The watchman now heard the cry if the Pa_The Art of the Story-Teller

the other parrots flying through the air. "What is that?" he cried,

and leaving his hut he came to the place where he had laid the snare.

There he found the captive parrot; he tied his feet together and

brought him to the Brahmin, his master. Now, when the Brahmin saw the

Parrot-King, he felt his strong power, and his heart was full of love

to him, but he hid his feelings, and said in a voice of anger: "Is thy

greed greater than that of all other birds? They eat their fill, but

thou canst takest away each day more food than thou canst eat. Doest

thou this out of hatred for me, or dost thou store up the food in same

granary for selfish greed?"

And the Great Being made answer in a sweet human voice: "I hate thee

not, O Brahmin. Nor do I store the rice in a granary for selfish greed.

But this thing I do. Each day I pay a debt which is due--each day I

grant a loan, and each day I store up a treasure."

Now the Brahmin could not understand the words of the Buddha (because

true wisdom had not entered his heart) and he said: "I pray thee, O

Wondrous Bird, to make these words clear unto me."

And then the Parrot-King made answer: "I carry food to my ancient

parents who can no longer seek that food for themselves: thus I pay

my daily debt. I carry food to my callow chicks whose wings are

yet ungrown. When I am old they will care for me--this my loan to

them. And for other birds, weak and helpless of wing, who need

the aid of the strong, for them I lay up a store; to these I give

in charity."

Then was the Brahmin much moved and showed the love that was in his

heart. "Eat thy fill, O Righteous Bird, and let thy Kinsfolk eat,

too, for thy sake." And he wished to bestow a thousand acres of land

upon him, but the Great Being would only take a tiny portion round

which were set boundary stores.

And the parrot returned with a head of rice, and said: "Arise, dear

parents, that I may take you to a place of plenty." And he told them

the story of his deliverance.

From "EASTERN STORIES AND LEGENDS."

THREE STORIES FROM HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN.[53]

THE SWINEHERD.

There was once a poor Prince. He owned a Kingdom--a very small one,

but it was big enough to allow him to marry, and he was determined

to marry. Now, it was really very bold on his part to say to a King's

daughter: "Will you marry me?" But he dared to do so, for his name

was known far and wide, and there were hundreds of princesses who would

willingly have said: "Yes, thank you." But, would _she_? We shall

hear what happened.

On the grave of the Prince's father, there grew a rose-tree--such

a wonderful rose-tree! It bloomed only once in five years, and then

it bore only one rose--but what a rose! Its perfume was so sweet

that whoever smelt it forgot all his cares and sorrows. The Prince

had also a nightingale which could sing as if all the delicious

melodies in the world were contained in its little throat. The rose

and the nightingale were both to be given to the Princess, and were

therefore placed in two great silver caskets and sent to her. The

Emperor had them carried before him into the great hall where the

Princess was playing at "visiting" with her ladies-in-waiting--they

had nothing else to do. When she saw the caskets with the presents in

them, she clapped her hands with joy.

"If it were only a little pussy-cat," she cried. But out came a

beautiful rose.

"How elegantly it is made," said all the ladies of the court.

"It is more than elegant," said the Emperor, "It is _neat_.

"Fie, papa," she said, "it is not made at all; it is a _natural_ rose."

"Let us see what the other casket contains before we lose our temper,"

said the Emperor, and then out came the little nightingale and sang so

sweetly that at first nobody could think of anything to say against it."

"_Superbe, superbe_," cried the ladies of the court, for they all

chattered French, one worse than the other.

"How the bird reminds me of the late Empress' musical-box!" said an

old Lord-in-Waiting. "Ah, me! the same tone, the same execution."

"The very same," said the Emperor, and he cried like a little child.

"I hope it is not a real bird," said the Princess.

Oh, yes! it is a real bird," said those who had brought it.

"Then let the bird fly away," she said, and she would on no account

allow the Prince to come in.

But he was not to be disheartened; he smeared his face with black and

brown, drew his cap over his forehead, and knocked at the Palace door.

The Emperor opened it.

"Good day, Emperor," he said. "Could I get work at the Palace?"

"Well, there are so many wanting places," said the Emperor; "but let

me see!--I need a Swineherd. I have a good many pigs to keep."

