 measure for measure This is LibriVox recording all LibriVox recordings are in the public domain for more information or to volunteer Please visit LibriVox.org read by clerica Measure for measure by Edith Nespit More centuries ago than I care to say the people of Vienna were governed too mildly The reason was that the reigning Duke Vicentio was excessively good-natured and disliked to see offenders made unhappy The consequence was that the number of ill-behaved persons in Vienna was enough to make the Duke shake his head in sorrow When his chief secretary showed him it at the end of a list He decided therefore that wrongdoers must be punished, but popularity was dear to him He knew that if he were suddenly strict after being lax he would cause people to call him a tyrant For this reason he told his private counsel that he must go to Poland on important business of state. I Have chosen Angelo to rule in my absence said he Now this Angelo although he appeared to be noble was really a mean man He had promised to marry a girl called Mariana and now would have nothing to say to her because her dowry had been lost So poor Mariana lived forlornly waiting every day for the footstep of her stingy lover and loving him still Having appointed Angelo his deputy the Duke went to a friar called Thomas and asked him for a friar's dress an Instruction in the art of giving religious counsel for he did not intend to go to Poland But to stay at home and see how Angelo governed Angelo had not been a day in office when he condemned to death a young man named Claudio For an act of rash selfishness, which nowadays would only be punished by severe reproof Claudio had a queer friend called Lucio and Lucio saw a chance of freedom for Claudio If Claudio's beautiful sister Isabella would plead with Angelo Isabella was at that time living in a nunnery Nobody had won her heart and she thought that she would like to become a sister or none Meanwhile Claudio did not lack an advocate an Ancient Lord Escalus was for leniency Let us cut a little but not kill. He said this gentleman had a most noble father Angelo was unmoved if twelve men find me guilty. I ask no more mercy than is in the law Angelo then ordered the provost to see that Claudio was executed at nine the next morning After the issue of this order Angelo was told that the sister of the condemned man desired to see him Admit her said Angelo On entering with Lucio the beautiful girl said I am a woeful suitor to your honor Well said Angelo She colored at his chill monosyllable and the ascending red increased the beauty of her face I have a brother who is condemned to die. She continued Condemn the fault. I pray you and spare my brother Every fault said Angelo is condemned before it is committed A fault cannot suffer Justice would be void if the committer of the fault went free She would have left the court if Lucio had not whispered to her you are too cold You could not speak more tamely if you wanted a pin So Isabella attacked Angelo again and when he said I will not pardon him She was not discouraged and when he said he sentenced his too late. She returned to the assault But all her fighting was with reasons and with reasons she could not prevail over the deputy She told him that nothing becomes power like mercy She told him that humanity receives and requires mercy from heaven that it was good to have gigantic strength and Had to use it like a giant She told him that lightning rives the oak and spares the myrtle She bade him look for fault in his own breast and if he found one to refrain from making it an argument against her brother's life Angelo found a fault in his breast at that moment He loved Isabella's beauty and was tempted to do for her beauty what he would not do for the love of man He appeared to relent for he said come to me tomorrow before noon She had at any rate succeeded in prolonging her brother's life for a few hours In her absence Angelo's conscience rebuked him for trifling with his judicial duty When Isabella called on him the second time he said your brother cannot live Isabella was painfully astonished, but all she said was even so heaven keep your honor But as she turned to go Angelo felt that his duty and honor were slight in comparison with the loss of her Give me your love he said and Claudio shall be freed Before I would marry you he should die if he had 20 heads to lay upon the block said Isabella For she saw then that he was not the just man he pretended to be So she went to her brother in prison to inform him that he must die At first he was boastful and promised to hug the darkness of death But when he clearly understood that his sister could buy his life by marrying Angelo He felt his life more valuable than her happiness and he exclaimed Sweet sister, let me live. Oh Faithless coward. Oh dishonest wretch. She cried At this moment the Duke came forward in the habit of a friar to request some speech with Isabella He called himself friar Ludewick The Duke then told her that Angelo was off yonced to Maria whose love story he related He then asked her to consider this plan Let Marianna in the dress of Isabella Go closely veiled to Angelo and say in a voice resembling Isabella's that if Claudio were spared she would marry him Let her take the ring from Angelo's little finger that it might be afterwards proved that his visitor was Marianna Isabella had of course a great respect for friars who are as nearly like nuns as men can be She agreed therefore to the Duke's plan They were to meet again at the moded Grange Marianna's house In the street the Duke saw Lucio who seeing a man dressed like a friar called out What news of the Duke friar? I have none said the Duke Lucio then told the Duke some stories about Angelo then he told one about the Duke the Duke contradicted him Lucio was provoked and called the Duke a shallow ignorant fool though. He pretended to love him The Duke shall know you better if I live to report you said the Duke grimly Then he asked Escalus whom he saw in the street what he thought of his ducal master Escalus who imagined he was speaking to a friar replied The Duke is a very temperate gentleman who prefers to see another Mary to being Mary himself The Duke then proceeded to call on Marianna Isabella arrived immediately afterwards and the Duke introduced the two girls to one another both of whom thought he was a friar They went into a chamber apart from him to discuss the saving of Claudio and While they talked in low and earnest tones the Duke looked out of the window and saw the broken sheds and flower beds Black with moss which betrayed Marianna's indifference to her country dwelling Some woman would have beautified their garden not she Was for the town she neglected the joys of the country. He was