courtiers
had struggled to make themselves
rulers, but the people had refused them,
and offered the crown to Suliman, the
good old tutor.
Even as he heard this, the prince saw
Suliman on the steps of the palace, speaking
to the people. "I will take the crown
to keep in trust," he said. "Perhaps the
prince is not dead."
"He was a bad king; we do not want
him back," said the people.
"I know his heart," said Suliman, "it
is not all bad; it is tainted, but not corrupt;
perhaps he will repent and come back to
us a good king."
When the beast heard this, it touched
him so much that he stopped tearing at
his chains, and became gentle. He let his
keepers lead him away to the royal
menagerie without hurting them.
Life was very terrible to the prince, now,
but he began to see that he had brought
all his sorrow on himself, and he tried to
bear it patiently. The worst to bear was
the cruelty of the keeper. At last, one
night, this keeper was in great danger; a
tiger got loose, and attacked him. "Good
enough! Let him die!" thought Prince
Cherry. But when he saw how helpless
the keeper was, he repented, and sprang
to help. He killed the tiger and saved the
keeper's life.
As he crouched at the keeper's feet, a
voice said, "Good actions never go
unrewarded!" And the terrible monster was
changed into a pretty little white dog.
The keeper carried the beautiful little
dog to the court and told the story, and
from then on, Cherry was carefully treated,
and had the best of everything. But in
order to keep the little dog from growing,
the queen ordered that he should be fed
very little, and that was pretty hard for
the poor prince. He was often half starved,
although so much petted.
One day he had carried his crust of
bread to a retired spot in the palace woods,
where he loved to be, when he saw a poor
old woman hunting for roots, and seeming
almost starved.
"Poor thing," he thought, "she is even
hungrier than I;" and he ran up and
dropped the crust at her feet.
The woman ate it, and seemed greatly
refreshed.
Cherry was glad of that, and he was
running happily back to his kennel when
he heard cries of distress, and suddenly he
saw some rough men dragging along a
young girl, who was weeping and crying for
help. What was his horror to see that the
young girl was Zelia! Oh, how he wished
he were the monster once more, so that
he could kill the men and rescue her! But
he could do nothing except bark, and bite
at the heels of the wicked men. That
could not stop them; they drove him off,
with blows, and carried Zelia into a palace
in the wood.
Poor Cherry crouched by the steps, and
watched. His heart was full of pity and
rage. But suddenly he thought, "I was
as bad as these men; I myself put Zelia in
prison, and would have treated her worse
still, if I had not been prevented." The
thought made him so sorry and ashamed
that he repented bitterly the evil he had
done.
Presently a window opened, and Cherry
saw Zelia lean out and throw down a piece
of meat. He seized it and was just going
to devour it, when the old woman to whom
he had given his crust snatched it away
and took him in her arms. "No, you shall
not eat it, you poor little thing," she said,
"for every bit of food in that house is
poisoned."
Pages:
1 |
2 |
3 |
4 |
5 |
6 |
7 |
8 | 9 |
10 |
11 |
12