 THE HAPPY PRINCE by Oscar Wilde High above the city on a tall column stood the statue of the happy prince. He was gilded all over with thin leaves of fine gold. For eyes he had two bright sapphires, and a large red ruby glowed on his sword-hilt. He was very much admired indeed. He is as beautiful as a weather-cock," remarked one of the town counsellors, who wished to gain a reputation for having artistic tastes. Only not quite so useful, he added, fearing less people should think him unpractical, which he really was not. Why can't you be like the happy prince? asked a sensible mother of her little boy who was crying for the moon. The happy prince never dreams of crying for anything. I am glad there is someone in the world who is quite happy. Muttered a disappointed man as he gazed at the wonderful statue. He looks just like an angel, said the charity children as they came out of the cathedral in their bright scarlet cloaks and their clean white pinafores. How do you know, said the mathematical master, you have never seen one? Ah, but we have, in our dreams, answered the children, and the mathematical master frowned and looked very severe, for he did not approve of children dreaming. One night there flew over the city a little swallow. His friends had gone away to Egypt six weeks before, but he had stayed behind, for he was in love with the most beautiful reed. He had met her early in the spring as he was flying down the river after a big yellow moth, and had been so attracted by her slender waist that he had stopped to talk to her. Shall I love you? said the swallow, who liked to come to the point at once, and the reed made him a low bow. So he flew round and round her, touching the water with his wings and making silver ripples. This was his courtship, and it lasted all through the summer. It is a ridiculous attachment, twitted the other swallows. She has no money and far too many relations, and indeed the river was quite full of reeds. Then, when the autumn came, they all flew away. After they had gone he felt lonely and began to tire of his lady-love. She has no conversation, he said, and I am afraid that she is a coquette, for she is always flirting with the wind. And certainly whenever the wind blew the reed made the most graceful curtsies. I admit that she is domestic, he continued, but I love travelling, and my wife consequently should love travelling also. Will you come away with me? he said, finally to her, but the reed shook her head. She was so attached to her home. You have been trifling with me, he cried. I am off to the pyramids, goodbye! And he flew away. All day long he flew, and at night time he arrived at the city. Where shall I put up? he said. I hope the town has made preparations. Then he saw the statue on the tall column. I will put up there, he cried. It is a fine position with plenty of fresh air. So he alighted just between the feet of the happy prince. I have a golden bedroom, he said softly to himself as he looked round, and he prepared to go to sleep. But just as he was putting his head under his wing, a large drop of water fell on him. What a curious thing! he cried. There is not a single cloud in the sky. The stars are quite clear and bright, and yet it is raining. The climate in the north of Europe is really dreadful. The reed used to like the rain, but that was merely her selfishness. Then another drop fell. What is the use of a statue if it cannot keep the rain off? he said. I must look for a good chimney-pot, and he determined to fly away. But before he had opened his wings a third drop fell, and he looked up and saw, ah, what did he see? The eyes of the happy prince were filled with tears, and tears were running down his golden cheeks. His face was so beautiful in the moonlight that the little swallow was filled with pity. Who are you? he said. I am the happy prince. Why are you weeping then? asked the swallow. You have quite drenched me. When I was alive and had a human heart, answered the statue, I did not know what tears were, for I lived in the palace of Saint-Sousy, where sorrow is not allowed to enter. In the daytime I played with my companions in the garden, and in the evening I led the dance in the great hall. Round the garden ran a very lofty wall, but I never cared to ask what lay beyond it. Everything about me was so beautiful. My courtiers called me the happy prince, and happy indeed I was, if pleasure be happiness. So I lived, and so I died, and now that I am dead they have set me up here so high that I can see all the ugliness and all the misery of my city, and though my heart is made of lead, yet I cannot choose but weep. What is he not solid gold? said the swallow to himself. He was too polite to make any personal remarks out loud. Far away, continued the statue in a low musical voice, far away in a little street there is a poor house. One of the windows is open, and through it I can see a woman seated at a table. Her face is thin and worn, and she has coarse red hands all pricked by the needle, for she is a seamstress. She is embroidering passion flowers on a satin gown for the loveliest of the queen's maids of honour to wear at the next court ball. In a bed in the corner of the room her little boy is lying ill. He has a fever and is asking for oranges. His mother has nothing to give him but river