sure that Angelo would not make her unhappier We are agreed father said Isabella as she returned with Marianna So Angelo was deceived by the girl whom he had dismissed from his love and Put on her finger a ring he wore in which was set a milky stone which flashed in the light with secret colors Hearing of her success the Duke went next day to the prison prepared to learn that an order had arrived for Claudio's release It had not however, but a letter was handed to the provost while he waited His amazement was great when the provost read aloud these words Whatsoever you may hear to the contrary let Claudio be executed by four of the clock Let me have his head sent me by five But the Duke said to the provost you must show the deputy another head and he held out a letter and a signet Here he said are the hand and seal of the Duke. He is to return. I tell you and Angelo knows it not Give Angelo another head The provost thought this friar speaks with power. I know the Duke's signet and I know his hand He said at length a man died in the prison this morning a pirate the age of Claudio with a beard of his color I will show his head The Pirates head was duly shown to Angelo who was deceived by its resemblance to Claudio's The Duke's return was so popular that the citizens removed the city gates from their hinges to assist his entry into Vienna Angelo and Escalus duly presented themselves And were profusely praised for their conduct of affairs in the Duke's absence It was therefore the more unpleasant for Angelo when Isabella Passionately angered by his treachery knelt before the Duke and cried for justice When her story was told the Duke cried to prison with her for a slanderer of our right hand But stay who persuaded you to come here? Friar Lodowick she said Who knows him inquired the Duke I do my lord replied Lucio. I beat him because he spake against your grace a Friar called Peter here said Friar Lodowick is a holy man Isabella was removed by an officer and Mariana came forward She took off her veil and said to Angelo. This is the face you once swore was worth looking on Bravely he faced her as she put out her hand and said This is the hand which wears the ring you thought to give another I Know the woman said Angelo Once there was talk of marriage between us, but I found her frivolous Mariana here burst out that they were affianced by the strongest vows Angelo replied by asking the Duke to insist on the production of Friar Lodowick He shall appear promised the Duke and Bate Escalus examined the missing witness thoroughly while he was elsewhere Presently the Duke reappeared in the character of Friar Lodowick and accompanied by Isabella and the provost He was not so much examined as abused and threatened by Escalus Lucio asked him to deny if he cared that he called the Duke a fool and a coward and had had his nose pulled for his impudence To prison with him shouted Escalus But his hands were laid upon him the Duke pulled off his Friar's hood and was a Duke before them all Now he said to Angelo if you have any impudence that can yet serve you work it for all its worth Immediate sentence and death is all I beg was the reply Were you affianced to Mariana asked the Duke I was said Angelo Then marry her instantly said his master Marry them. He said to Friar Peter and return with them here Come hither Isabelle said the Duke in tender tones Your Friar is now your prince and grieves. He was too late to save your brother, but well the roguish Duke knew he had saved him Oh pardon me. She cried that I employed a sovereign in my trouble You are pardoned. He said gaily At that moment Angelo and his wife re-entered And now Angelo said the Duke gravely we condemn thee to the block on which Claudio laid his head Oh my most gracious Lord called Mariana mock me not You shall buy a better husband said the Duke. Oh my dear Lord said she I crave no better man Isabella nobly added her prayer to Marianas, but the Duke feigned inflexibility Provost he said how came it that Claudio was executed at an unusual hour Afraid to confess the lie he had imposed upon Angelo the provost said I had a private message You are discharged from your office said the Duke the provost then departed Angelo said I am sorry to have caused so much sorrow. I prefer death to mercy Soon there was a motion in the crowd The provost reappeared with Claudio like a big child the provost said I Saved this man. He is like Claudio The Duke was amused and said to Isabella Pardon him because he is like your brother. He's like my brother, too. If you dear Isabelle will be mine She was his with a smile and the Duke forgave Angelo and promoted the provost Lucio he condemned to marry a stout woman with a bitter tongue End of measure for measure by Edith Nespit My own true ghost story by Rudyard Kipling This is a LibriVox recording all LibriVox recordings are in the public domain For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org As I came through the desert, thus it was as I came through the desert The city of dreadful night Somewhere in the other world where there are books and pictures and plays and shop windows to look at in Thousands of men who spend their lives in building up all four Lives a gentleman who writes real stories about the real insights of people and his name is mr. Walter Basant But he will insist upon treating his ghosts he has published half a workshop full of them with levity He makes his ghost see his talk familiarly and in some cases flirt outrageously with the phantoms You may treat anything from a vice-roy to a vernacular paper with levity But you must behave reverently toward a ghost and particularly an Indian one There are in this land goes to take the form of fat cold Poppy corpses and hide in trees near the roadside till a traveler passes then they drop upon his neck and remain There are also terrible ghosts of women who have died in child bed These wander along the pathways at dusk or hide in the crops near a village and call seductively But to answer their call is death in this world and the next Their feet are turned backward that all sober men may recognize them There are ghosts of little children who have been thrown into wells These haunt well curves and the fringes of jungles and whale under the stars or catch women by the wrist and beg to be taken up And carried these and the corpse ghosts however are only vernacular articles and do not attack sahibs No native ghost has yet been authentically reported to a frightened and Englishman But many English ghosts have scared the life out of both white and black Nearly every other station owns a ghost They are said to be too it's similar net counting the woman who blows the bellows at siree duck bungalow on the old road Musuri has a house haunted of a very