There was once a shepherd lad who carved for himself a bonnie wee harp.
He was a year in making it, all of a single piece of fine ash wood. He hollowed out the box and bored the holes for the tuning pins, then strung it all with sheep gut. It was not much bigger than a grown man’s hand, and it had the sweetest little voice, like heather bells laughing on the wind. The shepherd boy was never without it wherever he went, and played it hour after hour as he tended his sheep.
As time went on, the shepherd boy would sometimes see a pair of bright green eyes watching from a hedge, or behind the tall grass, as he played, but when he got up to look closer there would be nothing there. Tis one of the wee folk, he thought, and the little devil is after my harp.
For a time, the shepherd boy guarded his harp close, for it was the thing he loved most dearly in all the world. But then he got to thinking. It was a fine little harp, but there were many things in the world that were finer, and perhaps the leprechaun in the hedge might be willing to make a swap.
One day, the boy, pretending to be careless, set his harp down and turned his face away, as if to gaze off at the horizon. He counted a quick one, two, three, then looked back again and what did he see, caught in broad daylight and plain as anything, but a green-eyed leprechaun in a green frock coat, breeches, and tiny buckled shoes. The shepherd boy snatched the little man up with both hands and fixed him with both his eyes and didn’t dare to blink, for a leprechaun can’t get away so long as you’ve got both your eyes on him.
“You mean to steal my harp, do ye?” The shepherd boy gave the leprechaun a shake.
“No, no, only to admire it a while,” the leprechaun said. “Let me go, now, or it’ll go badly for ye. I’m warning!”
“You fancy my harp then? I’d be of a mind to let you have it, if you’ll give me it’s weight in gold.”
The leprechaun let out a merry laugh. “Gladly! That’s easily done. Here’s your gold, boy, and welcome. Pity you didn’t ask for more.”
And the leprechaun opened his pocket and spilled out a pile of gold coins on the ground.
The shepherd’s boys eyes grew wide, and he nearly looked away from the little man in his hands to better see the gold, but he caught himself in time and kept his eyes on the leprechaun. “More, what do you mean more?”
“Such a fine little harp, I’d have given you better for it, if only ye had asked me.”
“Well, I’m asking ye now, and I won’t let ye go unless I have all I want.”
“And what is that?”
“Twice the harp’s weight in gold, and a fine suit of clothes to wear when I go and spend it, and a fine house to live in besides.”
“Very well,” said the leprhechan. “There’s yer fine clothes, ye’re wearing them already, and yer house is right behind ye.”
And the shepherd boy looked down to see how he was dressed, but it was only his patched and ragged shepherd’s garb, and when he looked behind himself there was nothing but empty hillside.
“I see no house, and these are only my own clothes,” the boy said, but when he looked to his hands, the little man was gone, and so was the gold, and so was the harp.
On rare fine days, when you go up into the hills and hear a sweet music like the heather bells laughing on the wind, you’ll know it’s the leprechaun playing the bonnie wee harp he stole from the shepherd boy.
Showing posts with label Fable. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Fable. Show all posts
Monday, March 16, 2015
Monday, February 2, 2015
#98 The Brine Shrimp
Once upon a time a tiny brine shrimp drifted out in the middle of the vast, blue ocean, somewhere between the sunny surface and the dark, cool depths. He drifted and swam, lazily moving with the current, until all of a sudden, he saw a huge octopus coming straight for him.
The brine shrimp was scared. He was sure the octopus was going to eat him! It wasn’t any use trying to swim away, so he puffed himself up as big as he could and yelled, “You better get out of here, octopus! You don’t want to mess with me!”
And would you believe the octopus didn’t eat him? No, the octopus just swam right on by.
Now the brine shrimp was feeling pretty good about himself, and he kind of swished when he swam in a tough-guy sort of way. He’d scared off a big, hungry octopus! But it wasn’t very long before the brine shrimp caught sight of a gigantic shark coming straight toward him!
The brine shrimp was terrified! That shark was going to eat him for sure. With his teeny heart pounding, he shouted out, “Better steer clear, Mr. Shark! I scared off an octopus not ten minutes ago, and I could whup you too!”
And would you believe it, the shark didn’t eat him. No, that shark just swam right on by.
Now the brine shrimp was feeling mighty fine. He had scared off a hungry octopus and a hungry shark all in one day. He sure was one fierce creature of the sea!
But then off in the distance the brine shrimp saw a great dark shadow, slowly getting closer, and closer. It was a monstrous whale! This time the brine shrimp wasn’t even worried, not one little bit. “You wanna eat me, whale? Well, tough luck! I already scared off an octopus and a shark today, so I’m not afraid of you either! Come on and try!”
And would you believe, that whale swam right up to the brine shrimp and ate him. Because that’s what whales do.
The End.