water, so he is crying. Swallow, swallow, little swallow, will you not bring her the ruby out of my sword-hilled. My feet are fastened to this pedestal, and I cannot move. I am waited for in Egypt, said the swallow. My friends are flying up and down the Nile and talking to the large lotus-flowers. Soon they will go to sleep in the tomb of the great king. The king is there himself in his painted coffin. He has wrapped in yellow linen and embalmed with spices. Round his neck is a chain of pale green jade, and his hands are like withered leaves. Swallow, swallow, little swallow, said the prince. Will you not stay with me for one night and be my messenger? The boy is so thirsty, and the mother so sad. I don't think I like boys, answered the swallow. Last summer when I was staying on the river there were two rude boys, the miller's sons, who were always throwing stones at me. They never hit me, of course. We swallows fly far too well for that, and besides I come of a family famous for its agility, but still it was a mark of disrespect. But the happy prince looked so sad that the little swallow was sorry. It is very cold here, he said, but I will stay with you for one night and be your messenger. Thank you, little swallow, said the prince. So the swallow picked out the great ruby from the prince's sword and flew away with it in his beak over the roofs of the town. He passed by the cathedral tower where the white marble angels were sculptured. He passed by the palace and heard the sound of dancing. A beautiful girl came out on the balcony with her lover. How wonderful the stars are, he said to her, and how wonderful is the power of love. I hope my dress will be ready in time for the state ball, she answered. I have ordered passion flowers to be embroidered on it, but the seamstresses are so lazy. He passed over the river and saw the lanterns hanging to the masts of the ships. He passed over the ghetto and saw the old Jews bargaining with each other and weighing out money in copper scales. At last he came to the poor house and looked in. The boy was tossing feverishly on his bed, and the mother had fallen asleep, she was so tired. In he hopped and laid the great ruby on the table beside the woman's thimble. Then he flew gently round the bed, fanning the boy's forehead with his wings. How cool I feel, said the boy. I must be getting better. And he sank into a delicious slumber. Then the swallow flew back to the happy prince and told him what he had done. It is curious, he remarked, but I feel quite warm now, although it is so cold. That is because you have done a good action, said the prince, and the little swallow began to think, and then he fell asleep. Thinking always made him sleepy. When day broke he flew down to the river and had a bath. What a remarkable phenomenon! said the professor of ornithology as he was passing over the bridge. A swallow in winter! And he wrote a long letter about it to the local newspaper. Everyone quoted it. It was full of so many words that they could not understand. Tonight I go to Egypt! said the swallow, and he was in high spirits at the prospect. He visited all the public monuments and sat a long time on top of the church steeple. Wherever he went the sparrows cheer up and said to each other, what a distinguished stranger! So he enjoyed himself very much. When the moon rose he flew back to the happy prince. Have you any commissions for Egypt? he cried. I am just starting. Swallow, swallow, little swallow, said the prince. Will you not stay with me one night longer? I am waited for in Egypt! answered the swallow. Tomorrow my friends will fly up to the second cataract. The river-horse couches there among the bullrushes, and on a great granite throne sits the god Memnon. All night long he watches the stars, and when the morning star shines he utters one cry of joy, and then he is silent. At noon the yellow lions come down to the water's edge to drink. They have eyes like green barrels, and their roar is louder than the roar of the cataract. Swallow, swallow, little swallow, said the prince. Far away, across the city, I see a young man in a garret. He is leaning over a desk covered with papers, and in a tumbler by his side there is a bunch of withered violets. His hair is brown and crisp, and his lips are red as a pomegranate, and he has large and dreamy eyes. He is trying to finish a play for the director of the theatre, but he is too cold to write any more. There is no fire in the grate, and hunger has made him faint. I will wait with you one night longer, said the swallow, who really had a good heart. Shall I take him another ruby? Alas, I have no ruby now, said the prince. My eyes are all that I have left. They are made of rare sapphires, which were brought out of India a thousand years ago. Pluck out one of them, and take it to him. He will sell it to the jeweler, and buy food and firewood, and finish his play. Dear prince, said the swallow, I cannot do that. And he began to weep. Swallow, swallow, little swallow, said the prince. Do as I command you. So the swallow plucked out the prince's eye, and flew away to the student's garret. It was easy enough to get in, as there was a hole in the roof. Through this he darted, and came into the room. The young man had his head buried in his hands, so he did not hear the flutter of the