This is a vintage fairy tale, and may contain violence. We would encourage parents to read beforehand  if your child is sensitive to such themes.

At the time when the Tang dynasty reigned over the Middle Kingdom, there were master swordsmen of various kinds. Those who came first were the saints of the sword. They were able to take different shapes at will, and their swords were like strokes of lightning. Yet these master swordsmen were men of lofty mind, and did not lightly mingle in the quarrels of the world. The second kind of master swordsmen were the sword heroes. It was their custom to slay the unjust, and to come to the aid of the oppressed. They wore a hidden dagger at their side and carried a leather bag at their belt. By magic means they were able to turn human heads into flowing water. They could fly over roofs and walk up and down walls, and they came and went and left no trace. The swordsmen of the lowest sort were the mere bought slayers. They hired themselves out to those who wished to do away with their enemies. And death was an everyday matter to them.

Old Dragonbeard must have been a master swordsman standing midway between those of the first and of the second order. Molo, however, of whom this story tells, was a sword hero.

At that time there lived a young man named Tsui, whose father was a high official and the friend of the prince. And the father once sent his son to visit his princely friend, who was ill. The son was young, handsome and gifted. He went to carry out his father’s instructions. When he entered the prince’s palace, there stood three beautiful girls, who piled rosy peaches into a golden bowl, poured sugar over them and presented them to him. After he had eaten he took his leave, and his princely host ordered one of the girls, Rose-Red by name, to escort him to the gate. As they went along the young man kept looking back at her. And she smiled at him and made signs with her fingers. First she would stretch out three fingers, then she would turn her hand around three times, and finally she would point to a little mirror which she wore. When they parted she whispered to him: “Do not forget me!”

When the young man reached home his thoughts were all in confusion. And he sat down absent-mindedly like a wooden rooster. Now it happened that he had an old servant named Molo, who was an extraordinary being.

“What is the trouble, master,” said he. “Why are you so sad? Do you not want to tell your old servant about it?”

So the boy told him what had occurred, and also mentioned the signs the girl had made to him in secret.

Said Molo: “When she stretched out three fingers, it meant that she is quartered in the third court of the palace. When she turned round her hand three times, it meant the sum of three times five fingers, which is fifteen. When she pointed at the little mirror, she meant to say that on the fifteenth, when the moon is round as a mirror, at midnight, you are to go for her.”

Then the young man was roused from his confused thoughts, and was so happy he could hardly control himself.

But soon he grew sad again and said: “The prince’s palace is shut off as though by an ocean. How would it be possible to win into it?”

“Nothing easier,” said Molo. “On the fifteenth we will take two pieces of dark silk and wrap ourselves up in them, and thus I will carry you there. Yet there is a wild dog on guard at the girl’s court, who is strong as a tiger and watchful as a god. No one can pass by him, so he must be set free.”

When the appointed day had come, the servant said: “There is no one else in the world who can free this dog but myself!”

Full of joy the youth gave him meat and wine, and the old man took a chain-hammer and disappeared with it.

And after no more time had elapsed than it takes to eat a meal he was back again and said: “The dog is gone, and there is nothing further to hinder us!”

At midnight they wrapped themselves in dark silk, and the old man carried the youth over the tenfold walls which surrounded the palace. They reached the third gateway and the gate stood ajar. Then they saw the glow of a little lamp, and heard Rose-Red sigh deeply. The entire court was silent and deserted. The youth raised the curtain and stepped into the room. Long and searchingly Rose-Red looked at him, then seized his hand.

“I knew that you were intelligent, and would understand my sign language. But what magic power have you at your disposal, that you were able to get here?”

The youth told her in detail how Molo had helped him.

“And where is Molo?” she asked.

“Outside, before the curtain,” was his answer.

Then she called him in and gave him wine to drink from a jade goblet and said: “I am of good family and have come here from far away. Force alone has made me a slave in this palace. I long to leave it. For though I have jasper chop-sticks with which to eat, and drink my wine from golden flagons, though silk and satin rustle around me and jewels of every kind are at my disposal, all these are but so many chains and fetters to hold me here. Dear Molo, you are endowed with magic powers. I beg you to save me in my distress! If you do, I will be glad to serve your master as a servant, and will never forget the favor you do me.”

The youth looked at Molo. Molo was quite willing. First he asked permission to carry away Rose-Red’s gear and jewels in sacks and bags. Three times he went away and returned until he had finished. Then he took his master and Rose-Red upon his back, and flew away with them over the steep walls. None of the watchmen of the prince’s palace noticed anything out of the way. At home the youth hid Rose-Red in a distant room.

When the prince discovered that one of his girls was missing, and that one of his wild dogs had been set free, he said: “That must have been some powerful sword hero!” And he gave strict orders that the matter should not be mentioned, and that investigations should be made in secret.

Two years passed, and the youth no longer thought of any danger. Hence, when the flowers began to bloom in the spring, Rose-Red went driving in a small wagon outside the city, near the river. And there one of the prince’s servants saw her, and informed his master. The latter sent for the youth, who, since he could not conceal the matter, told him the whole story exactly as it had happened.

Said the prince: “The whole blame rests on Rose-Red. I do not reproach you. Yet since she is now your wife I will let the whole matter rest. But Molo will have to suffer for it!”

So he ordered a hundred armored soldiers, with bows and swords, to surround the house of the youth, and under all circumstances to take Molo captive. But Molo drew his dagger and flew up the high wall. Thence he looked about him like a hawk. The arrows flew as thick as rain, but not one hit him. And in a moment he had disappeared, no one knew where.

Yet ten years later one of his former master’s servants ran across him in the South, where he was selling medicine. And he looked exactly as he had looked ten years before.

CHINESE FAIRY TALE EDITED BY DR. R. WILHEIM

Let’s Chat About The Stories ~ Ideas for Talking With Kids

Generosity, Individuality

1. Molo was kind and generous when he helped the young man find his love, Rose-Red. What kinds to things do you like to do that are generous or kind?

2. Molo was named a sword hero as he was quick and used his abilities for good. What are some other things you noticed about Molo that made him different to other swordsmen?

The post How Molo Stole the Lovely Rose-Red first appeared on Bedtime Stories.

Bedtime story written by Anuradha Sengupta

Illustrated by Kalyani Ganapathy

OTHER CREDITS:

Janice Goes to Chinatown (English), written by Anuradha Sengupta, illustrated by Kalyani Ganapathy, published by Pratham Books (© Pratham Books,2017) under a CC BY 4.0 license, first released on StoryWeaver. Read, create and translate stories for free on www.storyweaver.org.in

* THE STORY ‘JANICE GOES TO CHINATOWN’ WAS CREATED BY PRATHAM BOOKS AND IS LICENSED UNDER A CREATIVE COMMONS -BY-4.0 LICENSE. MINOR FORMATTING CHANGES HAVE BEEN MADE TO THE ORIGINAL WORK FOR EASE OF READING ON OUR WEBSITE.

Let’s Chat About The Stories ~ Ideas for Talking With Kids

Family

1. Why do you think Janice wanted to bring back gifts for all her family members?

2. Why do you think that Janice thought her memories with Grandma Liu were a gift?

The post Janice Goes To Chinatown first appeared on Bedtime Stories.

This is a vintage fairy tale, and may contain violence. We would encourage parents to read beforehand  if your child is sensitive to such themes.

Long, long ago, there once lived a king and a queen who had a daughter. One day, when the daughter went walking in the garden, a tremendous storm suddenly came up and carried her away with it. Now the storm had come from the bird with nine heads, who had robbed the princess, and brought her to his cave. The king did not know whither his daughter had disappeared, so he had proclaimed throughout the land: “Whoever brings back the princess may have her for his bride!”

Now a youth had seen the bird as he was carrying the princess to his cave. This cave, though, was in the middle of a sheer wall of rock. One could not climb up to it from below, nor could one climb down to it from above. And as the youth was walking around the rock, another youth came along and asked him what he was doing there. So the first youth told him that the bird with nine heads had carried off the king’s daughter, and had brought her up to his cave. The other chap knew what he had to do. He called together his friends, and they lowered the youth to the cave in a basket. And when he went into the cave, he saw the king’s daughter sitting there, and washing the wound of the bird with nine heads; for the hound of heaven had bitten off his tenth head, and his wound was still bleeding. The princess, however, motioned to the youth to hide, and he did so. When the king’s daughter had washed his wound and bandaged it, the bird with nine heads felt so comfortable, that one after another, all his nine heads fell asleep. Then the youth stepped forth from his hiding-place, and cut off his nine heads with a sword. But the king’s daughter said: “It would be best if you were hauled up first, and I came after.”

“No,” said the youth. “I will wait below here, until you are in safety.” At first the king’s daughter was not willing; yet at last she allowed herself to be persuaded, and climbed into the basket. But before she did so, she took a long pin from her hair, broke it into two halves and gave him one and kept the other. She also divided her silken kerchief with him, and told him to take good care of both her gifts. But when the other man had drawn up the king’s daughter, he took her along with him, and left the youth in the cave, in spite of all his calling and pleading.

The youth now took a walk about the cave. There he saw a number of maidens, all of whom had been carried off by the bird with nine heads, and who had perished there of hunger. And on the wall hung a fish, nailed against it with four nails. When he touched the fish, the latter turned into a handsome youth, who thanked him for delivering him, and they agreed to regard each other as brothers. Soon the first youth grew very hungry. He stepped out in front of the cave to search for food, but only stones were lying there. Then, suddenly, he saw a great dragon, who was licking a stone. The youth imitated him, and before long his hunger had disappeared. He next asked the dragon how he could get away from the cave, and the dragon nodded his head in the direction of his tail, as much as to say he should seat himself upon it. So he climbed up, and in the twinkling of an eye he was down on the ground, and the dragon had disappeared. He then went on until he found a tortoise-shell full of beautiful pearls. But they were magic pearls, for if you flung them into the fire, the fire ceased to burn and if you flung them into the water, the water divided and you could walk through the midst of it. The youth took the pearls out of the tortoise-shell, and put them in his pocket. Not long after he reached the sea-shore. Here he flung a pearl into the sea, and at once the waters divided and he could see the sea-dragon. The sea-dragon cried: “Who is disturbing me here in my own kingdom?” The youth answered: “I found pearls in a tortoise-shell, and have flung one into the sea, and now the waters have divided for me.”

“If that is the case,” said the dragon, “then come into the sea with me and we will live there together.” Then the youth recognized him for the same dragon whom he had seen in the cave. And with him was the youth with whom he had formed a bond of brotherhood: He was the dragon’s son.

“Since you have saved my son and become his brother, I am your father,” said the old dragon. And he entertained him hospitably with food and wine.

One day his friend said to him: “My father is sure to want to reward you. But accept no money, nor any jewels from him, but only the little gourd flask over yonder. With it you can conjure up whatever you wish.”

And, sure enough, the old dragon asked him what he wanted by way of a reward, and the youth answered: “I want no money, nor any jewels. All I want is the little gourd flask over yonder.”

At first the dragon did not wish to give it up, but at last he did let him have it, after all. And then the youth left the dragon’s castle.

When he set his foot on dry land again he felt hungry. At once a table stood before him, covered with a fine and plenteous meal. He ate and drank. After he had gone on a while, he felt weary. And there stood an ass, waiting for him, on which he mounted. After he had ridden for a while, the ass’s gait seemed too uneven, and along came a wagon, into which he climbed. But the wagon shook him up too, greatly, and he thought: “If I only had a litter! That would suit me better.” No more had he thought so, than the litter came along, and he seated himself in it. And the bearers carried him to the city in which dwelt the king, the queen and their daughter.