lively thing a white lady is supposed to do night watchmen round a house in Lahore Dalhosi says that one of her houses repeats on autumn evenings all the incidents of a horrible whores and precipice accidents Muri has a merry ghost and now that she has been swept by cholera will have room for a sorrowful one There are offices quarters in me on mere whose doors open without reason and whose furniture is guaranteed to creak Not with the heat of june, but with the weight of invisibles who come to lounge in the chairs Peshawar possesses houses that none will willingly rent and there is something not fever wrong with the big bungalow in Allahabad the older provinces simply bristle with haunted houses and march phantom armies along their main thoroughfares Some of the dark bungalows on the Grand Trunk Road have handy little cemeteries in their compound Witnesses to the changes and chances of this mortal life in the days when men drove from Calcutta to the Northwest These bungalows are objectionable places to put up in They are generally very old always dirty while the consumer is as ancient as the bungalow He either chatters seniorly or falls into the long trances of age in both moods. He is useless If you get angry with him He refers to some sahib dead and buried these 30 years and says that when he was in that sahib service Not a consumer in the province could touch him Then he jabbers and mowls and trembles and fidgets among the dishes and you repent your irritation In these dark bungalows ghosts are most likely to be found and when found they should be made note of Not long ago. It was my business to live in dark bungalows I never inhabited the same house for three nights running and grew to be learned in the breed I lived in government built ones with red brick walls and rail ceilings and Inventory of the furniture posted in every room and an excited snake at the threshold to give welcome I lived in converted ones old houses officiating as dark bungalows where nothing was in its proper place and there wasn't even a fowl for dinner I Lived in second-hand palaces where the wind blew through openwork marble tracery just as uncomfortably as through a broken pain I Lived in dark bungalows where the last entry in the visitors book was 15 months old and where they Slashed off the curry kids head with a sword It was my good luck to meet all sorts of men from sober traveling missionaries and deserters flying from British regiments To drunken loafers who threw whiskey bottles at all who passed and my still greater good fortune just to escape a maternity case Seeing that a fair proportion of the tragedy of our lives out here acted itself in dark bungalows I wondered that I had met no ghosts a ghost that would voluntarily hang about a dark bungalow would be mad of course But so many men have died mad in dark bungalows that there must be a fair percentage of lunatic ghosts In due time I found my ghost or ghost rather for there were two of them Up till that hour I sympathize with mr. Besson's method of handling them as shown in the strange case of mr. Lucraft and other stories I'm now in opposition We will call the bungalow cut mal doc bungalow But that was the smallest part of the horror a man with a sensitive hide has no right to sleep in dark bungalows He should marry cut mal doc bungalow was old and rotten and unrepaired The floor was worn brick the walls were filthy and the windows were nearly black with grime It stood on a bypass largely used by native sub deputy assistants of all kinds from finance to forest But real Saibs were rare the consumer who was nearly bent double with old age said so When I arrived there was a fitful undecided rain on the face of the land Accompanied by a restless wind and every gust made a noise like the rattling of dry bones in the stiff toddy palms outside The consumer completely lost his head on my arrival. He had served a Saib once Did I know that Saib he gave me the name of a well-known man who had been buried for more than a quarter of a century and Showed me an ancient to Gary a type of that man in his prehistoric youth I had seen a steel engraving of him at the head of a double volume of memoirs a month before and I felt Ancient beyond telling the day shut in and the consumer went to get me food He did not go through the pretense of calling it Kana man's victuals He said right up and that means among other things grub dogs rations There was no insult in his choice of the term. He had forgotten the other word I suppose While he was cutting up the dead bodies of animals. I settled myself down after exploring the dark bungalow There were three rooms beside my own which was a corner kennel each giving into the other food denji white dolls Fastened with long iron bars the bungalow was a very solid one But the partition walls of the rooms were almost Jerry built in their flimsiness Every step or bang of a trunk echoed from my room down the other three and every footfall came back Trimulously from the far walls for this reason I shut the door There were no lumps only candles and long glass shades and oil wick was set in the bathroom For bleak unadulterated misery that dark bungalow was the worst of the mini that I had ever set foot in There was no fireplace and the windows would not open so a brazier of charcoal would have been useless The rain in the wind splashed and gurgled and moaned round the house and the tarry poems rattled and roared Half a dozen jackals went through the compound singing and a hyena stood a far off and mocked them a hyena would Convince a Sadducee of the resurrection of the dead the worst sort of dead Then came the rat up a curious meal half native and half English in composition With the old consumer babbling behind my chair about dead and gone English people and the wind blown candles playing Shadowbo peep with the bed and the mosquito curtains It was just the sort of dinner and evening to make a man think of every single one of his past sins and Of all the others that he intended to commit if he lived Sleep for several hundred reasons was not easy The lamp in the bathroom through the most absurd shadows into the room and the wind was beginning to talk nonsense Just when the reasons were drowsy with bloodsucking. I heard the regular Let us take in heave him over grunt of Dooley bears in the compound first one Dooley came in then a second And then a third I heard the Dooley's dumped on the ground and the shutter in front of my door shook That's someone trying to come in I said but no one spoke and I persuaded myself that it was the gusty wind The shutter of the room next to mine was attacked flung back and the inner door opened That's some sub deputy assistant I said and he has brought his friends with him now they'll talk and