bird's wings, and when he looked up he found the beautiful sapphire lying on the withered violets. I am beginning to be appreciated, he cried. This is from some great admirer. Now I can finish my play! And he looked quite happy. The next day the swallow flew down to the harbour. He sat on the mast of a large vessel, and watched the sailors hauling big chests out of the hold with ropes. Heave-a-hoi! they shouted as each chest came up. I am going to Egypt! cried the swallow, but nobody minded, and when the moon rose he flew back to the happy prince. I am come to bid you good-bye, he cried. Swallow, swallow, little swallow, said the prince, will you not stay with me one night longer? It is winter, answered the swallow, and the chill snow will soon be here. In Egypt the sun is warm on the green palm trees, and the crocodiles lie in the mud and look lazily about them. My companions are building a nest in the temple of Baalbek, and the pink and white doves are watching them and cooing to each other. Dear prince, I must leave you, but I will never forget you, and next spring I will bring you back two beautiful jewels in place of those you have given away. The ruby shall be redder than a red rose, and the sapphire shall be as blue as the great sea. In the square below, said the happy prince, there stands a little match-girl. She has let her matches fall in the gutter, and they are all spoiled. Her father will beat her if she does not bring home some money, and she is crying. She has no shoes or stockings, and her little head is bare. Pluck out my other eye and give it to her, and her father will not beat her. I will stay with you one night longer, said the swallow, but I cannot pluck out your eye. You would be quite blind then. Swallow, swallow, little swallow, said the prince, do as I command you. So he plucked out the prince's other eye and darted down with it. He swooped past the match-girl and slipped the jewel into the palm of her hand. What a lovely bit of glass! cried the little girl, and she ran home laughing. Then the swallow came back to the prince. You are blind now, he said, so I will stay with you always. No, little swallow, said the poor prince, you must go away to Egypt. I will stay with you always, said the swallow, and he slept at the prince's feet. All the next day he sat on the prince's shoulder and told him stories of what he had seen in strange lands. He told him of the red ibises who stand in long rows on the banks of the Nile, and catch goldfish in their beaks, of the Sphinx who is as old as the world itself, and lives in the desert, and knows everything, of the merchants who walk slowly by the side of their camels and carry amber beads in their hands, of the king of the mountains of the moon who is as black as ebony and worships a large crystal, of the great green snake that sleeps in a palm tree and has twenty priests to feed it with honey-cakes, and of the pygmies who sail over a big lake on large flat leaves and are always at war with the butterflies. Dear little swallow, said the prince, you tell me of marvellous things, but more marvellous than anything is the suffering of men and of women. There is no mystery so great as misery. Fly over my city, little swallow, and tell me what you see there. So the swallow flew over the great city and saw the rich making merry in their beautiful houses while the beggars were sitting at the gates. He flew into dark lanes and saw the white faces of starving children looking out listlessly at the black streets. Under the archway of a bridge two little boys were lying in one another's arms to try and keep themselves warm. How hungry we are! they said. You must not lie here! shouted the watchman, and they wandered out into the rain. Then he flew back and told the prince what he had seen. I am covered with fine gold, said the prince. You must take it off, leaf by leaf, and give it to my poor. The living always think that gold can make them happy. Leaf after leaf of the fine gold the swallow picked off, till the happy prince looked quite dull and gray. Leaf after leaf of the fine gold he brought to the poor, and the children's faces grew rosier and they laughed and played games in the street. We have bread now! they cried. Then the snow came, and after the snow came the frost. The streets looked as if they were made of silver, they were so bright and glistening. Long icicles like crystal daggers hung down from the eaves of the houses. Everybody went about in furs and the little boys wore scarlet caps and skated on the ice. The poor little swallow grew colder and colder, but he would not leave the prince. He loved him too well. He picked up crumbs outside the baker's door when the baker was not looking, and tried to keep himself warm by flapping his wings. But at last he knew that he was going to die. He had just strength to fly up to the prince's shoulder once more. Good-bye, dear prince, he murmured. Will you let me kiss your hand? I am glad that you are going to Egypt at last, little swallow, said the prince. You have stayed too long here, but you must kiss me on the lips, for I love you. It is not to Egypt that I am going, said the swallow. I am going to the house of death. Death is the brother of sleep, is he not? And he kissed the happy prince on the lips, and fell down dead at his feet. At that