When the other youth had brought back the king’s daughter, it was decided to hold the wedding. But the king’s daughter was not willing, and said: “He is not the right man. My deliverer will come and bring with him half of the long pin for my hair, and half my silken kerchief as a token.” But when the youth did not appear for so long a time, and the other one pressed the king, the king grew impatient and said: “The wedding shall take place to-morrow!” Then the king’s daughter went sadly through the streets of the city, and searched and searched in the hope of finding her deliverer. And this was on the very day that the litter arrived. The king’s daughter saw the half of her silken handkerchief in the youth’s hand, and filled with joy, she led him to her father. There he had to show his half of the long pin, which fitted the other exactly, and then the king was convinced that he was the right, true deliverer. The false bridegroom was now punished, the wedding celebrated, and they lived in peace and happiness till the end of their days.

CHINESE FAIRY TALE EDITED BY DR. R. WILHELM

Let’s Chat About The Stories ~ Ideas for Talking With Kids

Helping, Conversation

1. The chap in this story got his friends to help lower the youth down into the cave. Why do you think he did this?

2. What kinds of things do you like doing to help out your friends?

Love

1. In this fairy tale, the king’s daughter and the youth both had half of a long pin each, as a symbol of their love. What other things do people carry around as a symbol of their love for one another?

2. Why do you think some people like to carry things to remind themselves of their love?

The post The Bird with Nine Heads first appeared on Bedtime Stories.

This is a vintage fairy tale, and may contain violence. We would encourage parents to read beforehand  if your child is sensitive to such themes.

On the fifth day of the fifth month the festival of the Dragon Junk is held along the Yangtze-kiang. A dragon is hollowed out of wood, painted with an armor of scales, and adorned with gold and bright colors. A carved red railing surrounds this ship, and its sails and flags are made of silks and brocade. The after part of the vessel is called the dragon’s tail. It rises ten feet above the water, and a board which floats in the water is tied to it by means of a cloth. Upon this board sit boys who turn somersaults, stand on their heads, and perform all sorts of tricks. Yet, being so close to the water their danger is very great. It is the custom, therefore, when a boy is hired for this purpose, to give his parents money before he is trained. Then, if he falls into the water and is drowned, no one has him on their conscience. Farther South the custom differs in so much that instead of boys, beautiful girls are chosen for this purpose.

In Dschen-Giang there once lived a widow named Dsiang, who had a son called Aduan. When he was no more than seven years of age he was extraordinarily skilful, and no other boy could equal him. And his reputation increasing as he grew, he earned more and more money. So it happened that he was still called upon at the Dragon Junk Festival when he was already sixteen.

But one day he fell into the water below the Gold Island and was drowned. He was the only son of his mother, and she sorrowed over him, and that was the end of it.

Yet Aduan did not know that he had been drowned. He met two men who took him along with them, and he saw a new world in the midst of the waters of the Yellow River. When he looked around, the waves of the river towered steeply about him like walls, and a palace was visible, in which sat a man wearing armor and a helmet. His two companions said to him: “That is the Prince of the Dragon’s Cave!” and bade him kneel.

The Prince of the Dragon’s Cave seemed to be of a mild and kindly disposition and said: “We can make use of such a skilful lad. He may take part in the dance of the willow branches!”

So he was brought to a spot surrounded by extensive buildings. He entered, and was greeted by a crowd of boys who were all about fourteen years of age.

An old woman came in and they all called out: “This is Mother Hia!” And she sat down and had Aduan show his tricks. Then she taught him the dance of the flying thunders of Tsian-Tang River, and the music that calms the winds on the sea of Dung-Ting. When the cymbals and kettledrums reechoed through all the courts, they deafened the ear. Then, again, all the courts would fall silent. Mother Hia thought that Aduan would not be able to grasp everything the very first time; so she taught him with great patience. But Aduan had understood everything from the first, and that pleased old Mother Hia. “This boy,” said she, “equals our own Rose of Evening!”

The following day the Prince of the Dragon’s Cave held a review of his dancers. When all the dancers had assembled, the dance of the Ogres was danced first. Those who performed it all wore devil-masks and garments of scales. They beat upon enormous cymbals, and their kettledrums were so large that four men could just about span them. Their sound was like the sound of a mighty thunder, and the noise was so great that nothing else could be heard. When the dance began, tremendous waves spouted up to the very skies, and then fell down again like star-glimmer which scatters in the air.

The Prince of the Dragon Cave hastily bade the dance cease, and had the dancers of the nightingale round step forth. These were all lovely young girls of sixteen. They made a delicate music with flutes, so that the breeze blew and the roaring of the waves was stilled in a moment. The water gradually became as quiet as a crystal world, transparent to its lowest depths. When the nightingale dancers had finished, they withdrew and posted themselves in the western courtyard.

Then came the turn of the swallow dancers. These were all little girls. One among them, who was about fifteen years of age, danced the dance of the giving of flowers with flying sleeves and waving locks. And as their garments fluttered, many-colored flowers dropped from their folds, and were caught up by the wind and whirled about the whole courtyard. When the dance had ended, this dancer also went off with the rest of the girls to the western courtyard. Aduan looked at her from out the corner of his eye, and fell deeply in love with her. He asked his comrades who she might be and they told him she was named “Rose of Evening.”

But the willow-spray dancers were now called out. The Prince of the Dragon Cave was especially desirous of testing Aduan. So Aduan danced alone, and he danced with joy or defiance according to the music. When he looked up and when he looked down his glances held the beat of the measure. The Dragon Prince, enchanted with his skill, presented him with a garment of five colors, and gave him a carbuncle set in golden threads of fish-beard for a hair-jewel. Aduan bowed his thanks for the gift, and then also hastened to the western courtyard. There all the dancers stood in rank and file. Aduan could only look at Rose of Evening from a distance, but still Rose of Evening returned his glances.

After a time Aduan gradually slipped to the end of his file and Rose of Evening also drew near to him, so that they stood only a few feet away from each other. But the strict rules allowed no confusion in the ranks, so they could only gaze and let their souls go out to each other.

Now the butterfly dance followed the others. This was danced by the boys and girls together, and the pairs were equal in size, age and the color of their garments. When all the dances had ended, the dancers marched out with the goose-step. The willow-spray dancers followed the swallow dancers, and Aduan hastened in advance of his company, while Rose of Evening lingered along after hers. She turned her head, and when she spied Aduan she purposely let a coral pin fall from her hair. Aduan hastily hid it in his sleeve.

When he had returned, he was sick with longing, and could neither eat nor sleep. Mother Hia brought him all sorts of dainties, looked after him three or four times a day, and stroked his forehead with loving care. But his illness did not yield in the least. Mother Hia was unhappy, and yet helpless.

“The birthday of the King of the Wu River is at hand,” said she. “What is to be done?”

In the twilight there came a boy, who sat down on the edge of Aduan’s bed and chatted with him. He belonged to the butterfly dancers, said he, and asked casually: “Are you sick because of Rose of Evening?” Aduan, frightened, asked him how he came to guess it. The other boy said, with a smile: “Well, because Rose of Evening is in the same case as yourself.”

Disconcerted, Aduan sat up and begged the boy to advise him. “Are you able to walk?” asked the latter. “If I exert myself,” said Aduan, “I think I could manage it.”

So the boy led him to the South. There he opened a gate and they turned the corner, to the West. Once more the doors of the gate flew open, and now Aduan saw a lotus field about twenty acres in size. The lotus flowers were all growing on level earth, and their leaves were as large as mats and their flowers like umbrellas. The fallen blossoms covered the ground beneath the stalks to the depth of a foot or more. The boy led Aduan in and said, “Now first of all sit down for a little while!” Then he went away.

After a time a beautiful girl thrust aside the lotus flowers and came into the open. It was Rose of Evening. They looked at each other with happy timidity, and each told how each had longed for the other. And they also told each other of their former life. Then they weighted the lotus-leaves with stones so that they made a cozy retreat, in which they could be together, and promised to meet each other there every evening. And then they parted.

Aduan came back and his illness left him. From that time on he met Rose of Evening every day in the lotus field.

After a few days had passed they had to accompany the Prince of the Dragon Cave to the birthday festival of the King of the Wu River. The festival came to an end, and all the dancers returned home. Only, the King had kept back Rose of Evening and one of the nightingale dancers to teach the girls in his castle.

Months passed and no news came from Rose of Evening, so that Aduan went about full of longing and despair. Now Mother Hia went every day to the castle of the god of the Wu River. So Aduan told her that Rose of Evening was his cousin, and entreated her to take him along with her so that he could at least see her a single time. So she took him along, and let him stay at the lodge-house of the river-god for a few days. But the indwellers of the castle were so strictly watched that he could not see Rose of Evening even a single time. Sadly Aduan went back again.

Another month passed and Aduan, filled with gloomy thoughts, wished that death might be his portion.

One day Mother Hia came to him full of pity, and began to sympathize with him. “What a shame,” said she, “that Rose of Evening has cast herself into the river!”

Aduan was extremely frightened, and his tears flowed resistlessly. He tore his beautiful garments, took his gold and his pearls, and went out with the sole idea of following his beloved in death. Yet the waters of the river stood up before him like walls, and no matter how often he ran against them, head down, they always flung him back.

He did not dare return, since he feared he might be questioned about his festival garments, and severely punished because he had ruined them. So he stood there and knew not what to do, while the perspiration ran down to his ankles. Suddenly, at the foot of the water-wall he saw a tall tree. Like a monkey he climbed up to its very top, and then, with all his might, he shot into the waves.

And then, without being wet, he found himself suddenly swimming on the surface of the river. Unexpectedly the world of men rose up once more before his dazzled eyes. He swam to the shore, and as he walked along the river-bank, his thoughts went back to his old mother. He took a ship and traveled home.

When he reached the village, it seemed to him as though all the houses in it belonged to another world. The following morning he entered his mother’s house, and as he did so, heard a girl’s voice beneath the window saying: “Your son has come back again!” The voice sounded like the voice of Rose of Evening, and when she came to greet him at his mother’s side, sure enough, it was Rose of Evening herself.

And in that hour the joy of these two who were so fond of each other overcame all their sorrow. But in the mother’s mind sorrow and doubt, terror and joy mingled in constant succession in a thousand different ways.

When Rose of Evening had been in the palace of the river-king, and had come to realize that she would never see Aduan again, she determined to die, and flung herself into the waters of the stream. But she was carried to the surface, and the waves carried and cradled her till a ship came by and took her aboard. They asked whence she came. Now Rose of Evening had originally been a celebrated singing girl of Wu, who had fallen into the river and whose body had never been found. So she thought to herself that, after all, she could not return to her old life again. So she answered: “Madame Dsiang, in Dschen-Giang is my mother-in-law.” Then the travelers took passage for her in a ship which brought her to the place she had mentioned. The widow Dsiang first said she must be mistaken, but the girl insisted that there was no mistake, and told Aduan’s mother her whole story. Yet, though the latter was charmed by her surpassing loveliness, she feared that Rose of Evening was too young to live a widow’s life. But the girl was respectful and industrious, and when she saw that poverty ruled in her new home, she took her pearls and sold them for a high price. Aduan’s old mother was greatly pleased to see how seriously the girl took her duties.

Now that Aduan had returned again Rose of Evening could not control her joy. And even Aduan’s old mother cherished the hope that, after all, perhaps her son had not died. She secretly dug up her son’s grave, yet all his bones were still lying in it. So she questioned Aduan. And then, for the first time, the latter realized that he was a departed spirit. Then he feared that Rose of Evening might regard him with disgust because he was no longer a human being. So he ordered his mother on no account to speak of it, and this his mother promised. Then she spread the report in the village that the body which had been found in the river had not been that of her son at all. Yet she could not rid herself of the fear that, since Aduan was a departed spirit, heaven might refuse to send him a child.