So the Prince was made Imperial Swineherd. He had a wretched little

room near the pig-sty and here he was obliged to stay. But the whole

day he sat and worked, and by the evening he had made a neat little

pipkin, and round it was a set of bells, and as soon as the pot began

to boil, the bells fell to jingling most sweetly and played the old

melody:

"Ach du lieber Augustin,

Alles is weg, weg, weg!"[54]

But the most wonderful thing was that when you held your finger in

the steam of the pipkin, you could immediately smell what dinner was

cooking on every hearth in the town. That was something very

different from a rose.

The Princess was walking out with her ladies-in-waiting, and when she

heard the melody, she stopped short, and looked pleased, for she could

play "Ach du lieber Augustin" herself; it was the only tune she knew,

and that she played with one finger. "Why, that is the tune I play,"

she said. "What a cultivated Swineherd he must be. Go down and ask

him how much his instrument costs."

So one of the ladies-in-waiting was obliged to go down, but she put on

pattens first.

"How much do you want for your pipkin?" asked the Lady-in-waiting.

"I will have ten kisses from the Princess," said the Swineherd.

"Good gracious!" said the Lady-in-waiting.

"I will not take less," said the Swineherd.

"Well, what did he say?" asked the Princess.

"I really cannot tell you," said the Lady-in-waiting. "It is too

dreadful."

"Then you must whisper it," said the Princess.

So she whispered it.

"He is very rude," said the Princess, and she walked away. But she

had gone only a few steps when the bells sounded so sweetly:

"Ach du lieber Augustin

Alles ist weg, weg, weg!"

"Listen," said the Princess, "ask him whether he will have his kisses

from my Ladies-in-waiting."

"No, thank you," said the Swineherd. "I will have ten kisses from the

Princess, or, I will keep my pipkin."

"How tiresome!" said the Princess; "but you must stand round me, so

that nobody shall see."

So the ladies-in-waiting stood round her and they spread out their

skirts. The Swineherd got the kisses, and she got the pipkin.

How delighted she was. All the evening and the whole of the next day,

that pot was made to boil. And you might have known what everybody

was cooking on every hearth in town, from the Chamberlain's to the

shoemaker's. The court ladies danced and clapped their hands.

"We know who is to have fruit-soup and pancakes, and we know who is

going to have porridge, and cutlets. How very interesting it is!"

"Most interesting, indeed," said the first Lady-of-Honor.

"Yes, but hold your tongues, for I am the Emperor's daughter."

"Of course we will," they cried in one breath.

The Swineherd, or the Prince, nobody knew that he was not a real

Swineherd, did not let the day pass without doing something, and

he made a rattle which could play all the waltzes, and the polkas

and the hop-dances which had been know since the creation of the

world.

"But this is _superbe_!" said the Princess, who was just passing:

"I have never heard more beautiful composition. Go and as him what

the instrument costs. But I will give no more kisses."

"He insists on a hundred kisses from the Princess," said the ladies-

in-waiting who had been down to ask.

"I think he must be quite mad," said the Princess, and she walked

away. But when she had taken a few steps, she stopped short, and

said: "One must encourage the fine arts, and I am the emperor's

daughter. Tell him he may have ten kisses, as before, and the rest he

can take from my ladies-in-waiting."

"Yes, but we object to that," said the ladies-in-waiting.

"That is nonsense," said the Princess. "If I can kiss him, surely you

can do the same. Go down at once. Don't I give you board and wages?"

So the ladies-in-waiting were obliged to go down to the Swineherd again.

"A hundred kisses from the Princess, or each keeps his own."

"Stand round me," she said. And all the ladies-in-waiting stood round

her, and the Swineherd began to kiss her.

"What can all the crowd be down by the pig-sty?" said the Emperor,

stepping out onto the balcony. He rubbed his eyes and put on his

spectacles. "It is the court ladies up to some of their tricks. I

must go down and look after them." He pulled up his slippers, for

they were shoes which he had trodden down at heel.

Gracious goodness, how he hurried! As soon as he came into the

garden, he walked very softly, and the ladies-in-waiting had so

much to do counting the kisses, so that everything could be done

fairly, and that the Swineherd should get neither too many nor

too few, that they never noticed the Emperor at all. He stood

on tip-toe.

"What is this all about?" he said, when he saw the kissing that was

going on, and he hit them on the head with his slipper, just as the

Swineherd was getting the eighty-sixth kiss. "Heraus!" said the

Emperor, for he was angry, and both the Princess and the Swineherd

were turned out of his Kingdom.