spit and smoke for an hour But there were no voices and no footsteps No one was putting his luggage into the next room the door shut and I thanked Providence that I wish to be left in peace But I was curious to know where the Dooley's had gone. I got out of bed and looked into the darkness There was never a sign of a Dooley just as I was getting into bed again I heard in the next room the sound that no man in his senses can possibly mistake The whee of a billiard ball down the length of the slates when the striker is stringing for break No other sound is like it a minute afterwards. There was another whee and I got into bed I was not frightened indeed. I was not. I was very curious to know what it become of the Dooley's I jumped into bed for that reason Next minute. I heard the double click of a cannon and my hair sat up It is a mistake to say that hair stands up the skin of the head tightens and you can feel a faint prickly bristling all over the scalp That is the hair sitting up There was a whee and a click and both sounds could only have been made by one thing a billiard ball I argued the matter out at great length with myself and the more I argued the less probable It seemed that one bed one table and two chairs all the furniture of the room next to mine Could so exactly duplicate the sounds of a game of billiards After another cannon a three cushion one to judge by the where I argued no more I had found my ghost and would have given worlds to have escaped from that dark bungalow. I Listened and with each listen the game grew clearer. There was where on where and click on click Sometimes there was a double click and a where and another click Beyond any sort of doubt people were playing billiards in the next room and the next room was not big enough to hold a billiard table Between the pauses of the wind. I heard the game go forward stroke after stroke I tried to believe that I could not hear voices, but that attempt was a failure Do you know what fear is? not ordinary fear of insult injury or death, but abject quivering dread of something that you cannot see Fear that draws the inside of the mouth and half of the throat Fear that makes you sweat on the palms of the hands and gulp in order to keep the uvula at work This is a fine fear a great cowardice and must be felt to be appreciated The very improbability of billiards in a dark bungalow prove the reality of the thing No man drunk or sober can imagine a game at billiards or invent the spitting crack of a screw cannon a Severe course of dark bungalows has this disadvantage. It breeds infinite credulity If a man said to be a confirmed dark bungalow hunter There is a corpse in the next room and there's a mad girl in the next but one and the woman and man on that Camel have just eloped from a place 60 miles away The hero would not disbelieve because he would know that nothing is too wild grotesque or horrible to happen in a dark bungalow this credulity unfortunately extends to ghosts a Rational person fresh from his own house would have turned on his side and slept I did not So surely as I was given up as a bad caucus by the scores of things in the bed because the bulk of my blood Was in my heart. So surely did I hear every stroke of a long game at billiards played in the echoing room behind the iron bar door My dominant fear was that the players might want a marker It was an absurd fear because creatures who could play in the dark would be above such superfluities. I Only know that that was my terror and it was real After a long long while the game stopped and the door banged. I slept because I was dead tired Otherwise I should have preferred to have kept awake Not for everything in Asia would I have dropped the door bar and peered into the dark of the next room? When the morning came I considered that I had done well and wisely and inquired for the means of departure By the way, consumer I said What were those three doolies doing in my compound in the night? There were no doolies said the consumer I Went into the next room and the daylight streamed through the open door. I was immensely brave I would at that hour have played black pool with the owner of the big black pool down below Has this place always been a dark bungalow? I asked No, said the consumer then or 20 years ago. I have forgotten how long It was a billiard room. How much a billiard room for the sahibs who built the railway I was gone some of them in the big house where all the railway Sybes lived and I used to come across with brandy shrub These three rooms were all one and they held a big table on which the Sybes played every evening But the Sybes are all dead now and the railway runs you say nearly to gobble Do you remember anything about the Sybes? It is long ago, but I remember that one Saib a fat man and always angry was playing here one night and he said to me Mongol gun Brandy Pani dough and I feel the glass and he bent over the table to strike and His head fell lower and lower till it hit the table and his spectacles came off and When we the Sybes and I myself ran to lift him he was dead. I helped to carry him out He was a strong side But he is dead and I old mongol gun and still living by your favor That was more than enough. I had my ghost a first-hand authenticated article I would write the society for physical research. I would paralyze the empire with the news But I would first of all put 80 miles of assessed cropland between myself and that duck bungalow before nightfall The society might send their regular agent to investigate later on I went into my room and prepared to park after noting down the fox of the case as I smoked I heard the game begin again with a missing bulk this time for the where was a short one The door was open and I could see into the room click click. That was a cannon I entered the room without fair for there was sunlight within and a fresh breeze without The unseen game was going on at a tremendous rate And well it might when a restless little rat was running to and fro inside the dingy ceiling cloth And a piece of loose window sash was making 50 breaks off the window bolt as it shook in the breeze impossible to mistake the sound of billiard balls impossible to mistake the wear of a ball over the slate But I was to be excused even when I shut my enlightened eyes The sound was marvellous like that of a fast game Entered angrily the faithful partner of my sorrows kadir box This bungalow is very bad and low-caste. No wonder the presence is disturbed and is speckled Three sets of dually better scheme to the bungalow late last night when I was sleeping outside and said that it was Custom to rest in the room set apart for the English people. What are eyes the consumer? They try to enter but I tell them to go No wonder these are