In spite of her fear, however, she was able to hold a grandson in her arms in course of time. When she looked at him, he was no different from other children, and then her cup of joy was filled to overflowing.

Rose of Evening gradually became aware of the fact that Aduan was not really a human being. “Why did you not tell me at once?” said she. “Departed spirits who wear the garments of the dragon castle, surround themselves with a soul-casing so heavy in texture that they can no longer be distinguished from the living. And if one can obtain the lime made of dragon-horn which is in the castle, then the bones may be glued together in such wise that flesh and blood will grow over them again. What a pity that we could not obtain the lime while we were there!”

Aduan sold his pearl, for which a merchant from foreign parts gave him an enormous sum. Thus his family grew very wealthy. Once, on his mother’s birthday, he danced with his wife and sang, in order to please her. The news reached the castle of the Dragon Prince and he thought to carry off Rose of Evening by force. But Aduan, alarmed, went to the Prince, and declared that both he and his wife were departed spirits. They examined him and since he cast no shadow, his word was taken, and he was not robbed of Rose of Evening.

CHINESE FAIRY TALE EDITED BY RICHARD WILHEIM

Let’s Chat About The Stories ~ Ideas for Talking With Kids

Love, Honesty

1. Aduan’s mother lied to Rose of Evening and the village as she did not want them to know that he was a departed spirit. She did this because she loved him. Do you think she was right to do this?
2. Is lying always wrong, or do you think sometimes it’s ok? Why or why not?
3. Aduan was not initially honest with Rose of Evening although by the end of the story told her the truth and they were able to stay together. What do you think the story tells us about being honest?
4. What are some things that you do for people you love?

The post Rose of Evening first appeared on Bedtime Stories.

ONCE upon a time there was a descendant of Confucius. His father had a friend, and this friend held an official position in the South and offered the young man a place as secretary. But when the latter reached the town where he was to have been active, he found that his father’s friend had already died. Then he was much embarrassed, seeing that he did not have the means to return home again. So he was glad to take refuge in the Monastery of Puto, where he copied holy books for the abbot.

About a hundred paces west of the monastery stood a deserted house. One day there had been a great snowfall, and as young Kung accidentally passed by the door of the house, he noticed a well dressed and prepossessing youth standing there who bowed to him and begged him to approach. Now young Kung was a scholar, and could appreciate good manners. Finding that the youth and himself had much in common, he took a liking to him, and followed him into the house. It was immaculately clean; silk curtains hung before the doors, and on the walls were pictures of good old masters. On a table lay a book entitled: “Tales of the Coral Ring.” Coral Ring was the name of a cavern.

Once upon a time there lived a monk at Puto who was exceedingly learned. An aged man had led him into the cave in question, where he had seen a number of volumes on the book stands. The aged man had said: “These are the histories of the various dynasties.” In a second room were to be found the histories of all the peoples on earth. A third was guarded by two dogs. The aged man explained: “In this room are kept the secret reports of the immortals, telling the arts by means of which they gained eternal life. The two dogs are two dragons.” The monk turned the pages of the books, and found that they were all works of ancient times, such as he had never seen before. He would gladly have remained in the cave, but the old man said: “That would not do!” and a boy led him out again. The name of that cave, however, was the Coral Ring, and it was described in the volume which lay on the table.

The youth questioned Kung regarding his name and family, and the latter told him his whole history. The youth pitied him greatly and advised him to open a school.

Kung answered with a sigh: “I am quite unknown in the neighborhood, and have no one to recommend me!”

Said the youth: “If you do not consider me altogether too unworthy and stupid, I should like to be your pupil myself.”

Young Kung was overjoyed. “I should not dare to attempt to teach you,” he replied, “but together we might dedicate ourselves to the study of science.” He then asked why the house had been standing empty for so long.

The youth answered: “The owner of the house has gone to the country. We come from Shensi, and have taken the house for a short time. We only moved in a few days ago.”

They chatted and joked together gaily, and the young man invited Kung to remain overnight, ordering a small boy to light a pan of charcoal.

Then he stepped rapidly into the rear room and soon returned saying: “My father has come.”

As Kung rose an aged man with a long, white beard and eyebrows stepped into the room and said, greeting him: “You have already declared your willingness to instruct my son, and I am grateful for your kindness. But you must be strict with him and not treat him as a friend.”

Then he had garments of silk, a fur cap, and shoes and socks of fur brought in, and begged Kung to change his clothes. Wine and food were then served. The cushions and covers of the tables and chairs were made of stuffs unknown to Kung, and their shimmering radiance blinded the eye. The aged man retired after a few beakers of wine, and then the youth showed Kung his essays. They were all written in the style of the old masters and not in the new-fangled eight-section form.

When he was asked about this, the youth said with a smile: “I am quite indifferent to winning success at the state examinations!” Then he turned to the small boy and said: “See whether the old gentleman has already fallen asleep. If he has, you may quietly bring in little Hiang-Nu.”

The boy went off, and the youth took a lute from an embroidered case. At once a serving-maid entered, dressed in red, and surpassingly beautiful. The youth bade her sing “The Lament of the Beloved,” and her melting tones moved the heart. The third watch of the night had passed before they retired to sleep.

On the following morning all rose early and study began. The youth was exceptionally gifted. Whatever he had seen but once was graven in his memory. Hence he made surprising progress in the course of a few months. The old custom was followed of writing an essay every five days, and celebrating its completion with a little banquet. And at each banquet Hiang-Nu was sent for.

One evening Kung could not remove his glance from Hiang-Nu. The youth guessed his thoughts and said to him: “You are as yet unmarried. Early and late I keep thinking as to how I can provide you with a charming life companion. Hiang-Nu is the serving-maid of my father, so I cannot give her to you.”

Said Kung: “I am grateful to you for your friendly thought. But if the girl you have in mind is not just as beautiful as Hiang-Nu, then I would rather do without.”

The youth laughed: “You are indeed inexperienced if you think that Hiang-Nu is beautiful. Your wish is easily fulfilled.”

Thus half a year went by and the monotonous rainy season had just began. Then a swelling the size of a peach developed in young Kung’s breast, which increased over night until it was as large as a tea-cup. He lay on his couch groaning with pain, and unable to eat or to sleep. The youth was busy day and night nursing him, and even the old gentleman asked how he was getting along.

Then the youth said: “My little sister Giauna alone is able to cure this illness. Please send to grandmother, and have her brought here!”

The old gentleman was willing, and he sent off his boy.

The next day the boy came back with the news that Giauna would come, together with her aunt and her cousin A-Sung.

Not long after the youth led his sister into the room. She was not more than thirteen or fourteen years of age, enchantingly beautiful, and slender as a willow-tree. When the sick man saw her he forgot all his pain and his spirits rose.

The youth said to his sister Giauna: “This is my best friend, whom I love as a brother! I beg of you, little sister, to cure him of his illness!”

The maiden blushed with confusion; then she stepped up to the sick-bed. While she was feeling his pulse, it seemed to him as though she brought the fragrance of orchards with her.

Said the maiden with a smile: “No wonder that this illness has befallen him. His heart beats far too stormily. His illness is serious but not incurable. Now the blood which has flowed has already gathered, so we will have to cut to cure.”

With that she took her golden armlet from her arm and laid it on the aching place. She pressed it down very gently, and the swelling rose a full inch above the armlet so that it enclosed the entire swelling. Then she loosed a pen-knife with a blade as thin as paper from her silken girdle. With one hand she held the armlet, and with the other she took the knife and lightly passed it around the bottom of the ring. But young Kung was so enchanted by the presence of the beautiful Giauna that not only did he feel no pain, but his one fear was that the whole affair might end too soon, and that she would disappear from his sight. In a moment the diseased flesh had been removed, and Giauna had fresh water brought and cleansed the wound. Then she took a small red pellet from her mouth, and laid it on the wound, and when she turned around in a circle, it seemed to Kung as though she drew out all the inflammation in steam and flames. Once more she turned in a circle, and he felt his wound itch and quiver, and when she turned for the third time, he was completely cured.

The maiden took the pellet into her mouth again and said: “Now all is well!” Then she hastened into the inner room. Young Kung leaped up in order to thank her.

True, he was now cured of his illness, but his thoughts continued to dwell on Giauna’s pretty face. He neglected his books and sat lost in day-dreams.

His friend had noticed it and said to him: “I have at last succeeded, this very day, in finding an attractive life companion for you.”

Kung asked who she might be.

“The daughter of my aunt, A-Sung. She is seventeen years of age, and anything but homely.”

“I am sure she is not as beautiful as Giauna,” thought Kung. Then he hummed the lines of a song to himself:

“Who once has seen the sea close by,
All rivers shallow streams declares;
Who o’er Wu’s hill the clouds watched fly,
Says nothing with that view compares.”

The youth smiled. “My little sister Giauna is still very young,” said he. “Besides, she is my father’s only daughter, and he would not like to see her marry some one from afar. But my cousin A-Sung is not homely either. If you do not believe me, wait until they go walking in the garden, and then you may take a look at them without their knowing it.”

Kung posted himself at the open window on the look-out, and sure enough, he saw Giauna come along leading another girl by the hand, a girl so beautiful that there was none other like her. Giauna and she seemed to be sisters, only to be told apart by a slight difference in age.

Then young Kung was exceedingly happy and begged his friend to act for him in arranging the marriage, which the latter promised to do. The next day he came to Kung, and told him amid congratulations that everything was arranged. A special court was put in order for the young pair, and the wedding was celebrated. Young Kung felt as though he had married a fairy, and the two became very fond of each other.

One day Kung’s friend came to him in a state of great excitement and said: “The owner of this house is coming back, and my father now wishes to return to Shensi. The time for us to part draws near, and I am very sad!”

Kung wished to accompany them, but his friend advised him to return to his own home.

Kung mentioned the difficulties in the way, but the youth replied: “That need not worry you, because I will accompany you.”

After a time the father came, together with A-Sung, and made Kung a present of a hundred ounces of gold. Then the youth took Kung and his wife by the hand, and told them to close their eyes. As soon as they did so off they went through the air like a storm-wind. All Kung could notice was that the gale roared about his ears.

When some time had passed the youth cried: “Now we have arrived!” Kung opened his eyes and saw his old home, and then he knew that his friend was not of human kind.

Gaily they knocked at the door of his home. His mother opened it and when she saw that he had brought along so charming a wife she was greatly pleased. Then Kung turned around to his friend, but the latter had already disappeared.

A-Sung served her mother-in-law with great devotion, and her beauty and virtue was celebrated far and near. Soon after young Kung gained the doctorate, and was appointed inspector of prisons in Shensi. He took his wife along with him, but his mother remained at home, since Shensi was too far for her to travel. And heaven gave A-Sung and Kung a little son.

But Kung became involved in a dispute with a traveling censor. The latter complained about Kung and he was dismissed from his post.

So it happened that one day he was idling about before the city, when he saw a handsome youth riding a black mule. When he looked more closely he saw that it was his old friend. They fell into each others’ arms, laughing and weeping, and the youth led him to a village. In the midst of a thick grove of trees which threw a deep shade, stood a house whose upper stories rose to the skies. One could see at a glance that people of distinction lived there. Kung now inquired after sister Giauna, and was told that she had married. He remained over night and then went off to fetch his wife.

In the meantime Giauna arrived. She took A-Sung’s little son in her arms and said: “Cousin, this is a little stranger in our family!”