moment a curious crack sounded inside the statue, as if something had broken. The fact is that the leaden heart had snapped right in two. It certainly was a dreadfully hard frost. Early the next morning the mayor was walking in the square below in company with the town councillors. As they passed the column he looked up at the statue. Dear me, how shabby the happy prince looks, he said. How shabby indeed! cried the town councillors, who always agreed with the mayor, and they went up to look at it. The ruby has fallen out of his sword, his eyes are gone, and he is golden no longer, said the mayor. In fact he is little better than a beggar. Little better than a beggar, said the town councillors. And here is actually a dead bird at his feet, continued the mayor. We must really issue a proclamation that birds are not to be allowed to die here. And the town clerk made a note of the suggestion. So they pulled down the statue of the happy prince. As he is no longer beautiful, he is no longer useful, said the art professor at the university. Then they melted the statue in a furnace, and the mayor held a meeting at the corporation to decide what was to be done with the metal. We must have another statue, of course, he said, and it shall be a statue of myself. Of myself, said each of the town councillors, and they quarrelled. When I last heard of them they were quarrelling still. What a strange thing, said the overseer of the workman at the foundry. This broken lead heart will not melt in the furnace, we must throw it away. So they threw it on a dust heap where the dead swallow was also lying. Bring me the two most precious things in the city, said God to one of his angels, and the angel brought him the leaden heart and the dead bird. You have rightly chosen, said God, for in my garden of paradise this little bird shall sing for evermore, and in my city of gold the happy prince shall praise me. End of The Happy Prince by Oscar Wilde. Read by David Sweeney-Bear dsbaudio.com The story of Blixie Bember in the power of the gold buckskin winter by Carl Sandberg. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Blixie Bember grew up looking for luck. If she found a horseshoe she took it home and put it on the wall of her room with a ribbon tied to it. She would look at the moon through her fingers, under her arms, over her right shoulder, but never, never over her left shoulder. She listened and picked up everything anybody said about the groundhog, and whether the groundhog saw his shadow when he came out the 2nd of February. If she dreamed of onions she knew the next day she would find a silver spoon. If she dreamed of fishes she knew the next day she would meet a strange man who would call her by her first name. She grew up looking for luck. She was 16 years old and quite a girl with her skirts down to her shoe tops when something happened. She was going to the post office to see if there was a letter for her from Peter Potato Blossom Wishes, her best chum, or a letter from Jimmy the Flea, her best friend, she kept steady company with. Jimmy the Flea was a climber. He climbed skyscrapers and flagpoles in smokestacks and was a famous steeplejack. Blixie Bember liked him because he was a steeplejack, a little. But more because he was a whistler. Every time Blixie said to Jimmy, I got the blues. Whistle the blues out of me. Jimmy would just naturally whistle till the blues just naturally went away from Blixie. On the way to the post office, Blixie found a gold-buck-skinned wincher. There it lay in the middle of the sidewalk. How and why it came to be there she never knew, and nobody ever told her. It's luck, she said to herself as she picked it up quick. And so she took it home and fixed it on a little chain and wore it around her neck. She did not know, and nobody ever told her, a gold-buck-skinned wincher is different from just a plain common wincher. It has a power. And if a thing has a power over you, then you just naturally can't help yourself. So around her neck, fixed on a little chain, Blixie Bember wore the gold-buck-skinned wincher and never knew it had a power. And all the time the power was working. The first man you meet with an X in his name, you must fall head over heels in love with him, said the silent power in the gold-buck-skinned wincher. And that was why Blixie Bember stopped at the post office and went back again, asking the clerk at the post office window if he was sure there wasn't a letter for her. The name of the clerk was Silas Baxby. For six weeks he kept steady company with Blixie Bember. They went to dances, hayrack rides, picnics, and hijinks together. All the time the power in the gold-buck-skinned wincher was working. It was hanging by a little chain around her neck and always working. It was saying, the next man you meet with two Xs in his name, you must leave all and fall head over heels in love with him. She met the high school principal. His name was Fritz Axenbachs. Blixie dropped her eyes before him and threw smiles at him. And for six weeks he kept steady company with Blixie Bember. They went to dances, hayrack rides, picnics, and hijinks together. Why do you go with him for steady company? Her relatives asked. It's a power he's got, Blixie answered. I just can't help it. It's a power. One of his feet is bigger than the other. How