The Princess wept, the Swineherd scolded, and the rain streamed down.

"Oh! wretched creature that I am," said the Princess. "If I had only

taken the handsome Prince! Oh, how unhappy I am!"

Then the Swineherd went behind a tree, washed the black and brown off

his face, threw of his ragged clothes, and stood forth in his royal

apparel, looking so handsome that she was obliged to curtsey.

"I have learned to despise you," he said. "You would not have an

honorable Prince. You could not appreciate a rose or a nightingale,

but for a musical toy, you kissed the Swineherd. Now you have your

reward."

So he went into his Kingdom, shut the door and bolted it, and she had

to stand outside singing:

"Ach, du lieber Augustin,

Alles is weg, weg, weg!"

THE NIGHTINGALE.

In China, you must know, the Emperor is a Chinaman, and all those

around him are Chinamen, too. It is many years since all this

happened, and for that very reason it is worth hearing, before it

is forgotten.

The Emperor's palace was the most beautiful in the world; built all

of fine porcelain and very costly, but so fragile that it was very

difficult to touch, and you had to be very careful in doing so. The

most wonderful flowers were to be seen in the garden, and to the most

beautiful silver bells, tinkling bells were tied, for fear people

should pass by without noticing them. How well everything had been

thought out in the Emperor's garden! This was so big, that the

gardener himself did not know where it ended. If you walked on and on

you came to the most beautiful forest, with tall trees and big lakes.

The wood stretched right down to the sea which was blue and deep;

great ships could pass underneath the branches, and here a nightingale

had made its home, and its singing was so entrancing that the poor

fisherman, though he had so many other things to do, would lie still

and listen when he was out at night drawing in his nets.

"How beautiful it is!" he said; but then he was forced to think about

his own affairs, and the Nightingale was forgotten. The next day,

when it sang again, the fisherman said the same thing: "How beautiful

it is!"

Travellers from all the countries of the world came to the emperor's

town, and expressed their admiration of the palace and the garden,

but when they heard the Nightingale, they all said: "This is the

best of all!"

Now, when these travellers came home, they told of what they had seen.

And scholars wrote many books about the town, the palace and the garden,

but nobody left out the Nightingale; it was always spoken of as the most

wonderful of all they had seen. And those who had the gift of the Poet,

wrote the most delightful poems all about the Nightingale in the wood

near the deep lake.

The books went round the world, and in the course of time some of them

reached the Emperor. He sat in his golden chair, and read and read,

nodding his head every minute; for it pleased him to read the beautiful

descriptions of the town, the palace and the garden.

"But the Nightingale is the best of all," he read.

"What is this?" said the Emperor. "The Nightingale! I now nothing

whatever about it. To think of there being such a bird in my Kingdom--

nay in my very garden--and I have never heard it. And to think one

should learn such a thing for the first time from a book!"

Then he summoned his Lord-in-Waiting, who was such a grand personage

that if anyone inferior in rank ventured to speak to him, or ask him

about anything, he merely answered "P," which meant nothing whatever.

"There is said to be a most wonderful bird, called the Nightingale,"

said the Emperor; "they say it is the best thing in my great Kingdom.

Why have I been told nothing about it?"

"I have never heard it mentioned before," said the Lord-in-Waiting.

"It has certainly never been presented at court."

"It is my good pleasure that it shall appear to-night and sing before

me!" said the Emperor. "The whole world knows what is mine, and I

myself do not know it."

"I have never heard it mentioned before," said the Lord-in-Waiting.

"I will seek it, and I shall find it."

But where was it to be found? The Lord-in-Waiting ran up and down all

the stairs, through halls and passages, but not one of all those whom

he met had ever heard a word about the Nightingale; so the Lord-in-

Waiting ran back to the Emperor and told him that it must certainly

be a fable invented by writers of books.

"Your Majesty must not believe all that is written in books. It is

pure invention, something which is called the Black Art."

"But," said the Emperor, "the book in which I have read this was sent

to me by His Majesty, the Emperor of Japan, and therefore this cannot

be a falsehood. I will hear the Nightingale. It must appear this

evening! It has my Imperial favor, and if it fails to appear the Court

shall be trampled upon after the Court has supped."