Kung greeted her, and again thanked her for the kindness she had shown him in curing his illness.

She answered with a smile: “Since then you have become a distinguished man, and the wound has long since healed. Have you still not forgotten your pain?”

Then Giauna’s husband arrived, and every one became acquainted. And after that they parted.

One day the youth came sadly to Kung and said: “We are threatened by a great misfortune to-day. I do not know whether you would be willing to save us!”

Kung did not know what it might be; but he gladly promised his aid. Then the youth called up the entire family and they bowed down in the outer court.

He began: “I will tell you the truth just as it is. We are foxes. This day we are threatened by the danger of thunder. If you care to save us, then there is a hope that we may manage to stay alive; if not, then take your child and go, so that you are not involved in our danger.”

But Kung vowed that he would share life and death with them.

Then the youth begged him to stand in the door with a sword in his hand, and said: “Now when the thunder begins to roll you must stand there and never stir.”

Suddenly dark clouds rose in the sky, and the heavens grew gloomy as if night were closing down. Kung looked about him, but the buildings had all disappeared, and behind him he could only see a high barrow, in which was a large cave whose interior was lost in darkness. In the midst of his fright he was surprised by a thunderbolt. A heavy rain poured down in streams, and a storm wind arose which rooted up the tallest trees. Everything glimmered before his eyes and his ears were deafened. But he held his sword in his hand, and stood as firm as a rock. Suddenly in the midst of black smoke and flashes of lightning, he saw a monster with a pointed beak and long claws, which was carrying off a human body. When he looked more closely he recognized by the dress that it was Giauna. He leaped up at the monster and struck at him with his sword, and at once Giauna fell to the ground. A tremendous crash of thunder shook the earth, and Kung fell down dead.

Then the tempest cleared away, and the blue sky appeared once more.

Giauna had regained consciousness, and when she saw Kung lying dead beside her she said amid sobs: “He died for my sake! Why should I continue to live?”

A-Sung also came out, and together they carried him into the cave. Giauna told A-Sung to hold his head while her brother opened his mouth. She herself took hold of his chin, and brought out her little red pellet. She pressed it against his lips with her own, and breathed into his lungs. Then the breath came back to his throat with a rattling noise, and in a short time he was himself once more.

So there was the whole family reunited again, and none of its members had come to harm. They gradually recovered from their fright, and were quite happy: when suddenly a small boy brought the news that Giauna’s husband and his whole family had been killed by the thunder. Giauna broke down, weeping, and the others tried to comfort her.

Finally Kung said: “It is not well to dwell too long amid the graves of the dead. Will you not come home with me?”

Thereupon they packed up their belongings and went with him. He assigned a deserted garden, which he carefully walled off, to his friend and his family as a dwelling-place. Only when Kung and A-Sung came to visit them was the bolt drawn. Then Giauna and her brother played chess, drank tea and chatted with them like members of the same family.

But Kung’s little son had a somewhat pointed face, which resembled a fox’s, and when he went along the street, the people would turn around and say: “There goes the fox-child!”

CHINESE FAIRY TALE EDITED BY DR. R. WILHEIM

Let’s Chat About The Stories ~ Ideas for Talking With Kids

Helping, Kindness

1. Giauna helped Kung when he was very ill and saved his life. This was a very kind thing to do. What sorts of things do you like to do that are kind?

Fairness

1. Kung thought it was fair to repay Giauna by saving her life at the cost of his own. Why do you think Kung thought this was fair? What does fairness mean to you?

The post Giauna the Beautiful first appeared on Bedtime Stories.

The story I am going to tell you happened in China a great many years ago, so it is well to hear it now before it is forgotten.

The Chinese emperor’s palace was the most beautiful in the world. It was built entirely of porcelain, and very costly, but so delicate and brittle that whoever touched it was obliged to be careful. In the garden could be seen the most singular flowers, with pretty silver bells tied to them, which tinkled so that every one who passed could not help noticing the flowers. Indeed, everything in the emperor’s garden was remarkable, and it extended so far that the gardener himself did not know where it ended.

Those who travelled beyond its limits knew that there was a noble forest, with lofty trees, sloping down to the deep blue sea, and the great ships sailed under the shadow of its branches. In one of these trees lived a nightingale, who sang so beautifully that even the poor fishermen, who had so many other things to do, would stop and listen.

Sometimes, when they went at night to spread their nets, they would hear her sing, and say, “Oh, is not that beautiful?” But when they returned to their fishing, they forgot the bird until the next night. Then they would hear it again, and exclaim “Oh, how beautiful is the nightingale’s song!”

Travellers from every country in the world came to the city of the emperor, which they admired very much, as well as the palace and gardens; but when they heard the nightingale, they all declared it to be the best of all. And the travellers, on their return home, related what they had seen; and learned men wrote books, containing descriptions of the town, the palace, and the gardens; but they did not forget the nightingale, which was really the greatest wonder. And those who could write poetry composed beautiful verses about the nightingale, who lived in a forest near the deep sea. The books travelled all over the world, and some of them came into the hands of the emperor; and he sat in his golden chair, and, as he read, he nodded his approval every moment, for it pleased him to find such a beautiful description of his city, his palace, and his gardens.

But when he came to the words, “the nightingale is the most beautiful of all,” he exclaimed,

“What is this? I know nothing of any nightingale. Is there such a bird in my empire? and even in my garden? I have never heard of it. Something, it appears, may be learnt from books.”

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

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

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

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

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

But where was the nightingale to be found? The nobleman went up stairs and down, through halls and passages; yet none of those whom he met had heard of the bird. So he returned to the emperor, and said that it must be a fable, invented by those who had written the book.

“Your imperial majesty,” said he, “cannot believe everything contained in books; sometimes they are only fiction, or what is called the black art.”

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

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

At last they met with a poor little girl in the kitchen, who said,

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

“Little maiden,” said the lord-in-waiting, “I will obtain for you constant employment in the kitchen, and you shall have permission to see the emperor dine, if you will lead us to the nightingale; for she is invited for this evening to the palace.”

So she went into the wood where the nightingale sang, and half the court followed her. As they went along, a cow began lowing.

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

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

Then some frogs began to croak in the marsh.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The palace was elegantly decorated for the occasion. The walls and floors of porcelain glittered in the light of a thousand lamps. Beautiful flowers, round which little bells were tied, stood in the corridors: what with the running to and fro and the draught, these bells tinkled so loudly that no one could speak to be heard. In the centre of the great hall, a golden perch had been fixed for the nightingale to sit on.

The whole court was present, and the little kitchen-maid had received permission to stand by the door. She was not installed as a real court cook. All were in full dress, and every eye was turned to the little gray bird when the emperor nodded to her to begin.

The nightingale sang so sweetly that the tears came into the emperor’s eyes, and then rolled down his cheeks, as her song became still more touching and went to every one’s heart. The emperor was so delighted that he declared the nightingale should have his gold slipper to wear round her neck, but she declined the honor with thanks: she had been sufficiently rewarded already.

“I have seen tears in an emperor’s eyes,” she said, “that is my richest reward. An emperor’s tears have wonderful power, and are quite sufficient honor for me;” and then she sang again more enchantingly than ever.

“That singing is a lovely gift;” said the ladies of the court to each other; and then they took water in their mouths to make them utter the gurgling sounds of the nightingale when they spoke to any one, so that they might fancy themselves nightingales. And the footmen and chambermaids also expressed their satisfaction, which is saying a great deal, for they are very difficult to please.

In fact the nightingale’s visit was most successful. She was now to remain at court, to have her own cage, with liberty to go out twice a day, and once during the night. Twelve servants were appointed to attend her on these occasions, who each held her by a silken string fastened to her leg. There was certainly not much pleasure in this kind of flying.

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

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

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

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

“That is not a fault,” said the music-master, “it is quite perfect to my taste,” so then it had to sing alone, and was as successful as the real bird; besides, it was so much prettier to look at, for it sparkled like bracelets and breast-pins.

Three and thirty times did it sing the same tunes without being tired; the people would gladly have heard it again, but the emperor said the living nightingale ought to sing something. But where was she? No one had noticed her when she flew out at the open window, back to her own green woods.

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

“But we have the best bird after all,” said one, and then they would have the bird sing again, although it was the thirty-fourth time they had listened to the same piece, and even then they had not learnt it, for it was rather difficult.

But the music-master praised the bird in the highest degree, and even asserted that it was better than a real nightingale, not only in its dress and the beautiful diamonds, but also in its musical power.

“For you must perceive, my chief lord and emperor, that with a real nightingale we can never tell what is going to be sung, but with this bird everything is settled. It can be opened and explained, so that people may understand how the waltzes are formed, and why one note follows upon another.”

“This is exactly what we think,” they all replied, and then the music-master received permission to exhibit the bird to the people on the following Sunday, and the emperor commanded that they should be present to hear it sing.

When they heard it they were like people intoxicated; however it must have been with drinking tea, which is quite a Chinese custom. They all said “Oh!” and held up their forefingers and nodded, but a poor fisherman, who had heard the real nightingale, said,

“It sounds prettily enough, and the melodies are all alike; yet there seems something wanting, I cannot exactly tell what.”

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

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

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

One evening, when the artificial bird was singing its best, and the emperor lay in bed listening to it, something inside the bird sounded “whizz.” Then a spring cracked. “Whir-r-r-r” went all the wheels, running round, and then the music stopped. The emperor immediately sprang out of bed, and called for his physician; but what could he do?

Then they sent for a watchmaker; and, after a great deal of talking and examination, the bird was put into something like order; but he said that it must be used very carefully, as the barrels were worn, and it would be impossible to put in new ones without injuring the music.

Now there was great sorrow, as the bird could only be allowed to play once a year; and even that was dangerous for the works inside it. Then the music-master made a little speech, full of hard words, and declared that the bird was as good as ever; and, of course no one contradicted him.

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

Cold and pale lay the emperor in his royal bed; the whole court thought he was dead, and every one ran away to pay homage to his successor. The chamberlains went out to have a talk on the matter, and the ladies’-maids invited company to take coffee. Cloth had been laid down on the halls and passages, so that not a footstep should be heard, and all was silent and still. But the emperor was not yet dead, although he lay white and stiff on his gorgeous bed, with the long velvet curtains and heavy gold tassels.

A window stood open, and the moon shone in upon the emperor and the artificial bird. The poor emperor, finding he could scarcely breathe with a strange weight on his chest, opened his eyes, and saw Death sitting there. He had put on the emperor’s golden crown, and held in one hand his sword of state, and in the other his beautiful banner. All around the bed and peeping through the long velvet curtains, were a number of strange heads, some very ugly, and others lovely and gentle-looking. These were the emperor’s good and bad deeds, which stared him in the face now Death sat at his heart.

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

“I know nothing about it,” said the emperor. “Music! music!” he cried; “the large Chinese drum! that I may not hear what they say.” But they still went on, and Death nodded like a Chinaman to all they said.

“Music! music!” shouted the emperor. “You little precious golden bird, sing, pray sing! I have given you gold and costly presents; I have even hung my golden slipper round your neck. Sing! sing!”

But the bird remained silent. There was no one to wind it up, and therefore it could not sing a note.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

FAIRYTALE WRITTEN BY HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN

LET’S CHAT ABOUT THE STORIES ~ IDEAS FOR TALKING WITH KIDS

Beauty

1. All the court falls in love with the gold-and-jewel-encrusted nightingale because they believe it is more beautiful than the real living Nightingale. How about you? What do you think was the most beautiful of the two? Why?

Independence

1. The Nightingale returns to help the Emperor avoid death by singing him beautiful songs. But the little bird does not want to live in the palace. What compromise does the Nightingale find, between her own desires and those of the Emperor?