The brine shrimp was scared. He was sure the octopus was going to eat him! It wasn’t any use trying to swim away, so he puffed himself up as big as he could and yelled, “You better get out of here, octopus! You don’t want to mess with me!”
And would you believe the octopus didn’t eat him? No, the octopus just swam right on by.
Now the brine shrimp was feeling pretty good about himself, and he kind of swished when he swam in a tough-guy sort of way. He’d scared off a big, hungry octopus! But it wasn’t very long before the brine shrimp caught sight of a gigantic shark coming straight toward him!
The brine shrimp was terrified! That shark was going to eat him for sure. With his teeny heart pounding, he shouted out, “Better steer clear, Mr. Shark! I scared off an octopus not ten minutes ago, and I could whup you too!”
And would you believe it, the shark didn’t eat him. No, that shark just swam right on by.
Now the brine shrimp was feeling mighty fine. He had scared off a hungry octopus and a hungry shark all in one day. He sure was one fierce creature of the sea!
But then off in the distance the brine shrimp saw a great dark shadow, slowly getting closer, and closer. It was a monstrous whale! This time the brine shrimp wasn’t even worried, not one little bit. “You wanna eat me, whale? Well, tough luck! I already scared off an octopus and a shark today, so I’m not afraid of you either! Come on and try!”
And would you believe, that whale swam right up to the brine shrimp and ate him. Because that’s what whales do.
The End.
Thursday, January 22, 2015
#89 Old and Young
After the first dance, Annie followed Tom as he limped out onto the wide porch. “That’s enough for me,” he said as he dropped into a chair. “Tell me, Annie, why does a pretty young girl like you waste your time with a tired old soldier like me?”
Old? Why had he said old? “You’re not old,” Annie tried to make her laugh light. “You can’t be a day over twenty.”
“Things aren’t always as they seem,” Tom said, and there was a thoughtful sadness in his voice that made Annie’s insides chill. Did he know? He couldn’t know her secret.
She knew she had to tell him, but not yet, oh no, not yet. One more evening, that’s all. Then she’d tell.
They sat on the porch together while inside the music started up again.
“Well, even if you are a day over twenty, I prefer you to any of those other silly boys in there. You suit me fine.” Oh dear, Annie thought as soon as she’d said it, what a terrible thing to say. How can I lead him on like this? I have to tell him. Have to tell him now. She tried to find words to begin, but nothing would come.
“Would you mind going for a little walk?” Tom asked. His voice sounded heavy, as if he had something he wanted to say too. Annie’s heart beat faster with fear, dread, and excitement. If only, if only she didn’t have this awful secret. If only this wasn’t all a sham.
Together they strolled through the village in the moonlight, slowly, because of Tom’s bad leg. Neither of them said a word for a long time.
“Annie, I’ve got something to say to you,” Tom said.
I have some thing to say too, Annie thought, but I wish I didn’t have to say it.
“There’s no other girl I like as much as you, and that’s the plain truth.”
Annie suddenly burst into tears. “Oh Tom, you’re going to hate me, I just know it. I hope you can forgive me. I’m so, so sorry, I would never have done it if I’d known this would happen!’
“Annie, what is it?” Tom asked.
“I’m old, Tom! I’m old. I’m a shriveled old crone that you wouldn’t even look at if you saw how old I really was.”
Tom didn’t say a word.
“There’s a pool in the wood,” Annie whispered, choked through her tears. “If you wash in it in the moment before sunrise, it makes you look young again. But it only makes you look young. I’m still old inside, oh Tom, I’m so sorry. I should have told you sooner, should have told you before…”
“So it was the pool!” Tom said.
“What?” Annie asked.
Tom laughed and picked her up and swung her around before setting her down again on the path.
“It was the pool,” Tom said. “I thought maybe it was the village, but it was the pool. Annie, I have two things to say to you now. At first I was only going to tell you the same thing you’ve just told me.”
Annie took a step back from him, not daring to let the hope leap up in her heart.
“I’m old too! Or I was, until I walked into this town. Folks were treating me different, like I wasn’t a bent old soldier, but a fine young man back from the wars. I didn’t understand it until I got a good look at my hands, at my face. I’d turned young again. I didn’t know how it happened until now. I’d forgot all about sleeping by that old pool in the wood, and stopping to wash when I woke up before dawn.”
Annie was laughing now, still crying, but laughing too.
“Now the second thing. Annie, I haven’t got many years left in me, but what I have, I’d give them to you, if you’ll have me.”
“Of course, Tom, of course!” Annie said.
And arm in arm, they went back, slowly back, to the dance.
Old? Why had he said old? “You’re not old,” Annie tried to make her laugh light. “You can’t be a day over twenty.”
“Things aren’t always as they seem,” Tom said, and there was a thoughtful sadness in his voice that made Annie’s insides chill. Did he know? He couldn’t know her secret.