eyes had been here that the presence is solely spotted. It is shame and the work of a dirty man Kadir box did not say that he had taken from each gang two honors for rent in advance And then beyond my earshot had beaten them with a big green umbrella whose use I could never before divine But Kadir box has no notions of morality There was an interview with the consumer But as he promptly lost his head wrath gave place to pity and pity led to a long Conversation in the course of which he put the fart engineer sahib's tragic death in three separate stations Two of them 50 miles away The third shift was to Calcutta and there the sahib died while driving a dog cart If I had encouraged him the consumer would have wandered all through Bengal with his corpse I Did not go away as soon as I intended I stayed for the night while the wind and the rat and the sash in the window Bolt played a ding dong hundred and fifty up Then the wind ran out and the billiard stopped and I felt that I had ruined my one genuine Hallmark to go story had I only stopped at the proper time I I could have made anything out of it. That was the bitchiest thought of all End of my own true-go story by Roger Kipling The Nightingale and the Rose from the happy prince and other stories by Oscar Wilde This is a Libra Vox recording all Libra Vox recordings are in the public domain for more information or to volunteer Please visit Libra Vox org the Nightingale and the Rose She said that she would dance with me if I brought her red roses cried the young student, but in all my garden There is no red rose From her nest in the whole mok tree the nightingale heard him and she looked out through the leaves and wondered No red rose in all my garden. He cried and his beautiful eyes filled with tears On what little things does happiness depend? I have read all that the wise men have written and all the secrets of philosophy are mine Yet her want of a red rose is my life made wretched Here at last is a true lover said the nightingale Night after night have I son of him though I knew him not Night after night have I told his story to the stars and now I see him His hair as dark as the highest and blossom and his lips are red as the rose of his desire But passion has made his face like pale ivory and sorrow has set her seal upon his brow The prince gives a ball tomorrow night murmured the young student and my love will be of the company If I bring her a red rose she will dance with me till dawn If I bring her a red rose I shall hold her in my arms and she will lean her head upon my shoulder And her hand will be clasped in mine But there is no red rose in my garden so I shall sit lonely and she will pass me by She will have no heat of me and my heart will break Here indeed is the true lover said the nightingale What I sing of he suffers What is joy to me to him is pain Surely love is a wonderful thing it is more precious than emeralds and dearer than fine opals Pearls and pomegranates cannot buy it nor is it set forth in the marketplace It may not be purchased of the merchants nor can it be weighed out in the balance for gold The musicians will sit in their gallery said the young student and play upon their stringed instruments And my love will dance to the sound of the harp and the violin She will dance so likely that her feet will not touch the floor And the courtiers in their gay dresses will throng round her But with me she will not dance for I have no red rose to give her And he flung himself down on the grass and buried his face in his hands and wept Why is he weeping asked a little green lizard as he ran past him with his tail in the air Why indeed said a butterfly who was fluttering about after a sunbeam Why indeed whispered a daisy to his neighbor in a soft low voice He is weeping for a red rose said the nightingale For a red rose they cried how very ridiculous And a little lizard who was something of a cynic laughed outright But the nightingale understood the secret of the student's sorrow And she sat silent in the oak tree and thought about the mystery of love Suddenly she spread her brown wings for flight and soared into the air She passed through the grove like a shadow and like a shadow she sailed across the garden In the center of the grass plot was standing a beautiful rose tree And when she saw it she flew over to it and licked upon a spray Give me a red rose she cried and I will sing you my sweetest song But the tree shook its head My roses are white it answered as white as the foam of the sea And whiter than the snow upon the mountain But go to my brother who grows round the old sundial And perhaps he will give you what you want So the nightingale flew over to the rose tree that was growing round the old sundial Give me a red rose she cried and I will sing you my sweetest song But the tree shook its head My roses are yellow it answered As yellow as the hair of the mare maiden who sits upon an amber throne And yellower than the daffodil that blooms in the meadow before the mower comes with his side But go to my brother who grows beneath the student's window And perhaps he will give you what you want So the nightingale flew over to the rose tree that was growing beneath the student's window Give me a red rose she cried and I will sing you my sweetest song But the tree shook its head My roses are red it answered as red as the feet of the dove And redder than the great fans of coral that wave and wave in the ocean cavern But the winter has chilled my veins and the frost has nipped my buds And the storm has broken my branches and I shall have no roses at all this year One red rose is all I want cried the nightingale Only one red rose is there no way by which I can get it There is a way answered the tree But it is so terrible that I dare not tell it to you Tell it to me said the nightingale I am not afraid If you want a red rose said the tree You must build it out of music by moonlight and stain it with your own heart's blood You must sing to me with your breast against the thorn All night long you must sing to me and the thorn must pierce your heart And your lifeblood must flow into my veins and become mine Death is a great price to pay for a red rose cried the nightingale And life is very dear to all It is pleasant to sit in the green wood and to watch the sun in his chariot of gold And the moon in her chariot of pearl Sweet is the scent of the hawthorn and sweet are the bluebells that hide in the valley And the heather that blows on the hill Yet love is better than life and what is the heart of a bird compared to the heart of a man So she spread her brown wings for flight and soared into the air She swept over the garden like a shadow and like a shadow she sailed through the grove The young student was still lying