2. Do you think the Nightingale was right to want to stay in her own forest? Why or why not?

The post The Nightingale first appeared on Bedtime Stories.

A party of visitors had been seeing the sights at Hsi Ling. They had just passed down the Holy Way between the huge stone animals when Bamboo, a little boy of twelve, son of a keeper, rushed out from his father’s house to see the mandarins go by. Such a parade of great men he had never seen before, even on the feast days. There were ten sedan chairs, with bearers dressed in flaming colours, ten long-handled, red umbrellas, each carried far in front of its proud owner, and a long line of horsemen.

When this gay procession had filed past, Bamboo was almost ready to cry because he could not run after the sightseers as they went from temple to temple and from tomb to tomb. But, alas! his father had ordered him never to follow tourists.

“If you do, they will take you for a beggar, Bamboo,” he had said shrewdly, “and if you’re a beggar, then your daddy’s one too. Now they don’t want any beggars around the royal tombs.”

So Bamboo had never known the pleasure of pursuing the rich. Many times he had turned back to the little mud house, almost broken-hearted at seeing his playmates running, full of glee, after the great men’s chairs.

On the day when this story opens, just as the last horseman had passed out of sight among the cedars, Bamboo chanced to look up toward one of the smaller temple buildings of which his father was the keeper. It was the house through which the visitors had just been shown. Could his eyes be deceiving him? No, the great iron doors had been forgotten in the hurry of the moment, and there they stood wide open, as if inviting him to enter.

In great excitement he scurried toward the temple. How often he had pressed his head against the bars and looked into the dark room, wishing and hoping that some day he might go in. And yet, not once had he been granted this favour. Almost every day since babyhood he had gazed at the high stone shaft, or tablet, covered with Chinese writing, that stood in the centre of the lofty room, reaching almost to the roof. But with still greater surprise his eyes had feasted on the giant turtle underneath, on whose back the column rested. There are many such tablets to be seen in China, many such turtles patiently bearing their loads of stone, but this was the only sight of the kind that Bamboo had seen. He had never been outside the Hsi Ling forest, and, of course, knew very little of the great world beyond.

It is no wonder then that the turtle and the tablet had always astonished him. He had asked his father to explain the mystery. “Why do they have a turtle? Why not a lion or an elephant?” For he had seen stone figures of these animals in the park and had thought them much better able than his friend, the turtle, to carry loads on their backs. “Why it’s just the custom,” his father had replied—the answer always given when Bamboo asked a question, “just the custom.” The boy had tried to imagine it all for himself, but had never been quite sure that he was right, and now, joy of all joys, he was about to enter the very turtle-room itself. Surely, once inside, he could find some answer to this puzzle of his childhood.

Breathless, he dashed through the doorway, fearing every minute that some one would notice the open gates and close them before he could enter. Just in front of the giant turtle he fell in a little heap on the floor, which was covered inch-deep with dust. His face was streaked, his clothes were a sight to behold; but Bamboo cared nothing for such trifles. He lay there for a few moments, not daring to move. Then, hearing a noise outside, he crawled under the ugly stone beast and crouched in his narrow hiding-place, as still as a mouse.

“There, there!” said a deep voice. “See what you are doing, stirring up such a dust! Why, you will strangle me if you are not careful.”

It was the turtle speaking, and yet Bamboo’s father had often told him that it was not alive. The boy lay trembling for a minute, too much frightened to get up and run.

“No use in shaking so, my lad,” the voice continued, a little more kindly. “I suppose all boys are alike—good for nothing but kicking up a dust.” He finished this sentence with a hoarse chuckle, and the boy, seeing that he was laughing, looked up with wonder at the strange creature.

“I meant no harm in coming,” said the child finally. “I only wanted to look at you more closely.”

“Oh, that was it, hey? Well, that is strange. All the others come and stare at the tablet on my back. Sometimes they read aloud the nonsense written there about dead emperors and their titles, but they never so much as look at me, at me whose father was one of the great four who made the world.”

Bamboo’s eyes shone with wonder. “What! your father helped make the world?” he gasped.

“Well, not my father exactly, but one of my grandfathers, and it amounts to the same thing, doesn’t it. But, hark! I hear a voice. The keeper is coming back. Run up and close those doors, so he won’t notice that they have not been locked. Then you may hide in the corner there until he has passed. I have something more to tell you.”

Bamboo did as he was told. It took all his strength to swing the heavy doors into place. He felt very important to think that he was doing something for the grandson of a maker of the world, and it would have broken his heart if this visit had been ended just as it was beginning.

Sure enough, his father and the other keepers passed on, never dreaming that the heavy locks were not fastened as usual. They were talking about the great men who had just gone. They seemed very happy and were jingling some coins in their hands.

“Now, my boy,” said the stone turtle when the sound of voices had died away and Bamboo had come out from his corner, “maybe you think I’m proud of my job. Here I’ve been holding up this chunk for a hundred years, I who am fond of travel. During all this time night and day, I have been trying to think of some way to give up my position. Perhaps it’s honourable, but, you may well imagine, it’s not very pleasant.”

“I should think you would have the backache,” ventured Bamboo timidly.

“Backache! well, I think so; back, neck, legs, eyes, everything I have is aching, aching for freedom. But, you see, even if I had kicked up my heels and overthrown this monument, I had no way of getting through those iron bars,” and he nodded toward the gate.

“Yes, I understand,” agreed Bamboo, beginning to feel sorry for his old friend.

“But, now that you are here, I have a plan, and a good one it is, too, I think. The watchmen have forgotten to lock the gate. What is to prevent my getting my freedom this very night? You open the gate, I walk out, and no one the wiser.”

“But my father will lose his head if they find that he has failed to do his duty and you have escaped.”

“Oh, no; not at all. You can slip his keys to-night, lock the gates after I am gone, and no one will know just what has happened. Why it will make this building famous. It won’t hurt your father, but will do him good. So many travellers will be anxious to see the spot from which I vanished. I am too heavy for a thief to carry off, and they will be sure that it is another miracle of the gods. Oh, I shall have a good time out in the big world.”

Just here Bamboo began to cry.

“Now what is the silly boy blubbering about?” sneered the turtle. “Is he nothing but a cry-baby?”

“No, but I don’t want you to go.”

“Don’t want me to go, eh? Just like all the others. You’re a fine fellow! What reason have you for wanting to see me weighed down here all the rest of my life with a mountain on my back? Why, I thought you were sorry for me, and it turns out that you are as mean as anybody else.”

“It is so lonely here, and I have no playmates. You are the only friend I have.”

The tortoise laughed loudly. “Ho, ho! so it’s because I make you a good playmate, eh? Now, if that’s your reason, that’s another story altogether. What do you say to going with me then? I, too, need a friend, and if you help me to escape, why, you are the very friend for me.”

“But how shall you get the tablet off your back?” questioned Bamboo doubtfully. “It’s very heavy.”

“That’s easy, just walk out of the door. The tablet is too tall to go through. It will slide off and sit on the floor instead of on my shell.”

Bamboo, wild with delight at the thought of going on a journey with the turtle, promised to obey the other’s commands. After supper, when all were asleep in the little house of the keeper, he slipped from his bed, took down the heavy key from its peg, and ran pell-mell to the temple.

“Well, you didn’t forget me, did you?” asked the turtle when Bamboo swung the iron gates open.

“Oh, no, I would not break a promise. Are you ready?”

“Yes, quite ready.” So saying, the turtle took a step. The tablet swayed backward and forward, but did not fall. On walked the turtle until finally he stuck his ugly head through the doorway. “Oh, how good it looks outside,” he said. “How pleasant the fresh air feels! Is that the moon rising over yonder? It’s the first time I’ve seen it for an age. My word! just look at the trees! How they have grown since they set that tombstone on my back! There’s a regular forest outside now.”

Bamboo was delighted when he saw the turtle’s glee at escaping. “Be careful,” he cried, “not to let the tablet fall hard enough to break it.”

Even as he spoke, the awkward beast waddled through the door. The upper end of the monument struck against the wall, toppled off, and fell with a great crash to the floor. Bamboo shivered with fear. Would his father come and find out what had happened?

“Don’t be afraid, my boy. No one will come at this hour of the night to spy on us.”

Bamboo quickly locked the gates, ran back to the house, and hung the key on its peg. He took a long look at his sleeping parents, and then returned to his friend. After all, he would not be gone long and his father would surely forgive him.

Soon the comrades were walking down the broad road, very slowly, for the tortoise is not swift of foot and Bamboo’s legs were none too long.

“Where are you going?” said the boy at last, after he had begun to feel more at home with the turtle.

“Going? Where should you think I would want to go after my century in prison? Why, back to the first home of my father, back to the very spot where the great god, P’anku, and his three helpers hewed out the world.”

“And is it far?” faltered the boy, beginning to feel just the least bit tired.

“At this rate, yes, but, bless my life, you didn’t think we could travel all the way at this snail’s pace, I hope. Jump on my back, and I’ll show you how to go. Before morning we shall be at the end of the world, or rather, the beginning.”

“Where is the beginning of the world?” asked Bamboo. “I have never studied geography.”

“We must cross China, then Tibet, and at last in the mountains just beyond we shall reach the spot which P’anku made the centre of his labour.”

At that moment Bamboo felt himself being lifted from the ground. At first he thought he would slip off the turtle’s rounded shell, and he cried out in fright.

“Never fear,” said his friend. “Only sit quietly, and there will be no danger.”

They had now risen far into the air, and Bamboo could look down over the great forest of Hsi Ling all bathed in moonlight. There were the broad white roads leading up to the royal tombs, the beautiful temples, the buildings where oxen and sheep were prepared for sacrifice, the lofty towers, and the high tree-covered hills under which the emperors were buried. Until that night Bamboo had not known the size of this royal graveyard. Could it be that the turtle would carry him beyond the forest? Even as he asked himself this question he saw that they had reached a mountain, and the turtle was ascending higher, still higher, to cross the mighty wall of stone.

Bamboo grew dizzy as the turtle rose farther into the sky. He felt as he sometimes did when he played whirling games with his little friends, and got so dizzy that he tumbled over upon the ground. However, this time he knew that he must keep his head and not fall, for it must have been almost a mile to the ground below him. At last they had passed over the mountain and were flying above a great plain. Far below Bamboo could see sleeping villages and little streams of water that looked like silver in the moonlight. Now, directly beneath them was a city. A few feeble lights could be seen in the dark narrow streets, and Bamboo thought he could hear the faint cries of peddlers crying their midnight wares.

“That’s the capital of Shan-shi just below us,” said the turtle, breaking his long silence. “It is almost two hundred miles from here to your father’s house, and we have taken less than half an hour. Beyond that is the Province of the Western Valleys. In one hour we shall be above Tibet.”

On they whizzed at lightning speed. If it had not been hot summer time Bamboo would have been almost frozen. As it was, his hands and feet were cold and stiff. The turtle, as if knowing how chilly he was, flew nearer to the ground where it was warmer. How pleasant for Bamboo! He was so tired that he could keep his eyes open no longer and he was soon soaring in the land of dreams.

When he waked up it was morning. He was lying on the ground in a wild, rocky region. Not far away burned a great wood fire, and the turtle was watching some food that was cooking in a pot.

“Ho, ho, my lad! so you have at last waked up after your long ride. You see we are a little early. No matter if the dragon does think he can fly faster, I beat him, didn’t I? Why, even the phoenix laughs at me and says I am slow, but the phoenix has not come yet either. Yes, I have clearly broken the record for speed, and I had a load to carry too, which neither of the others had, I am sure.”