She knew she had to tell him, but not yet, oh no, not yet. One more evening, that’s all. Then she’d tell.
They sat on the porch together while inside the music started up again.
“Well, even if you are a day over twenty, I prefer you to any of those other silly boys in there. You suit me fine.” Oh dear, Annie thought as soon as she’d said it, what a terrible thing to say. How can I lead him on like this? I have to tell him. Have to tell him now. She tried to find words to begin, but nothing would come.
“Would you mind going for a little walk?” Tom asked. His voice sounded heavy, as if he had something he wanted to say too. Annie’s heart beat faster with fear, dread, and excitement. If only, if only she didn’t have this awful secret. If only this wasn’t all a sham.
Together they strolled through the village in the moonlight, slowly, because of Tom’s bad leg. Neither of them said a word for a long time.
“Annie, I’ve got something to say to you,” Tom said.
I have some thing to say too, Annie thought, but I wish I didn’t have to say it.
“There’s no other girl I like as much as you, and that’s the plain truth.”
Annie suddenly burst into tears. “Oh Tom, you’re going to hate me, I just know it. I hope you can forgive me. I’m so, so sorry, I would never have done it if I’d known this would happen!’
“Annie, what is it?” Tom asked.
“I’m old, Tom! I’m old. I’m a shriveled old crone that you wouldn’t even look at if you saw how old I really was.”
Tom didn’t say a word.
“There’s a pool in the wood,” Annie whispered, choked through her tears. “If you wash in it in the moment before sunrise, it makes you look young again. But it only makes you look young. I’m still old inside, oh Tom, I’m so sorry. I should have told you sooner, should have told you before…”
“So it was the pool!” Tom said.
“What?” Annie asked.
Tom laughed and picked her up and swung her around before setting her down again on the path.
“It was the pool,” Tom said. “I thought maybe it was the village, but it was the pool. Annie, I have two things to say to you now. At first I was only going to tell you the same thing you’ve just told me.”
Annie took a step back from him, not daring to let the hope leap up in her heart.
“I’m old too! Or I was, until I walked into this town. Folks were treating me different, like I wasn’t a bent old soldier, but a fine young man back from the wars. I didn’t understand it until I got a good look at my hands, at my face. I’d turned young again. I didn’t know how it happened until now. I’d forgot all about sleeping by that old pool in the wood, and stopping to wash when I woke up before dawn.”
Annie was laughing now, still crying, but laughing too.
“Now the second thing. Annie, I haven’t got many years left in me, but what I have, I’d give them to you, if you’ll have me.”
“Of course, Tom, of course!” Annie said.
And arm in arm, they went back, slowly back, to the dance.
Thursday, January 8, 2015
#77 The Hairless Hares
There was once a tribe of hares that lived high in the snow-covered mountains to the north. They had the most wonderful coats of warm, soft fur to protect them from the chill, and so they lived quite happily in a place that most creatures would find too cold. Year by year the tribe prospered and grew, until men discovered that the warm, soft coats of the hares made excellent coats, hats, and mittens. Trappers and hunters began coming up into the mountains, catching and killing the hares for their fur.
When the hares saw that their numbers were dwindling, they chose the swiftest and bravest hare among them and sent him down into the valleys below to ask the help of the fairy queen. The fairy queen heard the hare’s petition and granted his request. “Return to your home,” she said. “Your tribe will no longer be hunted.”
Joyfully, the hare bounded all the way back up to the mountain and burst into the snug warren where all his kinfolk lived. To his surprise, instead of the beautiful white, furry faces he knew so well, he saw a horde of ugly, pink, scrawny creatures huddled in the corners. “Who are you!” he demanded. “What have you done with my family?”
One of the strange creatures came shivering up to him. “I’m not surprised you do not recognize us. I am your brother, we are all here, but we’ve changed. So have you, if you haven’t noticed.”
The hare gasped when he looked down at his paws. Bare and pink they were, the fur he had been so proud of had vanished.
“It’s the fairy queen’s magic,” one of the elder hares said. “She has protected us by taking away the thing that the hunters prized, but without our fur we shall surely freeze in the cold. Hurry back down, and ask her to give us our fur back again.”
And so the hare bounded out of the warren again, shuddering in the cold, and went as swiftly as he could back to the court of the fairy queen.
“We thank you for your assistance, your highness,” the hare said, “but we humbly ask if you could please restore our pelts, for without them we will freeze.”
The fairy queen laughed. “Your fur is still there, if you will bother to close your eyes and feel it. I have only made it invisible.”
The hare closed his eyes and nibbled at his paw. Sure enough, he felt the long strands of silky fur still there. With a joyful leap, he thanked the fairy queen again and returned to his home. Once there, he explained what had happened. All his kinfolk came creeping out of the corners of the warren, laughing at themselves, for now they realized that they had only imagined that they felt so cold.