"Tsing-pe!" said the Lord-in-Waiting, and again he ran up and down all

the stairs, through all the passages, and half the Court ran with him,

for they had no wish to be trampled upon. And many questions were

asked about the wonderful Nightingale, of whom all had heard except

those who lived at Court.

At last, they met a poor little girl in the kitchen. She said: "Oh,

yes! The Nightingale! I know it well. How it can sing! Every evening

I have permission to take the broken pieces from the table to my poor

sick mother who lives near the sea-shore, and on my way back, when I

feel tired, and rest a while in the wood, then I hear the Nightingale

sing, and my eyes are filled with tears; it is as if my mother kissed

me."

"Little kitchen-maid," said the Lord-in-Waiting, "I will get a permanent

place for you in the Court Kitchen and permission to see the Emperor

dine, if you can lead us to the Nightingale; for it has been commanded

to appear at Court to-night."

So they started off all together where the bird used to sing; half the

Court went, too. They were going along at a good pace, when suddenly

they heard a cow lowing.

"Oh," said a Court-Page. "There it is! What a wonderful power for so

small a creature! I have certainly heard it before."

"No, those are the cows lowing," said the little kitchen-maid. "We

are a long way from the place yet."

Then the frogs began to croak in the marsh. "Glorious," said the Court-

Preacher. "Now, I hear it--it is just like little church-bells."

"No, those are the frogs," said the little kitchen-maid. "But now I

think we shall soon hear it."

And then the Nightingale began to sing.

"There it is," said the little girl. "Listen, listen--there it

sits!" And she pointed to a little gray bird in the branches.

"Is it possible!" said the Lord-in-Waiting. "I had never supposed it

would look like that. How very plain it looks! It has certainly lost

its color from seeing so many grand folk here."

"Little Nightingale," called out the little kitchen-maid, "our gracious

Emperor wishes you to sing for him."

"With the greatest pleasure," said the Nightingale, and it sang, and

it was a joy to hear it.

"It sounds like little glass bells," said the Lord-in-Waiting; "and

just look at its little throat, how it moves! It is astonishing to

think we have never heard it before! It will have a real _success_

at Court."

"Shall I sing for the Emperor again?" asked the Nightingale, who

thought that the Emperor was there in person.

"Mine excellent little Nightingale," said the Lord-in-Waiting, "I have

the great pleasure of bidding you to a Court-Festival this night, when

you will enchant His Imperial Majesty with your delightful warbling."

"My voice sounds better among the green trees," said the Nightingale.

But it came willingly when it knew the Emperor wished it.

There was a great deal of furbishing up at the palace. The walls and

ceiling which were of porcelain, shone with the light of a thousand

golden lamps. The most beautiful flowers of the tinkling kind were

placed in the passages. There was a running to and fro and a great

draught, but that is just what made the bells ring, and one could not

hear oneself speak. In the middle of the great hall where the Emperor

sat, a golden rod had been set up on which the Nightingale was to

perch. The whole Court was present, and the little kitchen-maid

was allowed to stand behind the door, for she had now the actual

title of Court Kitchen-Maid. All were there in their smartest

clothes, and they all looked toward the little gray bird to which

the Emperor nodded.

And then the Nightingale sang, so gloriously that tears sprang into

the Emperor's eyes and rolled down his cheeks, and the Nightingale

sang even more sweetly. The song went straight to the heart, and the

Emperor was so delighted that he declared that the Nightingale should

have his golden slipper to hang round its neck. But the Nightingale

declined. It had already had its reward.

"I have seen tears in the Emperor's eyes. That is my greatest reward.

An Emperor's tears have a wonderful power. God knows I am sufficiently

rewarded," and again its sweet, glorious voice was heard.

"That is the most delightful coquetting I have ever known," said the

ladies sitting round, and they took water into their mouths, in order

to gurgle when anyone spoke to them, and they really thought they were

like the Nightingale. Even the footmen and the chambermaids sent word

that they were satisfied, and that means a great deal, for they are

always the most difficult people to please. Yes, indeed, there was no

doubt as to the Nightingale's success. It was to stay at Court, and

have its own cage, with liberty to go out twice in the daytime, and

once at night. Twelve footmen went out with it, and each held a silk

ribbon which was tied to the bird's leg, and which they held very

tightly. There was not much pleasure in an outing of that sort. The

whole town was talking about the wonderful bird, and when two people

met, one said: "Nightin--" and the other said "gale," and they sighed

and understood one another. Eleven cheese-mongers' children were called

after the bird, though none of them could sing a note.