“Where are we?” questioned Bamboo.

“In the land of the beginning,” said the other wisely. “We flew over Tibet, and then went northwest for two hours. If you haven’t studied geography you won’t know the name of the country. But, here we are, and that is enough, isn’t it, enough for any one? And to-day is the yearly feast-day in honour of the making of the world. It was very fortunate for me that the gates were left open yesterday. I am afraid my old friends, the dragon and the phoenix, have almost forgotten what I look like. It is so long since they saw me. Lucky beasts they are, not to be loaded down under an emperor’s tablet. Hello! I hear the dragon coming now, if I am not mistaken. Yes, here he is. How glad I am to see him!”

Bamboo heard a great noise like the whirr of enormous wings, and then, looking up, saw a huge dragon just in front of him. He knew it was a dragon from the pictures he had seen and the carvings in the temples.

The dragon and the turtle had no sooner greeted each other, both very happy at the meeting, than they were joined by a queer-looking bird, unlike any that Bamboo had ever seen, but which he knew was the phœnix. This phœnix looked somewhat like a wild swan, but it had the bill of a cock, the neck of a snake, the tail of a fish and the stripes of a dragon. Its feathers were of five colours.

When the three friends had chatted merrily for a few minutes, the turtle told them how Bamboo had helped him to escape from the temple.

“A clever boy,” said the dragon, patting Bamboo gently on the back.

“Yes, yes, a clever boy indeed,” echoed the phœnix.

“Ah,” sighed the turtle, “if only the good god, P’anku, were here, shouldn’t we be happy! But, I fear he will never come to this meeting-place. No doubt he is off in some distant spot, cutting out another world. If I could only see him once more, I feel that I should die in peace.”

“Just listen!” laughed the dragon. “As if one of us could die! Why, you talk like a mere mortal.”

All day long the three friends chatted, feasted, and had a good time looking round at the places where they had lived so happily when P’anku had been cutting out the world. They were good to Bamboo also and showed him many wonderful things of which he had never dreamed.

“You are not half so mean-looking and so fierce as they paint you on the flags,” said Bamboo in a friendly voice to the dragon just as they were about to separate.

The three friends laughed heartily.

“Oh, no, he’s a very decent sort of fellow, even if he is covered with fish-scales,” joked the phœnix.

Just before they bade each other good-bye, the phœnix gave Bamboo a long scarlet tail-feather for a keepsake, and the dragon gave him a large scale which turned to gold as soon as the boy took it into his hand.

“Come, come, we must hurry,” said the turtle. “I am afraid your father will think you are lost.” So Bamboo, after having spent the happiest day of his life, mounted the turtle’s back, and they rose once more above the clouds. Back they flew even faster than they had come. Bamboo had so many things to talk about that he did not once think of going to sleep, for he had really seen the dragon and the phœnix, and if he never were to see anything else in his life, he would always be happy.

Suddenly the turtle stopped short in his swift flight, and Bamboo felt himself slipping. Too late he screamed for help, too late he tried to save himself. Down, down from that dizzy height he tumbled, turning, twisting, thinking of the awful death that was surely coming. Swish! he shot through the tree tops trying vainly to clutch the friendly branches. Then with a loud scream he struck the ground, and his long journey was ended.

“Come out from under that turtle, boy! What are you doing inside the temple in the dirt? Don’t you know this is not the proper place for you?”

Bamboo rubbed his eyes. Though only half awake, he knew it was his father’s voice.

“But didn’t it kill me?” he said as his father pulled him out by the heel from under the great stone turtle.

“What killed you, foolish boy? What can you be talking about? But I’ll half-kill you if you don’t hurry out of this and come to your supper. Really I believe you are getting too lazy to eat. The idea of sleeping the whole afternoon under that turtle’s belly!”

Bamboo, not yet fully awake, stumbled out of the tablet room, and his father locked the iron doors.

Short story for children adapted by H. R. Schoolcraft, Edited by Hamilton Wright Mabie, Edward Everett Hale, and William Byron Forbush

Let’s Chat About The Stories ~ Ideas for Talking With Kids

Independent Thinking

1. Bamboo woke to discover that he had been sleeping under the turtle. But he believed he had such a great adventure! Do you think his adventure really happened, or it was all his imagination? Why?

Helping, Responsibility

1. Bamboo agreed to help the turtle escape from the temple, even though it might have gotten his father into trouble. Do you think this was the right thing to do? Why or why not?

The post Bamboo and the Turtle first appeared on Bedtime Stories.

Hu-lin was a little slave girl. She had been sold by her father when she was scarcely more than a baby, and had lived for five years with a number of other children in a wretched houseboat. Her cruel master treated her very badly. He made her go out upon the street, with the other girls he had bought, to beg for a living. This kind of life was especially hard for Hu-lin. She longed to play in the fields, above which the huge kites were sailing in the air like giant birds. She liked to see the crows and magpies flying hither and thither. It was great fun to watch them build their stick nests in the tall poplars. But if her master ever caught her idling her time away in this manner he beat her most cruelly and gave her nothing to eat for a whole day. In fact he was so wicked and cruel that all the children called him Black Heart.

Early one morning when Hu-lin was feeling very sad about the way she was treated, she resolved to run away, but, alas! she had not gone more than a hundred yards from the houseboat when she saw Black Heart following her. He caught her, scolded her most dreadfully, and gave her such a beating that she felt too faint to stir.

For several hours she lay on the ground without moving a muscle, moaning as if her heart would break. “Ah! if only someone would save me!” she thought, “how good I would be all the rest of my days!”

Now, not far from the river there lived an old man in a tumble-down shanty. The only companion he had was a goose that watched the gate for him at night and screamed out loudly if any stranger dared to prowl about the place. Hu-lin and this goose were close friends, and the slave girl often stopped to chat with the wise fowl as she was passing the old man’s cottage. In this way she had learned that the bird’s owner was a miser who kept a great deal of money hidden in his yard. Ch’ang, the goose, had an unusually long neck, and was thus able to pry into most of his master’s affairs. As the fowl had no member of his own family to talk with, he told all he knew to Hu-lin.

On the very morning when Black Heart gave Hu-lin a beating for trying to run away, Ch’ang made a startling discovery. His lord and master was not really an old miser, but a young man in disguise. Ch’ang, feeling hungry, had slipped into the house at daybreak to see if any scraps had been left from the last evening’s meal. The bedroom door had blown open in the night, and there lay a young man sound asleep, instead of the greybeard whom the gander called his master. Then, before his very eyes, the youth changed suddenly into his former shape and was an old man again.

In his excitement, forgetting all about his empty stomach, the terror-stricken goose rushed out into the yard to think over the mystery, but the longer he puzzled, the more strange it all seemed. Then he thought of Hu-lin, and wished that she would come by, that he might ask her opinion. He had a high regard for the slave girl’s knowledge and believed that she would understand fully what had taken place.

Ch’ang went to the gate. As usual, it was locked, and there was nothing for him to do but wait for his master to rise. Two hours later the miser walked out into the yard. He seemed in good spirits, and he gave Ch’ang more to eat than usual. After taking his morning smoke on the street in front of the house, he strolled around it leaving the front gate ajar.

This was precisely what the gander had been expecting. Slipping quietly into the road, he turned towards the river where he could see the houseboats lined up at the wharf. On the sand near by lay a well-known form.

“Hu-lin,” he called as he drew near, “wake up, for I have something to tell you.”

“I am not asleep,” she answered, turning her tear-stained face towards her friend.

“Why, what’s the matter? You’ve been crying again. Has old Black Heart been beating you?”

“Hush! he’s taking a nap in the boat. Don’t let him hear you.”

“It’s not likely he would understand goose-talk if he did,” replied Ch’ang, smiling. “However, I suppose it’s always best to be on the safe side, so I’ll whisper what I have to say.”

Putting his bill close to her ear, he told Hu-lin of his recent discovery, and ended by asking her to tell him what it all meant.

The child forgot her own misery at hearing his wonderful story.  “Are you quite sure there was not some friend of the miser’s spending the night with him?” she asked gravely.

“Yes, yes, perfectly sure, for he has no friends,” replied the gander. “Besides, I was in the house just before he locked up for the night, and I saw neither hair nor hide of any other person.”

“Then he must be a fairy in disguise!” announced Hu-lin wisely.

“A fairy! what’s that?” questioned Ch’ang, more and more excited.

“Why, you old goose, don’t you know what a fairy is?” And Hu-lin laughed outright. By this time she had forgotten her own troubles and was becoming more and more amused at what she had heard. “Hark!” she said in a low tone, and speaking very slowly, “a fairy is——” Here she lowered her voice to a whisper.

The gander nodded violently as she went on with her explanation, and when she had finished, was speechless with amazement, for a few moments. “Well,” he said finally, “if my master is that kind of man, suppose you slip away quietly and come with me, for, if a fairy is what you say he is, he can save you from all your troubles and make me happy for the rest of my days.”

“I wonder if I dare?” she answered, looking round fearfully towards the houseboat, from the open scuttle of which came the sound of deep snoring.

“Yes, yes, of course!” coaxed Ch’ang. “He gave you such a beating that he won’t be afraid of your taking to your heels again very soon.”

Hurriedly they went to the miser’s compound. Hu-lin’s heart was beating fast as she tried to decide what to say when she should actually stand before the fairy. The gate was still partly open and the two friends entered boldly.

“Come this way,” said Ch’ang. “He must be in the back-yard digging in his garden.”

But when they reached the vegetable patch there was no one to be seen.

“This is very strange,” whispered the gander. “I don’t understand it, for I have never known him to grow tired of work so early. Surely he cannot have gone in to rest.”

Led by her friend, Hu-lin entered the house on tiptoe. The door of the miser’s bedroom stood wide open, and they saw that there was no one either in that room or any other room of the miserable cottage.

“Come! let’s see what kind of bed he sleeps on,” said Hu-lin, filled with curiosity. “I have never been in a fairy’s room. It must be different from other people’s rooms.”

“No, no! just a plain brick bed, like all the rest,” answered Ch’ang, as they crossed the threshold.

“Does he have a fire in cold weather?” asked Hu-lin, stooping to examine the small fire hole in the bricks.

“Oh, yes, a hot fire every night, and even in spring when other people have stopped having fires, the brick bed is hot every night.”

“Well, that’s rather strange for a miser, don’t you think?” said the girl. “It costs more to keep a fire going than it does to feed a man.”

“Yes, that’s true,” agreed Ch’ang, pruning his feathers. “I hadn’t thought of that. It is strange, very. Hu-lin, you’re a wise child. Where did you learn so much?”

At that moment the gander turned pale at hearing the gate slam loudly and the bar thrown into place.

“Good gracious! what ever shall we do?” asked Hu-lin. “What will he say if he finds us here?”

“No telling,” said the other, trembling, “but, my dear little friend, we are certainly caught, for we can’t get away without his seeing us.”

“Yes, and I’ve already had one beating to-day! And such a hard one that I don’t believe I could live through another,” sighed the child, as the tears began to flow.

“There, there, little girl, don’t worry! Let’s hide in this dark corner behind the baskets,” suggested the gander, just as the master’s step was heard at the front door.

Soon the frightened companions were crouching on the ground, trying to hide. Much to their relief, however, the miser did not go into his bedroom, and they soon heard him hard at work in the garden. All that day the two remained in their hiding place, afraid to show themselves outside the door.

“I can’t imagine what he would say if he found out that his watch-goose had brought a stranger into the house,” said Ch’ang.

“Perhaps he would think we were trying to steal some of the money he has hidden away,” she answered, laughing, for as Hu-lin became used to her cramped quarters she grew less frightened. At any rate she was not nearly so much afraid of the miser as she had thought she was. “Besides,” she reflected, “he can’t be so bad as old Black Heart.”