The hares were no longer hunted for their fur, and every year when they shed their winter coats they collected the cast-off hairs and sent them to the fairy queen in tribute, as thanks for her help. The fairies used them to make wonderful invisible things, like ropes and stockings and felt hats. I have one of those hats myself, and as you can see, I’m wearing it right now. The tale ends well, that’s all there is to tell.
When the hares saw that their numbers were dwindling, they chose the swiftest and bravest hare among them and sent him down into the valleys below to ask the help of the fairy queen. The fairy queen heard the hare’s petition and granted his request. “Return to your home,” she said. “Your tribe will no longer be hunted.”
Joyfully, the hare bounded all the way back up to the mountain and burst into the snug warren where all his kinfolk lived. To his surprise, instead of the beautiful white, furry faces he knew so well, he saw a horde of ugly, pink, scrawny creatures huddled in the corners. “Who are you!” he demanded. “What have you done with my family?”
One of the strange creatures came shivering up to him. “I’m not surprised you do not recognize us. I am your brother, we are all here, but we’ve changed. So have you, if you haven’t noticed.”
The hare gasped when he looked down at his paws. Bare and pink they were, the fur he had been so proud of had vanished.
“It’s the fairy queen’s magic,” one of the elder hares said. “She has protected us by taking away the thing that the hunters prized, but without our fur we shall surely freeze in the cold. Hurry back down, and ask her to give us our fur back again.”
And so the hare bounded out of the warren again, shuddering in the cold, and went as swiftly as he could back to the court of the fairy queen.
“We thank you for your assistance, your highness,” the hare said, “but we humbly ask if you could please restore our pelts, for without them we will freeze.”
The fairy queen laughed. “Your fur is still there, if you will bother to close your eyes and feel it. I have only made it invisible.”
The hare closed his eyes and nibbled at his paw. Sure enough, he felt the long strands of silky fur still there. With a joyful leap, he thanked the fairy queen again and returned to his home. Once there, he explained what had happened. All his kinfolk came creeping out of the corners of the warren, laughing at themselves, for now they realized that they had only imagined that they felt so cold.
The hares were no longer hunted for their fur, and every year when they shed their winter coats they collected the cast-off hairs and sent them to the fairy queen in tribute, as thanks for her help. The fairies used them to make wonderful invisible things, like ropes and stockings and felt hats. I have one of those hats myself, and as you can see, I’m wearing it right now. The tale ends well, that’s all there is to tell.
Wednesday, January 7, 2015
#76 Truth or Lie
There was once a king who was very clever. In fact, he was so clever, it was said he could always tell whether someone was lying or telling the truth. The king himself was proud of his cleverness, and offered a reward for any man who could come and deceive him. The king promised a bag of gold to anyone who could tell him a truth that the king would take for a lie, or tell him a lie that the king would take for truth.
Many long years passed, and though the king heard outlandish truths of all kinds, brought to him from many lands, and also the most fiendishly cunning lies, he was never wrong in discerning what was true and what was false.
One day a young peddler who was passing through the kingdom heard of the king’s offer, and decided to try his wit against the king’s cleverness. There was a set day each month when the king would hear those who wished to win the bag of gold, and when that day arrived the peddler stood in line with the rest of the hopefuls. The morning wore on, one person after another tried to fool the clever king, but to no avail. The king could see through their lies or spot the truth every time.
At last it was the peddler’s turn.
“First, let me thank you, your highness,” the peddler man said, “For permitting my presence in this great and marvelous audience chamber. In all my travels I have never seen one so magnificent, truly befitting a king as clever as yourself.”
The king smiled and nodded, waiting for the peddler to go on.
“And these lovely young ladies, your daughters I presume? Why they are fairer than a May morning.”
The three princesses giggled to each other, then waited eagerly to hear the peddler utter his truth or his lie.
“And you, yourself, your majesty, what an honor it is to be in the presence of the cleverest man on the earth.”
“Yes, yes, enough with all of this. What story do you have to tell us? Get on with it now.”
The peddler bowed again and said, “But your majesty, I have already told you three stories, all of them lies, which you most willingly believed. I am sorry to report but this is not the most magnificent hall I have ever set eyes on, and your daughters, while fair, can’t really compare to Lady Springtime, and as for you, sire…”
“Enough!” the king rose, furious, from his throne.
He would have ordered the peddler executed at once for his insolence, but his three daughters fell at his knees, begging him to have mercy. Their pleas calmed the king, who sank back into his throne wearily.
“It seems you have won the bag of gold,” the king said, and ordered it to be brought from his treasury. It was given to the peddler from the hand of the eldest princess, and the king promptly sent him on his way. He left as quick as he could, lest the king change his mind about that execution!