on the grass where she had left him And the tears were not yet dry in his beautiful eyes Be happy cried the nightingale Be happy you shall have your red rose I will build it out of music by moonlight and stain it with my own heart's blood All that I ask of you in return is that you will be a true lover For love is wiser than philosophy though she is wise And mightier than power though he is mighty Flame-colored are his wings and colored like flame is his body His lips are sweet as honey and his breath is like frankincense The student looked up from the grass and listened But he could not understand what the nightingale was saying to him For he only knew the things that are written down in books But the oak tree understood and felt sad For he was very fond of the little nightingale who had built her nest in his branches Sing me one last song, he whispered I shall feel very lonely when you are gone So the nightingale sang to the oak tree And her voice was like water bubbling from a silver jar When she had finished her song the student got up And pulled a notebook and a lead pencil out of his pocket She has form, he said to himself as he walked away through the grove That cannot be denied to her, but has she got feeling? I am afraid not In fact she is like most artists, she is all style without any sincerity She would not sacrifice herself for others, she thinks merely of music And everybody knows that the arts are selfish Still it must be admitted that she has some beautiful notes in her voice What a pity it is that they do not mean anything Nor do any practical good And he went into his room and lay down on his little palette bed And began to think of his love, and after a time he fell asleep And when the moon shone in the heavens The nightingale fluted a rose-tree and set her breast against the thorn All night long she sang with her breast against the thorn And the cold crystal moon leaned down and listened All night long she sang and the thorn went deeper and deeper into her breast And her lifeblood ebbed away from her She sang first of the births of love in the heart of a boy and a girl And on the topmost spray of the rose-tree There blossomed a marvelous rose, petal following petal as a song followed song Pale was it at first as the mist that hangs over the river Pale as the feet of the morning and silver as the wings of the dawn As the shadow of a rose in a mirror of silver As the shadow of a rose in a water-pool So was the rose that blossomed on the topmost spray of the tree But the tree cried to nightingale to press closer against the thorn Press closer, little nightingale cried to tree Or the day will come before the rose is finished So the nightingale pressed closer against the thorn And louder and louder grew her song For she sang of the birth of passion in the soul of a man and a maid And a delicate flush of pink came into the leaves of the rose Like the flush in the face of the bridegroom When he kisses the lips of the bride But the thorn had not yet reached her heart So the rose's heart remained white For only a nightingale's heart's blood can crimson the heart of a rose And the tree cried to the nightingale to press closer against the thorn Press closer, little nightingale cried to tree Or the day will come before the rose is finished So the nightingale pressed closer against the thorn And the thorn touched her heart And the fierce pang of pain shot through her Bitter, bitter was the pain And wilder and wilder grew her song For she sang of the love that is perfected by death Of the love that dies not in the tomb And the marvelous rose became crimson Like the rose of the eastern sky Crimson was the girdle of petals And crimson as a ruby was the heart But the nightingale's voice grew fainter And her little wings began to beat And they filmed came over her eyes Fainter and fainter grew her song And she felt something choking her In her throat Then she gave one last burst of music The white moon heard it And she forgot the dawn and lingered on in the sky The red rose heard it And it trembled all over with ecstasy And opened its petals to the cold morning air Echo bore it to her purple cavern in the hills And woke the sleeping shepherds from their dreams It floated through the reeds of the river And they carried its message to the sea Look, look, cried the tree The rose is finished now But the nightingale made no answer For she was lying dead in the long grass With the thorn in her heart And at noon the student opened his window and looked out Why, what a wonderful piece of luck, he cried Here is a red rose I have never seen any rose like it in all my life It is so beautiful that I am sure it has a long Latin name And he leaned down and plucked it Then he put on his hat And ran up to the professor's house with the rose in his hand The daughter of the professor was sitting in the doorway Winding blue silk on a reel And her little dog was laying at her feet You said that you would dance with me If I brought you a red rose, cried the student Here is the reddest rose in all the world You will wear it tonight next to your heart And as we dance together it will tell you how I love you But the girl frowned I am afraid it will not go with my dress She answered And besides, the Chamberlain's nephew has sent me some real jewels And everybody knows that jewels cost far more than flowers Well, upon my word, you are very ungrateful Said the student angrily And he threw the rose into the street Where it fell into the gutter And a cartwheel went over it Ungrateful, said the girl I tell you what, you are very rude And after all, who are you? Only a student Why, I don't believe you have even got silver buckles to your shoes As the Chamberlain's nephew has And she got up from her chair and went into the house What a silly thing love is, said the student as he walked away It is not half as useful as logic For it does not prove anything And it is always telling one of the things That are not going to happen And making one believe things that are not true In fact, it is quite unpractical And as in this age, to be practical is everything I shall go back to philosophy and study metaphysics So he returned to his room And pulled out a great dusty book And began to read End of The Nightingale and the Rose A pair of silk stockings By Kate Chopin This is a LibriVox recording All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain For more information or to volunteer Please visit LibriVox.org Little Mrs. Summers, one day, found herself the unexpected possessor of $15 It seemed to her a very large amount of money And the way in which it stuffed and bulged her worn old Port Manet Gave her a feeling of importance Such as she had not enjoyed for years The question of investment was one that