One day a large parcel came for the Emperor. Outside was written the

word: "Nightingale."

"Here we have a new book about our wonderful bird," said the Emperor.

But it was not a book; it was a little work of art which lay in a box--

an artificial Nightingale, which looked exactly like the real one, but

it was studded all over with diamonds, rubies and sapphires. As soon

as you wound it up, it could sing one of the songs which the real bird

sang, and its tail moved up and down and glittered with silver and

gold. Round its neck was a ribbon on which was written: "The Emperor

of Japan's Nightingale is poor indeed, compared with the Emperor

of China's."

"That is delightful," they all said, and on the messenger who had

brought the artificial bird, they bestowed the title of "Imperial

Nightingale-Bringer-in-Chief."

"Let them sing together, and _what_ a duet that will be!"

And so they had to sing, but the thing would not work, because the

real Nightingale could only sing in its own way, and the artificial

Nightingale went by clockwork.

"That is not its fault," said the band-master. "Time is its strong

point and it has quite my method."

Then the artificial Nightingale had to sing alone. It had just as

much success as the real bird, and it was so much handsomer to look

at; it glittered like bracelets and breast-pins. It sang the same

tune three and thirty times, and still it was not tired; the people

would willingly listen to the whole performance over again from the

start, but the Emperor suggested that the real Nightingale should sing

for a while--where was it? Nobody had noticed it had flown out

of the open window back to its green woods.

"But what is the meaning of all this?" said the Emperor. All the

courtiers railed at the Nightingale and said it was a most ungrateful

creature.

"We have the better of the two," they said, and the artificial

Nightingale had to sing again, and this was the thirty-fourth time

they had heard the same tune. But they did not know it properly

event then because it was so difficult, and the band-master praised

the wonderful bird in the highest terms and even asserted that it

was superior to the real bird, not only as regarded the outside,

with the many lovely diamonds, but the inside as well.

"You see, ladies and gentlemen, and above all your Imperial Majesty,

that with the real Nightingale, you can never predict what may happen,

but with the artificial bird, everything is settled beforehand; so it

remains and it cannot be changed. One can account for it. One can

rip it open, and show the human ingenuity, explaining how the cylinders

lie, how they work, and how one thing is the result of another."

"That is just what we think," they all exclaimed, and the bandmaster

received permission to exhibit the bird to the people on the following

Sunday. The Emperor said they would hear it sing. They listened and

were as much delighted as if they had been drunk with tea, which is

Chinese, you know, and they all said: "Oh!" and stuck their forefingers

in the air, and nodded their heads. But the poor fisherman who had

heard the real Nightingale, said: "It sounds quite well, and a little

like it, but there is something wanting, I do not know what."

The real Nightingale was banished from the Kingdom.

The artificial bird had its place on a silken cushion close to the

Emperor's bed. All the presents it had received, the gold and

precious stones, lay all round it, and it had been honored with the

title of High-Imperial-Bed-Room-Singer--in the first rank, on the

left side, for even the Emperor considered that side the grander on

which the heart is placed, and even an Emperor has his heart on the

left side.

The band-master wrote twenty-five volumes about the wonderful artificial

bird. The book was very learned and very long, filled with the most

difficult words in the Chinese language, and everybody said they had

read and understood it, for otherwise they would have been considered

stupid, and would have been trampled upon.

And thus a whole year passed away. The Emperor, the Court, and all

the Chinamen knew every little gurgle in the artificial bird's song,

and just for this reason, they were all the better pleased with it.

They could sing it themselves--which they did.

The boys in the street sang "Iodizing," and, "cluck, cluck," and even

the Emperor sang it. Yes, it was certainly beautiful!

But one evening, while the bird was singing, and the Emperor lay in

bed listening to it, there was a whirring sound inside the bird, and

something whizzed; all the wheels ran round, and the music stopped.

The Emperor sprang out of bed and sent for the Court Physician, but

what could he do? Then they sent for the watch-maker, and after much

talk and examination, he patched the bird up, but he said it must be

spared as much as possible, because the hammers were so worn out--and he

could not put new ones in so that the music could be counted on. This

was a great grief. The bird could only be allowed to sing once a year,

and even that was risky, but on these occasions, the band-master would

make a little speech, full of difficult words, saying the bird was just

as good as ever--and that was true.