So the peddler man got his gold, and the king got a bit of wisdom to go with his cleverness. The tale ends well, that’s all there is to tell.
Many long years passed, and though the king heard outlandish truths of all kinds, brought to him from many lands, and also the most fiendishly cunning lies, he was never wrong in discerning what was true and what was false.
One day a young peddler who was passing through the kingdom heard of the king’s offer, and decided to try his wit against the king’s cleverness. There was a set day each month when the king would hear those who wished to win the bag of gold, and when that day arrived the peddler stood in line with the rest of the hopefuls. The morning wore on, one person after another tried to fool the clever king, but to no avail. The king could see through their lies or spot the truth every time.
At last it was the peddler’s turn.
“First, let me thank you, your highness,” the peddler man said, “For permitting my presence in this great and marvelous audience chamber. In all my travels I have never seen one so magnificent, truly befitting a king as clever as yourself.”
The king smiled and nodded, waiting for the peddler to go on.
“And these lovely young ladies, your daughters I presume? Why they are fairer than a May morning.”
The three princesses giggled to each other, then waited eagerly to hear the peddler utter his truth or his lie.
“And you, yourself, your majesty, what an honor it is to be in the presence of the cleverest man on the earth.”
“Yes, yes, enough with all of this. What story do you have to tell us? Get on with it now.”
The peddler bowed again and said, “But your majesty, I have already told you three stories, all of them lies, which you most willingly believed. I am sorry to report but this is not the most magnificent hall I have ever set eyes on, and your daughters, while fair, can’t really compare to Lady Springtime, and as for you, sire…”
“Enough!” the king rose, furious, from his throne.
He would have ordered the peddler executed at once for his insolence, but his three daughters fell at his knees, begging him to have mercy. Their pleas calmed the king, who sank back into his throne wearily.
“It seems you have won the bag of gold,” the king said, and ordered it to be brought from his treasury. It was given to the peddler from the hand of the eldest princess, and the king promptly sent him on his way. He left as quick as he could, lest the king change his mind about that execution!
So the peddler man got his gold, and the king got a bit of wisdom to go with his cleverness. The tale ends well, that’s all there is to tell.
Wednesday, December 24, 2014
#64 The First Christmas
This is a story you have heard before, but perhaps you have not heard it told the way you will hear it now.
Once upon a time in a land far away there was a beautiful princess. But this princess did not live in a palace, only in a humble house in a small village. In the days of her ancestors, her kingdom had been conquered by another nation, and then another, and then another. Five times over, her kingdom was taken into bondage, and now was only an unimportant province of a vast and cruel empire. And yet, she was of the ancient royal line, and a princess. Perhaps she knew the secret, perhaps her grandmother had whispered it to her once, you are a princess, in hiding, and one day your kingdom will rise again.
One day a messenger came to this princess, crying hail, a greeting that would be echoed to her name by untold lips through the coming ages. Fear not, Mary, he said, and told her that she would bear a son, and that to this child the ancient kingdom would be restored. Startled, confused, Mary asked how this was to be, as she was not yet married. The messenger told her that the child she was to bear would be a miracle, unlike any child that had yet come into the world.
In this tiny village where Mary lived there was a man named Joseph, a prince, the heir to the ancient, much conquered, but never forgotten kingdom. He was engaged to Mary, but when he knew she was going to have a child he was deeply troubled. He must have felt a sting of betrayal, and great sorrow. It was his right to call for a public trial and execution, but gentle Joseph desired mercy. He thought to privately end his engagement to Mary. But then another messenger came, in a dream, and told him to take Mary as his wife, for the miracle that grew within her was the Son of God, and would sit upon the ancient throne of his ancestors.
As the time for the child to be born drew near, Mary and Joseph were ordered by the rulers of the land to return to their ancestral home and be counted for taxation. They made their way to Bethlehem, the birthplace of the ancient king from which Mary and Joseph descended. When they arrived, the city was so crowded they had to stay in a stable, and it was there that the child was born.
Mary and Joseph might have wondered why, if this baby was so important that angels had visited both of them to announce his coming, why he must be born in such a humble and rude place. But then as they rested, weary from the birth, relieved at the coming of their new beloved son, a small band of shepherds entered the stable. They had a story to tell! Angels! Angels had come to the fields and told the shepherds they would find the baby wrapped in swathing clothes and laid in a manger! For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Savior which is Christ the Lord! Glory to God, Peace on Earth, Good will to men!
And so heaven was still mindful of Mary and Joseph and the baby Jesus on that night in Bethlehem, a third witness of angels had come to bear testimony that this baby was the Son of God in the flesh, and would be King over all the earth.