occupied her greatly For a day or two she walked about Apparently in a dreamy state But really absorbed in speculation and calculation She did not wish to act hastily Or to do anything she might afterward regret But it was during the still hours of the night When she lay awake, revolving plans in her mind That she seemed to see her way clearly Toward a proper and judicious use of the money A dollar or two should be added to the price Usually paid for Janie's shoes Which would ensure their lasting and appreciable time longer than they usually did She would buy so and so many yards of percale For the new shirt wastes for the boys and Janie and Mag She had intended to make the old ones due by skillful patching Mag should have another gown She had seen some beautiful patterns Veritable bargains in the shop windows And still there would be enough left for new stockings Two pairs apiece and what darning that would save for a while She would get caps for the boys and sailor hats for the girls The vision of her little brood looking fresh and dainty And new for once in their lives excited her And made her restless and wakeful with anticipation The neighbors sometimes talked of certain better days That little Mrs. Summers had known before she had ever thought of being Mrs. Summers She herself indulged in no such morbid retrospection She had no time, no second of time to devote to the past The needs of the present absorbed her every faculty A vision of the future Like some dim gaunt monster sometimes appalled her But luckily tomorrow never comes Mrs. Summers was one who knew the value of bargains Who could stand for hours making her way inch by inch Toward the desired object that was selling below cost She could elbow her way if need be She had learned to clutch a piece of goods and hold it And stick to it with persistence and determination Till her turn came to be served, no matter when it came But that day she was a little faint and tired She had swallowed a light luncheon No, between getting the children fed in the place Righted and preparing herself for the shopping bout She had actually forgotten to eat any luncheon at all She sat herself upon a revolving stool Before a counter that was comparatively deserted Trying to gather strength and courage To charge through an anger multitude that was besieging Breastsworks of shirting and figurant lawn An all-gone limp feeling had come over her And she rested her hand aimlessly upon the counter She wore no gloves By degrees she grew aware that her hand had encountered Something very soothing, very pleasant to touch She looked down to see that her hand lay upon A pile of silk stockings A placard nearby announced that they had been reduced In price from two dollars and fifty cents To one dollar and ninety-eight cents And the young girl who stood behind the counter Asked her if she wished to examine their line of sulcosery She smiled just as if she had been asked to inspect A tiara of diamonds with the ultimate view of purchasing it But she went on feeling the soft, sheeny, luxurious things With both hands now, holding them up to see them glisten And to feel them glide serpent-like through her fingers Two hectic blotches came suddenly to her pale cheeks She looked up at the girl Do you think there are any eights and a half among these? There were any number of eights and a half In fact, there were more of that size than any other Here was a light blue pair There were some lavender, some all-black In various shades of tan and gray Mrs. Summers selected a black pair And looked at them very long and closely She pretended to be examining their texture Which the clerk assured her was excellent A dollar and ninety-eight cents, she mused aloud Well, I'll take this pair She handed the girl a five dollar bill And waited for her change and for her parcel What a very small parcel it was It seemed lost in the depths of her shabby old shopping bag Mrs. Summers after that did not move In the direction of the bargain counter She took the elevator, which carried her to an upper floor Into the region of the lady's waiting rooms Here, in a retired corner, she exchanged her cotton stockings For the new silk ones which she had just bought She was not going through any acute mental process Or reasoning with herself Nor was she striving to explain to her satisfaction The motive of her action She was not thinking at all She seemed for the time to be taking a rest From that laborious and fatiguing function And to have abandoned herself to some mechanical impulse That directed her actions and freed her of responsibility How good was the touch of the raw silk to her flesh She felt like lying back in the cushioned chair And reveling for a while in the luxury of it She did for a little while Then she replaced her shoes, rolled the cotton stockings together And thrust them into her bag After doing this, she crossed straight over to the shoe department And took her seat to be fitted She was fastidious The clerk could not make her out He could not reconcile her shoes with her stockings And she was not too easily pleased She held back her skirts and turned her feet one way And her head another way As she glanced down at the polished, pointed, tipped boots Her foot and ankle looked very pretty She could not realize that they belonged to her And were part of herself She wanted an excellent and stylish fit, she told the young fellow who served her And she did not mind the difference of a dollar or two more in price So long as she got what she desired It was a long time since Mrs. Summers had been fitted with gloves On rare occasions, when she had bought a pair, they were always bargains So cheap that it would have been preposterous And unreasonable to have expected them to be fitted to the hand Now she rested her elbow on the cushion of the glove counter And a pretty, pleasant young creature, delicate and deft of touch Drew a long-risted kid over Mrs. Summers' hand She smoothed it down over the wrist and buttoned it neatly And both lost themselves for a second or two In admiring contemplation of the little symmetrical, gloved hand But there were other places where money might be spent There were books and magazines piled up in the window of a stall A few paces down the street Mrs. Summers bought two high-priced magazines Such as she had been accustomed to read In the days when she had been accustomed to other pleasant things She carried them without wrapping As well as she could, she lifted her skirts at the crossings Her stockings and boots and well-fitted gloves had worked marvels in her bearing Had given her a feeling of assurance, a sense of belonging to the well-dressed multitude She was very hungry Another time, she would have stilled the cravings for food until reaching her