Five years passed away, and a great sorrow had come to the country.

The people all really cared for their Emperor, and now he was ill and

it was said he could not live. A new Emperor had been chosen, and the

people stood about the streets, and questioned the Lord-in-Waiting

about their Emperor's condition.

"P!" he said, and shook his head.

The Emperor lay pale and cold on his great, gorgeous bed; the whole

Court believed that he was dead, and they all hastened to pay homage

to the new Emperor. The footmen hurried off to discuss matters, and

the chambermaids gave a great coffee-party. Cloth had been laid down

in all the rooms and passages, so that not even a footstep should be

heard and it was all so very quiet. But the Emperor was not yet dead.

He lay stiff and pale in the sumptuous bed, with its long velvet

curtains and heavy gold tassels; high above was an open window, and

the moon shone in upon the Emperor and the artificial bird. The poor

Emperor could hardly breathe; he felt as if someone were sitting on

his chest; he opened his eyes and saw that it was Death sitting on his

chest, wearing his golden crown, holding in one hand his golden sword,

and in the other his splendid banner. And from the folds of the

velvet curtains strange faces peered forth; some terrible to look on,

others mild and friendly--these were the Emperor's good and bad deeds,

which gazed upon him now that Death sat upon his heart.

"Do you remember this?" whispered one after the other. "Do you remember

that?" They told him so much that the sweat poured down his face.

"I never knew that," said the Emperor. "Music! music! Beat the great

Chinese drum!" he called out, "so that I may not hear what they are

saying!"

But they kept on, and Death nodded his head, like a Chinaman, at

everything they said.

"Music, music," cried the Emperor. "You precious little golden bird!

Sing to me, ah! sing to me! I have given you gold and costly treasure.

I have hung my golden slipper about your neck. Sing to me. Sing to me!"

But the bird was silent; there was no one to wind him up, and therefore

he could not sing. Death went on, staring at the Emperor with his great

hollow eyes, and it was terribly still.

Then suddenly, close to the window, came the sound of a lovely song.

It was the little live Nightingale perched on a branch outside. It had

heard of its Emperor's need, and had therefore flown hither to bring him

comfort and hope, and as he sang, the faces became paler and the blood

coursed more freely through the Emperor's veins. Even Death himself

listened and said: "Go on, little Nightingale. Go on."

"Yes, if you will give me the splendid sword. Yes, if you will give

me the Imperial banner! Yes, if you will give me the Emperor's crown!"

And Death gave back all these treasures for a song. And still the

Nightingale sang on. He sang of the quiet churchyard, where the white

roses grow, where the elder flowers bloom, and where the grass is kept

moist by the tears of those left behind, and there came to Death such

a longing to see his garden, that he floated out of the window, like a

could white mist.

"Thank you, thank you," said the Emperor. "You heavenly little bird,

I know you well! I banished you from the land, and you have charmed

away the evil spirits from my bed and you have driven Death from my

heart. How shall I reward you?"

"You have rewarded me," said the Nightingale. "I brought tears to your

eyes the first time I sang, and I shall never forget that. Those are

the jewels which touched the heart of the singer; but sleep now, that

you may wake fresh and strong. I will sing to you." Then it sang

again, and the Emperor fell into a sweet sleep.

The sun shone in upon him through the window, when he woke the next

morning feeling strong and well. None of his servants had come back,

because they thought he was dead, but the Nightingale was still singing.

You will always stay with me," said the Emperor. "You shall only sing

when it pleases you, and I will break the artificial Nightingale into

a thousand pieces."

"Do not do that," said the Nightingale. "It has done the best it

could. Keep it with you. I cannot build my nest in a palace, but let

me come just as I please. I well sit on the branch near the window,

and sing to you that you may both joyful and thoughtful. I will sing

to you of the happy folk, and of those that suffer; I will sing of

the evil and of the good, which is being hidden from you. The little

singing bird flies hither and thither, to the poor fisherman, to the

peasant's hut, to many who live far from your Court. Your heart is

dearer to me than your crown, and yet the crown has a breath of

sanctity, too. I will come, I will sing to you! But one thing

you must promise me!"

"All that you ask," said the Emperor, and stood there in his imperial

robes which he had put on himself, and held the heavy golden sword on

his heart.