Once upon a time in a land far away there was a beautiful princess. But this princess did not live in a palace, only in a humble house in a small village. In the days of her ancestors, her kingdom had been conquered by another nation, and then another, and then another. Five times over, her kingdom was taken into bondage, and now was only an unimportant province of a vast and cruel empire. And yet, she was of the ancient royal line, and a princess. Perhaps she knew the secret, perhaps her grandmother had whispered it to her once, you are a princess, in hiding, and one day your kingdom will rise again.
One day a messenger came to this princess, crying hail, a greeting that would be echoed to her name by untold lips through the coming ages. Fear not, Mary, he said, and told her that she would bear a son, and that to this child the ancient kingdom would be restored. Startled, confused, Mary asked how this was to be, as she was not yet married. The messenger told her that the child she was to bear would be a miracle, unlike any child that had yet come into the world.
In this tiny village where Mary lived there was a man named Joseph, a prince, the heir to the ancient, much conquered, but never forgotten kingdom. He was engaged to Mary, but when he knew she was going to have a child he was deeply troubled. He must have felt a sting of betrayal, and great sorrow. It was his right to call for a public trial and execution, but gentle Joseph desired mercy. He thought to privately end his engagement to Mary. But then another messenger came, in a dream, and told him to take Mary as his wife, for the miracle that grew within her was the Son of God, and would sit upon the ancient throne of his ancestors.
As the time for the child to be born drew near, Mary and Joseph were ordered by the rulers of the land to return to their ancestral home and be counted for taxation. They made their way to Bethlehem, the birthplace of the ancient king from which Mary and Joseph descended. When they arrived, the city was so crowded they had to stay in a stable, and it was there that the child was born.
Mary and Joseph might have wondered why, if this baby was so important that angels had visited both of them to announce his coming, why he must be born in such a humble and rude place. But then as they rested, weary from the birth, relieved at the coming of their new beloved son, a small band of shepherds entered the stable. They had a story to tell! Angels! Angels had come to the fields and told the shepherds they would find the baby wrapped in swathing clothes and laid in a manger! For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Savior which is Christ the Lord! Glory to God, Peace on Earth, Good will to men!
And so heaven was still mindful of Mary and Joseph and the baby Jesus on that night in Bethlehem, a third witness of angels had come to bear testimony that this baby was the Son of God in the flesh, and would be King over all the earth.
Tuesday, December 2, 2014
#45 The Singing Castle
There was once a cruel queen who would bear no singing in her castle. She had forbidden it entirely.
One day as the queen walked through the dim, stone passages she heard a sound from the great hall. A voice, a girl’s voice, in a lilting country song. Furious, the queen turned aside into the hall and found a scrawny servant girl scrubbing the floor and twittering like a lark. She immediately called for her guard to take the girl and throw her into the dungeon.
Now the servant girl had meant no harm in singing. Perhaps she had forgotten the rule, which had been told her among so many others, or perhaps she had thought no such rule could truly be. No singing in the castle? Why ever not? But there she was, in the dungeon, with nothing but a little bread and water every day, and only the rats to keep her company.
Three days later the queen brought her back into the great hall. There were all the queen’s household, from the highest noble to the least of the servants, assembled together. The queen sat in her high place, and before her was a stand on which stood a man in a dark hood, holding an axe.
The girl was brought up to the stand before the queen.
“Because you have decided that you can sing in my castle against my express wishes,” the queen said, “Then sing you shall. You will sing every song that you can think of, and when you are done and can think of no more, then you shall be beheaded. Now, go ahead, you may begin. Sing for us.”
The girl stared from the shiny blade of the axe to the block that was for her neck and the basket that was for her head, and not a single note of a single song would come into her mind.
“What about that song you were singing the other day?” the queen asked, her face white and her smile wide. “Can’t remember? Very well, then, we can proceed with the execution.”
The girl closed her eyes as the guards led her forward to the block. She took a deep breath, and then began to sing in a shaky voice. The queen waved for the guards to stop. They stepped back a pace as the song grew and filled the hall with sweet music. When it had ended, the girl began another.
She sang songs of home and of far away, songs of freedom and war, songs of love and songs of loss. The queen’s household listened, silent, captivated, while the queen’s face grew whiter and whiter. When at last the girl faltered, exhausted, it was long after sundown. She hung her head and shook it sadly. She could remember no more.
Somewhere in the crowd, someone began another song.
The girl raised her head, and joined in singing. Yes, she knew this one too. The queen shouted for her to stop, but she kept on while the soldiers searched the crowd for the second singer. But a third joined in, and then everyone was singing together.
“Enough!” The queen shouted, “Carry out the execution now!” but no one could hear her for the singing, except the guards and the executioner, who carried out her order.
The crowd fell silent with the axe, but strangely enough, the girl’s voice did not. The very stones of the castle seemed to echo with it. Alone, the sweet voice finished the song, and then began another.