Thus the day wore on and darkness fell over the land. By this time girl and goose were fast asleep in one corner of the miser’s room and knew nothing more of what was happening.

When the first light of a new day filtered through the paper-covered window above the miser’s bed, Hu-lin awoke with a start, and at first she could not think where she was. Ch’ang was staring at her with wide-open frightened eyes that seemed to be asking, “What can it all mean? It is more than my goose brain can think out.”

For on the bed, instead of the miser, there lay a young man whose hair was a black as a raven’s wing. A faint smile lightened up his handsome face, as if he was enjoying some delightful dream. A cry of wonder escaped Hu-lin’s lips before she could hold it back. The sleeper’s eyes opened instantly and were fixed upon her. The girl was so frightened that she could not move, and the gander trembled violently as he saw the change that had come over his master.

The young man was even more surprised than his guests, and for two minutes he was speechless. “What does this mean?” he asked, finally, looking at Ch’ang. “What are you doing in my bedroom and who is this child who seems so frightened?”

“Forgive me, kind sir, but what have you done to my master?” asked the gander, giving question for question.

“Am I not your master, you mad creature?” said the man, laughing. “You are more stupid than ever this morning.”

“My master was old and ugly, but you are still young and handsome,” replied Ch’ang in a tone of flattery.

“What,” shouted the other, “you say I am still young?”

“Why, yes. Ask Hu-lin, if you don’t believe me.”

The man turned towards the little girl.

“Yes, indeed you are, sir,” she replied in answer to his look. “Never have I seen a man so beautiful.”

“At last! at last!” he cried, laughing joyfully, “I am free, free, free from all my troubles, but how it has come about is more than I can say!”

For a few minutes he stood in a deep study, snapping his long fingers as if trying to solve some hard problem. At last a smile lighted up his face. “Ch’ang,” he asked, “what was it you called your guest when you spoke of her a minute ago?”

“I am Hu-lin,” said the child simply, “Hu-lin, the slave girl.”

He clapped his hands. “That’s right! That’s right!” he cried. “I see it all now; it is as plain as day.” Then, noticing the look of wonder on her face, “It is to you that I owe my freedom from a wicked fairy, and if you like, I’ll tell you the story of my misfortune.”

“Pray do, kind sir,” she replied eagerly. “I told Ch’ang that you were a fairy, and I should like to know if I was right.”

“Well, you see,” he began, “my father is a rich man who lives in a distant county. When I was a boy he gave me everything I wished. I was so humoured and petted from earliest childhood that at last I began to think there was nothing at all in the world I could not have for the asking, and nothing that I must not do if I wished to.

“My teacher often scolded me for having such notions. He told me there was a proverb: ‘Men die for gain, birds perish to get food.’ He thought such men were very foolish. He told me that money would go a long way towards making a man happy, but he always ended by saying that the gods were more powerful than men. He said I must always be careful not to make the evil spirits angry. Sometimes I laughed in his face, telling him that I was rich and could buy the favour of gods and fairies. The good man would shake his head, saying, ‘Take care, my boy, or you will be sorry for these rash speeches.'”

“One day, after he had been giving me a long lecture of this sort, we were walking in the garden of my father’s compound. I was even more daring than usual and told him that I cared nothing for the rules other people followed. ‘You say,’ said I, ‘that this well here in my father’s yard is ruled by a spirit, and that if I were to anger him by jumping over it, he would be vexed and give me trouble.’

‘Yes,’ said he, ‘that is exactly what I said, and I repeat it. Beware, young man, beware of idle boasting and of breaking the law.’

‘What do I care for a spirit that lives on my father’s land?’ I answered with a sneer. ‘I don’t believe there is a spirit in this well. If there is, it is only another of my father’s slaves.’

“So saying, and before my tutor could stop me, I leaped across the mouth of the well. No sooner had I touched the ground than I felt a strange shrinking of my body. My strength left me in the twinkling of an eye, my bones shortened, my skin grew yellow and wrinkled. I looked at my pigtail and found that the hair had suddenly grown thin and white. In every way I had been changed completely into an old man.

“My teacher stared at me in amazement, and when I asked him what it all meant my voice was as shrill as that of early childhood. ‘Alas! my dear pupil,’ he replied, ‘now you will believe what I told you. The spirit of the well is angry at your wicked conduct and has punished you. You have been told a hundred times that it is wrong to leap over a well; yet you did this very thing,’

‘But is there nothing that can be done,’ I cried; ‘is there no way of restoring my lost youth?’ He looked at me sadly and shook his head.

“When my father learned of my sad condition he was terribly upset. He did everything that could be done to find some way for me to regain my youth. He had incense burned at a dozen temples and he himself offered up prayers to various gods. I was his only son, and he could not be happy without me. At last, when everything else had been done, my worthy teacher thought of asking a fortune-teller who had become famous in the city. After inquiring about everything that had led up to my sad plight, the wise man said that the spirit of the well, as a punishment, had changed me into a miser. He said that only when I was sleeping would I be in my natural state, and even then if any one chanced to enter my room or catch a glimpse of my face, I would be at once changed back into a greybeard.”

“I saw you yesterday morning,” shouted the gander. “You were young and handsome, and then before my very eyes you were changed back into an old man!”

“To continue my story,” said the young man, “the fortune-teller at last announced that there was only one chance for my recovery and that a very small one. If at any time, while I was in my rightful shape, that is, as you see me now, a mad goose should come in, leading a tiger-forest out of slavery, the charm would be broken, and the evil spirit would no longer have control over me. When the fortune-teller’s answer was brought to my father, he gave up hope, and so did I, for no one understood the meaning of such a senseless riddle.

“That night I left my native city, resolved not to disgrace my people any longer by living with them. I came to this place, bought this house with some money my father had given me, and at once began living the life of a miser. Nothing satisfied my greed for money. Everything must be turned into cash. For five years I have been storing away money, and, at the same time, starving myself, body and soul.

“Soon after my arrival here, remembering the fortune-teller’s riddle, I decided that I would keep a goose to serve as night watch-man instead of a dog. In this way I made a start at working out the riddle.”

“But I am not a mad goose,” hissed the gander angrily. “If it had not been for me you would still be a wrinkled miser.”

“Quite right, dear Ch’ang, quite right,” said the young man soothingly; “you were not mad; so I gave you the name Ch’ang, which means mad, and thus made a mad goose of you.”

“Oh, I see,” said Hu-lin and Ch’ang together. “How clever!”

“So, you see, I had part of my cure here in my back-yard all the time; but though I thought as hard as I could, I could think of no way of securing that Ch’ang should lead a tiger-forest into my room while I was sleeping. The thing seemed absurd, and I soon gave up trying to study it out. To-day by accident it has really come to pass.”

“So I am the tiger-forest, am I?” laughed Hu-lin.

“Yes, indeed, you are, my dear child, a pretty little tiger-forest, for Hu means tiger, and lin is surely good Chinese for a grove of trees. Then, too, you told me you were a slave girl. Hence, Ch’ang led you out of slavery.”

“Oh, I am so glad!” said Hu-lin, forgetting her own poverty, “so glad that you don’t have to be a horrible old miser any longer.”

Just at that moment there was a loud banging on the front gate.

“Who can be knocking in that fashion?” asked the young man in astonishment.

“Alas! it must be Black Heart, my master,” said Hu-lin, beginning to cry.

“Don’t be frightened,” said the youth, soothingly stroking the child’s head. “You have saved me, and I shall certainly do as much for you. If this Mr. Black Heart doesn’t agree to a fair proposal he shall have a black eye to remember his visit by.”

It did not take long for the grateful young man to buy Hu-lin’s liberty, especially as he offered as much for her freedom as her master had expected to get when she was fourteen or fifteen years of age.

When Hu-lin was told of the bargain she was wild with delight. She bowed low before her new master and then, kneeling, touched her head nine times on the floor. Rising, she cried out, “Oh, how happy I am, for now I shall be yours for ever and ever and ever, and good old Ch’ang shall be my playmate.”

“Yes, indeed,” he assured her, “and when you are a little older I shall make you my wife. At present you will go with me to my father’s house and become my little betrothed.”

“And I shall never again have to beg for crusts on the street?” she asked him, her eyes full of wonder.

“No! never!” he answered, laughing, “and you need never fear another beating.”

LET’S CHAT ABOUT THE STORIES ~ IDEAS FOR TALKING WITH KIDS

Respect

1. The young man said that he was transformed into an old miser when he disrespected a well by jumping over it. What do you think it means to respect something? Why do you think respect might be important?

2. Why do you think the well spirit might have felt upset when the young man disrespected its feelings about jumping over the well?

Gratitude

1. The young man pays Hu-Lin’s master, Mr. Black Heart, so that she does not have to live with him any more. Why do you think the young man did this?

2. Have you ever felt very happy that someone helped you, as Hu-Lin did the young man? How did you show it to the person that helped you?

CHINESE BEDTIME STORY BY NORMAN HINSDALE PITMAN

Vintage illustration by Li Chu T’ang

The post The Mad Goose and the Tiger Forest first appeared on Bedtime Stories.

Just outside the walls of a Chinese city there lived a young woodcutter named T’ang and his old mother, a woman of seventy. They were very poor and had a tiny one-room shanty, built of mud and grass, which they rented from a neighbour. Every day young T’ang rose bright and early and went up on the mountain near their house. There he spent the day cutting firewood to sell in the city near by. In the evening he would return home, take the wood to market, sell it, and bring back food for his mother and himself. Now, though these two people were poor, they were very happy, for the young man loved his mother dearly, and the old woman thought there was no one like her son in all the world. Their friends, however, felt sorry for them and said, “What a pity we have no grasshoppers here, so that the T’angs could have some food from heaven!”

One day young T’ang got up before daylight and started for the hills, carrying his axe on his shoulder. He bade his mother good-bye, telling her that he would be back early with a heavier load of wood than usual, for the morrow would be a holiday and they must eat good food. All day long Widow T’ang waited patiently, saying to herself over and over as she went about her simple work, “The good boy, the good boy, how he loves his old mother!”

In the afternoon she began watching for his return—but in vain. The sun was sinking lower and lower in the west, but still he did not come. At last the old woman was frightened. “My poor son!” she muttered. “Something has happened to him.” Straining her feeble eyes, she looked along the mountain path. Nothing was to be seen there but a flock of sheep following the shepherd. “Woe is me!” moaned the woman. “My boy! my boy!” She took her crutch from its corner and limped off to a neighbour’s house to tell him of her trouble and beg him to go and look for the missing boy.

Now this neighbour was kind-hearted, and willing to help old Mother T’ang, for he felt very sorry for her. “There are many wild beasts in the mountains,” he said, shaking his head as he walked away with her, thinking to prepare the frightened woman for the worst, “and I fear that your son has been carried off by one of them.” Widow T’ang gave a scream of horror and sank upon the ground. Her friend walked slowly up the mountain path, looking carefully for signs of a struggle. At last when he had gone half way up the slope he came to a little pile of torn clothing spattered with blood. The woodman’s axe was lying by the side of the path, also his carrying pole and some rope. There could be no mistake: after making a brave fight, the poor youth had been carried off by a tiger.

Gathering up the torn garments, the man went sadly down the hill. He dreaded seeing the poor mother and telling her that her only boy was indeed gone for ever. At the foot of the mountain he found her still lying on the ground. When she looked up and saw what he was carrying, with a cry of despair she fainted away. She did not need to be told what had happened.