"I beg you, let no one know that you have a little bird who tells you

everything. It will be far better so!"

Then the Nightingale flew away.

The servants came to look upon their dead Emperor. Yes, there they

stood; and the Emperor said: "Good morning!"

THE PRINCESS AND THE PEA.

There was once a Prince who wished to marry a Princess, but she must

be a _real_ Princess. He travelled all over the world to find

one, but there was always something wrong. There were plenty of

Princesses, but whether they were _real_ or not he could not be

sure. There was always something that was not quite right. So he

came home again, feeling very sad, for he was so anxious to have a

real Princess.

One evening there was a terrible storm; it lightened and thundered, and

the rain came down in torrents; it was a fearful night. In the midst

of the storm there came a knocking at the town-gate, and the old King

himself went down to open it. There, outside stood a princess. But

what a state she was in from the rain and the storm! The water was

running out of her hair on to her clothes, into he shoes and out at

the heels; and yet she said she was a _real_ Princess.

"We shall soon find out about that," thought the old Queen. But she

said never a word. She went into the bedroom, took off all the

bedclothes and put a pea on the bedstead. Then she took twenty

mattresses and laid them on the pea and twenty eider-down quilts on

the mattresses. And the Princess was to sleep on the top of all.

In the morning they came to her and asked her how she had slept.

"Oh! wretchedly," said the Princess. "I scarcely closed my eyes the

whole night long. Heaven knows what could have been in the bed! I

have lain upon something hard, so that my whole body is black and

blue. It is quite dreadful."

They could see now that she was a _real_ Princess, because she

had felt the pea through twenty mattresses and twenty eider-down

quilts. Nobody but a real Princess could be so sensitive.

So the Prince married her, for now he knew that he had found a _real_

Princess, and the pea was sent to an Art Museum, where it can still be

seen, if nobody has taken it away.

Now, mark you: This is a true story.

PART III. LIST OF STORIES. BOOKS SUGGESTED TO THE STORY-TELLER

AND BOOKS REFERRED TO IN THE LIST OF STORIES.

AUTHOR'S NOTE:--

I had intended, in this section, to offer an appendix of titles of

stories and books which should cover all the ground of possible

narrative in schools; but I have found so many lists containing

standard books and stories, that I have decided that this original

plan would be a work of supererogation. What is really needed is

a supplementary list to those already published--a specialized list

which is the result of private research and personal experience.

I have for many years spent considerable time in the British Museum

and some of the principal libraries in America. I now offer the

fruit of my labor.

LIST OF STORIES.

CLASSICAL STORIES.

THE STORY OF THESEUS. From Kingsley's "Heroes."

How Theseus lifted the stone.

How Theseus slew the Corynetes.

How Theseus slew Sinis.

How Theseus slew Kerkyon and Procrustes.

How Theseus slew the Medea and was acknowledged the

son of Aegeus.

How Theseus slew the Minotaur. To be told in six parts

as a series.

THE STORY OF CROESUS.

THE CONSPIRACY OF THE MAGI.

ARION AND THE DOLPHIN.

From "Wonder Tales from Herodotus," by N. Barrington D'Almeida.

These stories are intended for reading, but could be shortened

for effective narration.

CORIOLANUS.

JULIUS CAESAR.

ARISTIDES.

ALEXANDER.

From "Plutarch's Lives for Boys and Girls," by W. H. Weston.

These stories must be shortened and adapted for narration.

THE GOD OF THE SPEARS: THE STORY OF ROMULUS.

HIS FATHER'S CROWN: THE STORY OF ALCIBIADES.

From "Tales from Plutarch," by F. J. Rowbotham. These stories

may be shortened and told in sections.

EAST INDIAN STORIES.

THE WISE OLD SHEPHERD.

THE RELIGIOUS CAMEL.

From "The Talking Thrush," by W. H. D. Rouse.

LESS INEQUALITY THAN MEN DEEM.

From "Old Deccan Days," by Mary Frere.

THE BRAHMAN, THE TIGER AND THE SIX JUDGES.

This story may be found in "The Fairy Ring," edited by Kate

Douglas Wiggin and Nora Archibald Smith; also in "Tales of

the Punjab," by F. A. Steel, under the title of "The Tiger,

the Brahman and the Jackal."

TIT FOR TAT.