The queen sent everyone away, and the girl’s body was taken and buried, but there was no way for the queen to bury the voice that continued to float through the great hall, singing song after song. It sang through the night, and was still singing the next morning. At first the queen pretended she could not hear it, but it sang right through breakfast and all the next day. The queen could hear it in her highest tower and even in her deepest dungeon, singing the songs of home and far away, the songs of war and freedom, the songs of love and loss. At last, driven mad, the queen fled the castle and was never heard from again. But if you would like to hear the singing for yourself, only go to the ruins and stand in what was once the great hall, and you will hear it yet today.
One day as the queen walked through the dim, stone passages she heard a sound from the great hall. A voice, a girl’s voice, in a lilting country song. Furious, the queen turned aside into the hall and found a scrawny servant girl scrubbing the floor and twittering like a lark. She immediately called for her guard to take the girl and throw her into the dungeon.
Now the servant girl had meant no harm in singing. Perhaps she had forgotten the rule, which had been told her among so many others, or perhaps she had thought no such rule could truly be. No singing in the castle? Why ever not? But there she was, in the dungeon, with nothing but a little bread and water every day, and only the rats to keep her company.
Three days later the queen brought her back into the great hall. There were all the queen’s household, from the highest noble to the least of the servants, assembled together. The queen sat in her high place, and before her was a stand on which stood a man in a dark hood, holding an axe.
The girl was brought up to the stand before the queen.
“Because you have decided that you can sing in my castle against my express wishes,” the queen said, “Then sing you shall. You will sing every song that you can think of, and when you are done and can think of no more, then you shall be beheaded. Now, go ahead, you may begin. Sing for us.”
The girl stared from the shiny blade of the axe to the block that was for her neck and the basket that was for her head, and not a single note of a single song would come into her mind.
“What about that song you were singing the other day?” the queen asked, her face white and her smile wide. “Can’t remember? Very well, then, we can proceed with the execution.”
The girl closed her eyes as the guards led her forward to the block. She took a deep breath, and then began to sing in a shaky voice. The queen waved for the guards to stop. They stepped back a pace as the song grew and filled the hall with sweet music. When it had ended, the girl began another.
She sang songs of home and of far away, songs of freedom and war, songs of love and songs of loss. The queen’s household listened, silent, captivated, while the queen’s face grew whiter and whiter. When at last the girl faltered, exhausted, it was long after sundown. She hung her head and shook it sadly. She could remember no more.
Somewhere in the crowd, someone began another song.
The girl raised her head, and joined in singing. Yes, she knew this one too. The queen shouted for her to stop, but she kept on while the soldiers searched the crowd for the second singer. But a third joined in, and then everyone was singing together.
“Enough!” The queen shouted, “Carry out the execution now!” but no one could hear her for the singing, except the guards and the executioner, who carried out her order.
The crowd fell silent with the axe, but strangely enough, the girl’s voice did not. The very stones of the castle seemed to echo with it. Alone, the sweet voice finished the song, and then began another.
The queen sent everyone away, and the girl’s body was taken and buried, but there was no way for the queen to bury the voice that continued to float through the great hall, singing song after song. It sang through the night, and was still singing the next morning. At first the queen pretended she could not hear it, but it sang right through breakfast and all the next day. The queen could hear it in her highest tower and even in her deepest dungeon, singing the songs of home and far away, the songs of war and freedom, the songs of love and loss. At last, driven mad, the queen fled the castle and was never heard from again. But if you would like to hear the singing for yourself, only go to the ruins and stand in what was once the great hall, and you will hear it yet today.
Thursday, November 27, 2014
#41 Forgotten
There was once a young man who desired wisdom. So he went to see the wisest man in his village and asked if the wise man would share his wisdom with him.
The wise man thought for a while, for he was very wise and never did anything without thinking about it first. Then the wise man said, “Yes, I will gladly share my wisdom with you, but first you must bring me something.”
The young man, very eager for a task he could do to repay the wise man for sharing his wisdom, asked, “What must I bring you?”
“The name of it has been forgotten.”
“Where can I find it?” The young man asked.
“That has been forgotten too. But I know it is very far from here.”
So the young man set out on his journey to find the thing, the name of which had been forgotten. He searched high and low, but as he did not know what he was looking for, he could not find it.
At last one day as he walked along a road he met an old woman. She asked him where he was going.
“I am seeking the thing for which the name has been forgotten, which is in the place which has been forgotten too.”
“Ah!” said the old woman. “I know this thing of which you speak. It is in a valley far from here.”
“What is the name of the valley?” The young man asked, overjoyed to at last know the place where he could find the thing for which the name had been forgotten.
“I am sorry,” the old woman shook her head. “It has been forgotten. But if you go into the next village, my sister may be able to help you.”