own home Where she would have brewed herself a cup of tea and taken a snack of anything that was available But the impulse that was guiding her would not suffer her to entertain such a thought There was a restaurant at the corner She had never entered its doors From the outside, she had sometimes caught glimpses of spotless damask And shining crystal and soft-stepping waiters serving people of fashion When she entered, her appearance created no surprise, no consternation As she had half-feared at mind She seated herself at a small table alone And an attentive waiter at once approached her to take her order She did not want a profusion She craved a nice and tasty bite A half-dozen blue-points, a plump chop with cress, and something sweet A creme fraffée, for instance A glass of Ryan wine And after all, a small cup of black coffee While waiting to be served, she removed her gloves very leisurely And laid them beside her Then she picked up a magazine and glanced through it Cutting the pages with a blunt edge of her knife It was all very agreeable The damask was even more spotless than it had seemed through the window And the crystal more sparkling There were quiet ladies and gentlemen who did not notice her Lunching at the small tables like her own A soft, pleasing strain of music could be heard And a gentle breeze was blowing through the window She tasted a bite And she read a word or two And she sipped the amber wine and wiggled her toes in the silk stockings The price of it made no difference She counted the money out to the waiter and left an extra coin on his tray Whereupon he bowed before her as before a princess of royal blood There was still money in her purse And her next temptation presented itself in the shape of a matinee poster It was a little later when she entered the theatre The play had begun and the house seemed to her to be packed But there were vacant seats here and there And into one of them she was ushered Between brilliantly dressed women Who had gone there to kill time and eat candy And display their gaudy attire There were many others who were there solely for the play and acting It is safe to say that there was no one present who bore quite the attitude Which Mrs. Summers did to her surroundings She gathered in the hall, stage and players and people In one wide impression and absorbed it and enjoyed it She laughed at the comedy and wept She laughed at the comedy and wept She and the gaudy woman next to her wept over the tragedy And they talked a little together over it And the gaudy woman wiped her eyes and sniffed on a tiny square of filmy perfumed lace And passed little Mrs. Summers her box of candy The play was over The music ceased The crowd viled out It was like a dream ended People scattered in all directions Mrs. Summers went to the corner and waited for the cable car A man with keen eyes who sat opposite to her Seemed to like the study of her small pale face It puzzled him to decipher what he saw there In truth he saw nothing Unless he were wizard enough to detect a poignant wish A powerful longing that the cable car would never stop anywhere But go on and on with her forever End of A Pair of Silk Stockings by Kate Chopin Who's Dog by Francis Greig This is a LibraVox recording All LibraVox recordings are in the public domain For more information or to volunteer Please visit LibraVox.org This reading by Lucy Burgoyne Who's Dog by Francis Greig From The Forum Hey there ladies, here move on you The tone was authority And old John the village drunkard crouched away I weren't doing nothing He clutched feebly at the loose hanging rags That clothed him Only wanted to see same as them Guest his peers big enough to hold us all Hello John, have a drink A grinning boy held a can of salt water toward him The quick mordlin tears sprang to the old man's eyes Little fellas he muttered Little fellas they oughtn't to act that way Give him a new necktie He's got to go to dinner with the lodge A handful of dank seaweed writhed around the old man's neck That's a turtle, that is, the boy went on The need for imparting information Justifying his laps from ragging the drunkard There, swimming round, it's tied to that stake You ought to see it at low tide When it was on the beach It weighs 90 pounds I've seen a turtle want the drunkard quivered It was bigger than that And they tied it to a stake And it swam round, and it swam round He's sodden brain clutched for something more to say Some marble with which to hold the interest of the gathered boys It was good to talk If only they would let him talk to them If only they would let him sit on the store porch And smoke and gossip He wouldn't be the town disgrace Well go on, what did to do? Hey you, the boys were interrupted by the authority voice I told you to move on, didn't I? Now, if I tell you again, I'll run you in the year here What you boys, let that old bum hang around for you anyway What's he doing here? Oh, he's fun He weren't doing nothing He was just a watchin' it swim It's tied to that post, it don't come up no more Watchin' it swim, eh? Was he? All right, who's dog is it? The officer turned and sauntered away Sudden horror seized the old man The liquor scene drained out of his veins His brain worked almost quickly Who's dog? Who's dog? Say, he darted after the retreating boys Say, that ain't no dog, is it? No dog Tied up like that to drown Say, oh, keep up, I told you once It's a turtle for the lodged dinner The boys shook himself free The old man stood a moment shaken His pulpy brain worked himly toward the conception Of the pain that was consuming him Who's dog? That man had asked And he hadn't meant to help it Who's dog? They could do it Tied up a dog to drown inside a people Like that, cruel He saw the policeman coming toward him again In a sudden frenzy, he clutched his tattered garments About him and began to run To run toward the end of the pier The boys raced after him What you got to do, they shouted What you got to do The old man turned and looked at them a moment With twitching features I'm going to die, he said Come on, new fellows, come on The drunk's got to die Come on, he's crying Then was a splash A surge of green filth And mud spread and dyed the water A row of expectant heads leaned over the rail Say, he ain't come up They waited The policeman strolled, leisurely, down in response To their repeated cries Who won't come up? What him, the drunk? The officer leaned lethargically over the rail What am I going to do? Why, leave him He ain't got no folks, got to sit up Nights waiting for him Now you young ones, go along home to your suppers He indulgently commanded And, new little fellows, if you want crabs Be round here early By tomorrow this place will be fairly swarming with them End of story