Friends bore her into the little house and gave her food, but they could not comfort her. “Alas!” she cried, “of what use is it to live? He was my only boy. Who will take care of me in my old age? Why have the gods treated me in this cruel way?”

She wept, tore her hair, and beat her chest, until people said she had gone mad. The longer she mourned, the more violent she became.

The next day, however, much to the surprise of her neighbours, she set out for the city, making her way along slowly by means of her crutch. It was a pitiful sight to see her, so old, so feeble, and so lonely. Every one was sorry for her and pointed her out, saying, “See! the poor old soul has no one to help her!”

In the city she asked her way to the public hall. When she found the place she knelt at the front gate, calling out loudly and telling of her ill-fortune. Just at this moment the mandarin, or city judge, walked into the court room to try any cases which might be brought before him. He heard the old woman weeping and wailing outside, and bade one of the servants let her enter and tell him of her wrongs.

Now this was just what the Widow T’ang had come for. Calming herself, she hobbled into the great hall of trial.

“What is the matter, old woman? Why do you raise such an uproar in front of my yamen? Speak up quickly and tell me of your trouble.”

“I am old and feeble,” she began. “Lame and almost blind. I have no money and no way of earning money. I have not one relative now in all the empire. I depended on my only son for a living. Every day he climbed the mountain, for he was a woodcutter, and every evening he came back home, bringing enough money for our food. But yesterday he went and did not return. A mountain tiger carried him off and ate him, and now, alas! there seems to be no help for it—I must die of hunger. My bleeding heart cries out for justice. I have come into this hall to-day, to beg your worship to see that the slayer of my son is punished. Surely the law says that none may shed blood without giving his own blood in payment.”

“But, woman, are you mad?” cried the mandarin, laughing loudly. “Did you not say it was a tiger that killed your son? How can a tiger be brought to justice? Of a truth, you must have lost your senses.”

The judge’s questions were of no avail. The Widow T’ang kept up her clamour. She would not be turned away until she had gained her purpose. The hall echoed with the noise of her howling. The mandarin could stand it no longer. “Hold! woman,” he cried, “stop your shrieking. I will do what you ask. Only go home and wait until I summon you to court. The slayer of your son shall be caught and punished.”

The judge was, of course, only trying to get rid of the demented mother, thinking that if she were only once out of his sight, he could give orders not to let her into the hall again. The old woman, however, was too sharp for him. She saw through his plan and became more stubborn than ever.

“No, I cannot go,” she answered, “until I have seen you sign the order for that tiger to be caught and brought into this judgment hall.”

Now, as the judge was not really a bad man, he decided to humour the old woman in her strange plea. Turning to the assistants in the court room he asked which of them would be willing to go in search of the tiger. One of these men, named Li-neng, had been leaning against the wall, half asleep. He had been drinking heavily and so had not heard what had been going on in the room. One of his friends gave him a poke in the ribs just as the judge asked for volunteers.

Thinking the judge had called him by name, he stepped forward, knelt on the floor, saying, “I, Li-neng, can go and do the will of your worship.”

“Very well, you will do,” answered the judge. “Here is your order. Go forth and do your duty.” So saying, he handed the warrant to Li-neng. “Now, old woman, are you satisfied?” he continued.

“Quite satisfied, your worship,” she replied.

“Then go home and wait there until I send for you.”

Mumbling a few words of thanks, the unhappy mother left the building.

When Li-neng went outside the court room, his friends crowded round him. “Drunken sot!” they laughed; “do you know what you have done?”

Li-neng shook his head. “Just a little business for the mandarin, isn’t it? Quite easy.”

“Call it easy, if you like. What! man, arrest a tiger, a man-eating tiger and bring him to the city! Better go and say good-bye to your father and mother. They will never see you again.”

Li-neng slept off his drunkenness, and then saw that his friends were right. He had been very foolish. But surely the judge had meant the whole thing only as a joke! No such order had ever been written before! It was plain that the judge had hit on this plan simply to get rid of the wailing old woman. Li-neng took the warrant back to the judgment hall and told the mandarin that the tiger could not be found.

But the judge was in no mood for joking. “Can’t be found? And why not? You agreed to arrest this tiger. Why is it that to-day you try to get out of your promise? I can by no means permit this, for I have given my word to satisfy the old woman in her cry for justice.”

Li-neng knelt and knocked his head on the floor. “I was drunk,” he cried, “when I gave my promise. I knew not what you were asking. I can catch a man, but not a tiger. I know nothing of such matters. Still, if you wish it, I can go into the hills and hire hunters to help me.”

“Very well, it makes no difference how you catch him, as long as you bring him into court. If you fail in your duty, there is nothing left but to beat you until you succeed. I give you five days.”

During the next few days Li-neng left no stone unturned in trying to find the guilty tiger. The best hunters in the country were employed. Night and day they searched the hills, hiding in mountain caves, watching and waiting, but finding nothing. It was all very trying for Li-neng, since he now feared the heavy hands of the judge more than the claws of the tiger. On the fifth day he had to report his failure. He received a thorough beating, fifty blows on the back. But that was not the worst of it. During the next six weeks, try as he would, he could find no traces of the missing animal. At the end of each five days, he got another beating for his pains. The poor fellow was in despair. Another month of such treatment would lay him on his deathbed. This he knew very well, and yet he had little hope. His friends shook their heads when they saw him. “He is drawing near the wood,” they said to each other, meaning that he would soon be in his coffin. “Why don’t you flee the country?” they asked him. “Follow the tiger’s example. You see he has escaped completely. The judge would make no effort to catch you if you should go across the border into the next province.”

Li-neng shook his head on hearing this advice. He had no desire to leave his family for ever, and he felt sure of being caught and put to death if he should try to run away.

One day after all the hunters had given up the search in disgust and gone back to their homes in the valley, Li-neng entered a mountain temple to pray. The tears rained down his cheeks as he knelt before the great fierce-looking idol. “Alas! I am a dead man!” he moaned between his prayers; “a dead man, for now there is no hope. Would that I had never touched a drop of wine!”

Just then he heard a slight rustling near by. Looking up, he saw a huge tiger standing at the temple gate. But Li-neng was no longer afraid of tigers. He knew there was only one way to save himself. “Ah,” he said, looking the great cat straight in the eye, “you have come to eat me, have you? Well, I fear you would find my flesh a trifle tough, since I have been beaten with four hundred blows during these six weeks. You are the same fellow that carried off the woodman last month, aren’t you? This woodman was an only son, the sole support of an old mother. Now this poor woman has reported you to the mandarin, who, in turn, has had a warrant drawn up for your arrest. I have been sent out to find you and lead you to trial. For some reason or other you have acted the coward, and remained in hiding. This has been the cause of my beating. Now I don’t want to suffer any longer as a result of your murder. You must come with me to the city and answer the charge of killing the woodman.”

All the time Li-neng was speaking, the tiger listened closely. When the man was silent, the animal made no effort to escape, but, on the contrary, seemed willing and ready to be captured. He bent his head forward and let Li-neng slip a strong chain over it. Then he followed the man quietly down the mountain, through the crowded streets of the city, into the court room. All along the way there was great excitement. “The man-slaying tiger has been caught,” shouted the people. “He is being led to trial.”

The crowd followed Li-neng into the hall of justice. When the judge walked in, every one became as quiet as the grave. All were filled with wonder at the strange sight of a tiger being called before a judge.

The great animal did not seem to be afraid of those who were watching so curiously. He sat down in front of the mandarin, for all the world like a huge cat. The judge rapped on the table as a signal that all was ready for the trial.

“Tiger,” said he, turning toward the prisoner, “did you eat the woodman whom you are charged with killing?”

The tiger gravely nodded his head.

“Yes, he killed my boy!” screamed the aged mother. “Kill him! Give him the death that he deserves!”

“A life for a life is the law of the land,” continued the judge, paying no attention to the forlorn mother, but looking the accused directly in the eye. “Did you not know it? You have robbed a helpless old woman of her only son. There are no relatives to support her. She is crying for vengeance. You must be punished for your crime. The law must be enforced. However, I am not a cruel judge. If you can promise to take the place of this widow’s son and support the woman in her old age, I am quite willing to spare you from a disgraceful death. What say you, will you accept my offer?”

The gaping people craned their necks to see what would happen, and once more they were surprised to see the savage beast nod his head in silent agreement.

“Very well, then, you are free to return to your mountain home; only, of course, you must remember your promise.”

The chains were taken from the tiger’s neck, and the great animal walked silently out of the yamen, down the street, and through the gate opening towards his beloved mountain cave.

Once more the old woman was very angry. As she hobbled from the room, she cast sour glances at the judge, muttering over and over again, “Who ever heard of a tiger taking the place of a son? A pretty game this is, to catch the brute, and then to set him free.” There was nothing for her to do, however, but to return home, for the judge had given strict orders that on no account was she to appear before him again.

Almost broken-hearted she entered her desolate hovel at the foot of the mountain. Her neighbours shook their heads as they saw her. “She cannot live long,” they said. “She has the look of death on her wrinkled face. Poor soul! she has nothing to live for, nothing to keep her from starving.”

But they were mistaken. Next morning when the old woman went outside to get a breath of fresh air she found a newly killed deer in front of her door. Her tiger-son had begun to keep his promise, for she could see the marks of his claws on the dead animal’s body. She took the carcass into the house and dressed it for the market. On the city streets next day she had no trouble in selling the flesh and skin for a handsome sum of money. All had heard of the tiger’s first gift, and no one was anxious to drive a close bargain.

Laden with food, the happy woman went home rejoicing, with money enough to keep her for many a day. A week later the tiger came to her door with a roll of cloth and some money in his mouth. He dropped these new gifts at her feet and ran away without even waiting for her thank-you. The Widow T’ang now saw that the judge had acted wisely. She stopped grieving for her dead son and began to love in his stead the handsome animal that had come to take his place so willingly.

The tiger grew much attached to his foster-mother and often purred contentedly outside her door, waiting for her to come and stroke his soft fur. He no longer had the old desire to kill. The sight of blood was not nearly so tempting as it had been in his younger days. Year after year he brought the weekly offerings to his mistress until she was as well provided for as any other widow in the country.

At last in the course of nature the good old soul died. Kind friends laid her away in her last resting place at the foot of the great mountain. There was money enough left out of what she had saved to put up a handsome tombstone, on which this story was written just as you have read it here. The faithful tiger mourned long for his dear mistress. He lay on her grave, wailing like a child that had lost its mother. Long he listened for the voice he had loved so well, long he searched the mountain-slopes, returning each night to the empty cottage, but all in vain. She whom he loved was gone for ever.

One night he vanished from the mountain, and from that day to this no one in that province has ever seen him. Some who know this story say that he died of grief in a secret cave which he had long used as a hiding-place. Others add, with a wise shrug of the shoulders, that, like Shanwang, he was taken to the Western Heaven, there to be rewarded for his deeds of virtue and to live as a fairy for ever afterwards.

LET’S CHAT ABOUT THE STORIES ~ IDEAS FOR TALKING WITH KIDS

Responsibility

1. The tiger killed the old woman’s son, and afterwards accepted to look after her as the son had done. Why do you think the tiger showed responsibility for the old woman’s plight?

2. Do you think showing responsibility for the consequences of his actions made his original actions less terrible? Why or why not?

Forgiveness

1. The old woman grew to love the tiger and even caressed him, despite his terrible deed. Why do you think the old lady did this?

2. Do you think forgiveness in this case was a good thing? Why or why not?

CHINESE BEDTIME STORY BY NORMAN HINSDALE PITMAN

Vintage illustration by Li Chu T’ang

The post The Nodding Tiger first appeared on Bedtime Stories.