From "Old Deccan Days," by Mary Frere. This story may be

found in "The Fairy Ring," edited by Kate Douglas Wiggin

and Nora Archibald Smith.

"PRIDE GOETH BEFORE A FALL."

HARISARMAN.

From "Indian Fairy Tales," by Joseph Jacobs.

THE BEAR'S BAD BARGAIN.

LITTLE ANKLEBONE.

PEASIE AND BEANSIE.

From "Tales of the Punjab," by F. A. Steel.

THE WEAVER AND THE WATERMELON.

THE TIGER AND THE HARE.

From "Indian Nights Entertainment," by Synnerton.

THE VIRTUOUS ANIMALS.

This story should be abridged for narration.

THE ASS AS SINGER.

THE WOLF AND THE SHEEP.

From "Tibetan Tales," by F. A. Schiefner.

A STORY ABOUT ROBBERS.

From "Out of the East," by Lafcadio Hearn.

DRIPPING.

From "Indian Fairy Tales," by Mark Thornhill.

THE BUDDHA AS TREE-SPIRIT.

THE BUDDHA AS PARROT.

THE BUDDHA AS KING.

From "A Collection of Eastern Stories and Legends,"

by M. L. Shedlock.

RAKSHAS AND BAKSHAS.

This story may be found in "Tales of Laughter," edited by

Kate Douglas Wiggin and Nora Archibald Smith, under the

title of "The Blind Man, the Deaf Man and the Donkey."

THE BREAD OF DISCONTENT.

From "Legendary Lore of all Nations."

A GERM DESTROYER.

NAMGARY DOOLA.

A good story for boys, to be given in shortened form.

From "The Kipling Reader," by Rudyard Kipling.

A STUPID BOY.

THE CLEVER JACKAL.

One of the few stories wherein the Jackal shows skill

combined with gratitude. From "Folk Tales of Kashmir,"

by J. H. Knowles.

WHY THE FISH LAUGHED.

From "Folk Tales of Kashmir," by J. H. Knowles.

MYTHS, LEGENDS, AND FAIRY TALES.

HOW THE HERRING BECAME KING.

JOE MOORE'S STORY.

THE MERMAID OF GOB NY OOYL.

KING MAGNUS BAREFOOT.

From "Manx Tales," by Sophia Morrison.

THE GREEDY MAN.

From "Contes Populaires Malgaches," by Gariel Ferrand.

ARBUTUS.

BASIL.

BRIONY.

DANDELION.

From "Myths and Legends of Flowers, Trees, Fruits, and Plants,"

by C. M. Skinner.

THE MAGIC PICTURE.

THE STONE MONKEY.

STEALING PEACHES.

THE COUNTRY OF GENTLEMEN.

FOOTBALL ON A LAKE.

From "Chinese Fairy Tales", by H. A. Giles.

THE LIME TREE.

INTELLIGENCE AND LUCK.

THE FROST, THE SUN AND WIND.

From "Sixty Folk Tales from Slavonic Sources,"

by O. H. Wratislaw.

THE BOY WHO SLEPT.

THE GODS KNOW.

From "Chinese Fairy Stories," by N. A. Pitnam. This

story must be shortened and adapted for narration.

THE IMP TREE.

THE PIXY FLOWER.

TOM TIT TOT.

THE PRINCESS OF COLCHESTER.

From "Fairy Gold," by Ernest Rhys.

THE ORIGIN OF THE MOLE.

From "Cossack Fairy Tales," by R. N. Bain.

DOLLS AND BUTTERFLIES.

From "Myths and Legends of Japan," by F. H. Davis.

THE CHILD OF THE FOREST.

THE SPARROW'S WEDDING.

THE MOON MAIDEN.

From "Old World Japan," by Frank Rinder.

THE STORY OF MERLIN.

From "Stories of Early British Heroes," by C. G. Hartley.

THE ISLE OF THE MYSTIC LAKE.

From "The Voyage of Maildun," in "Old Celtic Romances,"

by P. W. Joyce.

THE STORY OF BALDUR.

From "Heroes of Asgard," by M. R. Earle.

In three parts for young children.

ADALHERO.

From "Evenings with the Old Story Tellers."

MARTIN THE PEASANT'S SON.

From "Russian Wonder Tales," by Post Wheeler. This is

The watchman now heard the cry if the Parrot-King, and the sound of