The young man continued on the road, and when he reached the village he found another old woman so like the first he could not tell them apart. He asked her where to find the thing for which the name had been forgotten which lay in the valley for which the name had been forgotten.
“Ah! I know the thing and the valley of which you speak!” The old woman said. “They lie underneath a mountain that is not far from here.”
“What is the name of the mountain,” the young man pleaded.
The old woman said nothing for a long time. Then at last she bowed her head. “It has been forgotten. But if you go into the next city, my brother may be able to tell you.”
So the young man went into the next city and sought out the brother of the sisters who had forgotten the name of the mountain the name of which has been forgotten and the valley the name of which has been forgotten wherein lay the thing the name of which had been forgotten.
“Ah!” The old man said. “I know this thing and this valley and this mountain of which you speak. They are all beside a sea.”
“What is the name of this sea?” begged the young man, nearly in tears.
The old man sighed. “It has been forgotten, but I know it is very close. Do not give up your search!”
And so the young man continued on his way, and before long he came to a sea. “This must be the sea for which the name has been forgotten!” he said. As he walked along the shore he came to a mountain. “This must be the mountain for which the name has been forgotten!” he said. He climbed the mountain, and on the far side he saw a valley. With great joy, he descended the mountain side, saying, “This must be the valley for which the name has been forgotten!”
And there, in the middle of the valley, was the magnificent thing, the thing for which the name had been forgotten. Simply gazing on that thing made the young man feel as if he was wiser already.
And so, having found the thing for which the name had been forgotten, which lay in the valley of which the name had been forgotten, under the mountain for which the name had been forgotten, beside the sea for which the name had been forgotten, the young man returned to his village.
He went to see the wise man of the village and told him of all his adventures.
“And so,” said the wise man when the story was finished, “You have brought me the thing for which the name has been forgotten?”
“Ah!” Cried the young man. “I forgot!”
The wise man thought for a while, for he was very wise and never did anything without thinking about it first. Then the wise man said, “Yes, I will gladly share my wisdom with you, but first you must bring me something.”
The young man, very eager for a task he could do to repay the wise man for sharing his wisdom, asked, “What must I bring you?”
“The name of it has been forgotten.”
“Where can I find it?” The young man asked.
“That has been forgotten too. But I know it is very far from here.”
So the young man set out on his journey to find the thing, the name of which had been forgotten. He searched high and low, but as he did not know what he was looking for, he could not find it.
At last one day as he walked along a road he met an old woman. She asked him where he was going.
“I am seeking the thing for which the name has been forgotten, which is in the place which has been forgotten too.”
“Ah!” said the old woman. “I know this thing of which you speak. It is in a valley far from here.”
“What is the name of the valley?” The young man asked, overjoyed to at last know the place where he could find the thing for which the name had been forgotten.
“I am sorry,” the old woman shook her head. “It has been forgotten. But if you go into the next village, my sister may be able to help you.”
The young man continued on the road, and when he reached the village he found another old woman so like the first he could not tell them apart. He asked her where to find the thing for which the name had been forgotten which lay in the valley for which the name had been forgotten.
“Ah! I know the thing and the valley of which you speak!” The old woman said. “They lie underneath a mountain that is not far from here.”
“What is the name of the mountain,” the young man pleaded.
The old woman said nothing for a long time. Then at last she bowed her head. “It has been forgotten. But if you go into the next city, my brother may be able to tell you.”
So the young man went into the next city and sought out the brother of the sisters who had forgotten the name of the mountain the name of which has been forgotten and the valley the name of which has been forgotten wherein lay the thing the name of which had been forgotten.
“Ah!” The old man said. “I know this thing and this valley and this mountain of which you speak. They are all beside a sea.”
“What is the name of this sea?” begged the young man, nearly in tears.
The old man sighed. “It has been forgotten, but I know it is very close. Do not give up your search!”
And so the young man continued on his way, and before long he came to a sea. “This must be the sea for which the name has been forgotten!” he said. As he walked along the shore he came to a mountain. “This must be the mountain for which the name has been forgotten!” he said. He climbed the mountain, and on the far side he saw a valley. With great joy, he descended the mountain side, saying, “This must be the valley for which the name has been forgotten!”
And there, in the middle of the valley, was the magnificent thing, the thing for which the name had been forgotten. Simply gazing on that thing made the young man feel as if he was wiser already.
And so, having found the thing for which the name had been forgotten, which lay in the valley of which the name had been forgotten, under the mountain for which the name had been forgotten, beside the sea for which the name had been forgotten, the young man returned to his village.
He went to see the wise man of the village and told him of all his adventures.
“And so,” said the wise man when the story was finished, “You have brought me the thing for which the name has been forgotten?”
“Ah!” Cried the young man. “I forgot!”
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