can you keep steady company with him? They asked again. All she would answer was, it's a power. All the time, of course, the gold buckskin winter on the little chain around her neck was working. It was saying, if she meets a man with three Xs in his name, she must fall head over heels in love with him. At a band concert in the public square one night, she met James Six Bix Dix. There was no helping it. She dropped her eyes and threw her smiles at him. And for six weeks, they kept steady company, going to band concerts, dances, hayrack rides, picnics, and hijinks together. Why do you keep steady company with him? He's a musical soup eater, her relative said to her. And she answered, it's a power. I can't help myself. Leaning down with her head in a rainwater cistern one day, listening to the echoes against the strange wooden walls of the cistern, the gold buckskin winter on the little chain around her neck slipped off and fell down into the rainwater. My luck is gone, said Blixie. Then she went into the house and made two telephone calls. One was to James Six Bix Dix, telling him she couldn't keep the date with him that night. The other was to Jimmy the Flea, the climber, the steeplejack. Come on over. I got the blues and I want you to whistle them away, was what she telephoned Jimmy the Flea. And so, if you ever come across a gold buckskin winter, be careful. It's got a power. It'll make you fall head over heels in love with the next man you meet with an ex in his name. Or it will do other strange things because different winters have different powers. End of the story of Blixie Bimber and the power of the gold buckskin winter by Carl Sandberg, read by Paula Messina. Both went to listen. Titi Mouse list an ear of corn. And Tati Mouse list an ear of corn. So, they both list an ear of corn. Titi Mouse made the pudding. And Tati Mouse made the pudding. So, they both made the pudding. And Tati Mouse put her pudding into the pot to boil. But when Titi went to put hers in, the pot tumbled over and scalded her to death. Then Tati sat down and wept. Then a three-legged stool said, Tati, why do you whip? Titi's dead. Said Tati. And so I whipped. Then said the stool. I'll hop. So, the stool hopped. Then a broom in the corner of the room said, Stool, why do you hop? Oh, said the stool. Titi's dead. And Tati whips. And so I hopped. Then said the broom. I'll sweep. So, the broom began to sweep. Then said the door. Broom, why do you sweep? Oh, said the broom. Titi's dead. And Tati whips. And the stool hops. And so I sweep. Then said the door. I'll shower. So, the door shored. Then said the window. Door, why do you shower? Oh, said the door. Titi's dead. And Tati whips. And the stool hops. And the broom sweeps. And so I shored. Then said the window. I'll creak. So, the window creaked. Now, there was an old form outside the house. And when the window creaked, the form said. Window, why do you creak? Oh, said the window. Titi's dead. And Tati whips. And the stool hops. And the broom sweeps. The door shards. And so I creak. Then said the old form. I'll run round the house. Then the old form run round the house. Now, there was a fine large walnut tree growing by the cottage. And the tree said to the form. Form, why do you run round the house? Oh, said the form. Titi's dead. And Tati whips. And the stool hops. And the broom sweeps. The door shards. And the window creaks. And so I run round the house. Then said the walnut tree. I'll shed my leaves. So the walnut tree shed all its beautiful green leaves. Now, there was a little bird bird on one of the boughs of the tree. And when all the leaves fell it said. Walnut tree, why do you shed your leaves? Oh, said the tree. Titi's dead. And Tati whips. The stool hops. And the broom sweeps. The door shards. And the window creaks. The old form runs round the house. And so I shed my leaves. Then said the little bird. I'll mold all my feathers. So he molded all his pretty feathers. Now, there was a little girl walking below, carrying a jug of milk for her brothers and sisters supper. And when she saw the poor little bird mold all its feathers, she said, little bird, why do you mold all your feathers? Oh, said the little bird. Titi's dead. And Tati whips. The stool hops. And the broom sweeps. The door shards. And the window creaks. The old form runs round the house. The Walnut tree shed its leaves. And so I mold all my feathers. Then, said the little girl, I'll spill the milk. So she dropped the pitcher and spilled the milk. Now, there was an old man just by on the top of a ladder touching a rick. And when he saw the little girl spill the milk, he said, little girl, what do you mean by spilling the milk? Your little brothers and sisters must go without their supper. Then, said the little girl. Titi's dead. And Tati whips. The stool hops. And the broom sweeps. The door shards. And the window creaks. The old form runs round the house. The Walnut tree sheds all its leaves. The little bird molds all its feathers. And so I spilled the milk. Oh, said the old man. Then I'll tumble off the ladder and break my neck. So he tumbled off the ladder and broke his neck. And when the old man broke his neck, the great Walnut tree fell down with a crash and upset the old form and house. And the house falling knocked the window out. And the window knocked the door down. And the door upset the broom. And the broom upset the stool. And poor little Tati Mouse was buried beneath the ruins. End of Titi Mouse and Tati Mouse by Josef Sheikovs. Read for LibriVox by Victor Villarraza. The story of the man who did not wish to die. Selected from the work entitled Japanese Fairy Tales. Compiled by Ye Theodora Osaki. Translated by Sadanami Sanjin. Read by Andrea Born. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Long, long ago there lived a man called Centaro. His surname meant millionaire. But although he was not so rich as all that, he was still very far moved from being poor. He had inherited a small fortune from his father, and lived on this, spending his time carelessly, without any serious thoughts of work, till he was about thirty-two years of age. One day, without any reason whatsoever, the thought of death and sickness came to him. The idea of falling ill or dying made him very wretched. I should like to live, he said to himself, till I am five or six hundred years old at least, free from all sickness. The ordinary span of a man's life is very short. He wondered whether it were possible by living simply and frugally henceforth to prolong his life as long as he wished. He knew there were many stories in ancient history of emperors who had lived a thousand years, and there was a princess of Yamato, who, it was said, lived to the age of five hundred. This was the latest story of a very long life record. Centaro had often heard the tale of the Chinese king named Shinoshiku. He was one of the most able and powerful rulers in Chinese history. He built all the large palaces, and also the famous Great Wall of China. He had everything in the world he could wish for, but in spite of all his happiness and the luxury and the splendor of his court, the wisdom of his counselors, and the glory of his reign, he was miserable because he knew that one day he must die and leave it all. When Shinoshiku went to bed at night, when he rose in the morning, as he went through his day, the thought of death was always with him. He could not get away from it. Ah, if only he could find the elixir of life he would be happy. The emperor at last called a meeting of his courtiers and asked them all if they could not find for him the elixir of life, of which he had so often read and heard. One old courtier, Jofuku by name, said that far away across the seas there was a country called Horizon, and that certain hermits lived there who possessed the secret of the elixir of life. Whoever drank of this wonderful draft lived forever. The emperor ordered Jofuku to set out for the land of Horizon to find the hermits and to bring him back a file of the magic elixir. He gave Jofuku one of his best junks, fitted it out for him, and loaded it with great quantities of treasures and precious stones for Jofuku to take his presence to the hermits. Jofuku sailed for the land of Horizon, but he never returned to the waiting emperor. But ever since that time Mount Fuji has been said to be the fabled Horizon, and the home of hermits who had the secret of the elixir, and Jofuku has been worshipped as their patron god. Now Centaro determined to set out to find the hermits, and if he could to become one, so that he might obtain the water of perpetual life. He remembered that as a child he had been told that not only did these hermits live on Mount Fuji, but that they were said to inhabit all of the very high peaks. So he left his old home to take care of his relatives, and started out on his quest. He traveled through all the mountainous regions of the land, climbing to the tops of the highest peaks, but never a hermit did he find. It last, after wandering in an unknown region for many days, he met a hunter. Can you tell me, asks Centaro, where the hermits live who have the elixir of life? No, said the hunter, I can't tell you where such hermits live, but there is a notorious robber living in these parts. It is said that he is chief of a band of two hundred followers. This odd answer irritated Centaro very much, and he thought how foolish it was to waste more time in looking for the hermits in this way. So he decided to go at once to the shrine of Jofuku, who is worshipped as the patron god of the hermits in the south of Japan. Centaro reached the shrine and prayed for seven days, and treating Jofuku to show him the way to a hermit who could give him much of what he wanted. At midnight of the seventh day, as Centaro knelt in the temple, the door of the innermost shrine flew open, and Jofuku appeared in a luminous cloud and calling to Centaro to come nearer, spoke thus. Your desire is very selfish and cannot be easily granted. You think that you would like to become a hermit so as to find the elixir of life. Do you know how hard a hermit's life is? A hermit is only allowed to eat fruit and berries in the bark of a pine tree. A hermit must cut himself off from the world so that his heart may become as pure as gold and free from every earthly desire. Gradually, after following these strict rules, the hermit ceases to feel hunger or cold or heat, and his body becomes so light that he can ride on a crane or a carp and can walk on water without getting his feet wet. You, Centaro, are fond of good living and of every comfort. You are not even like an ordinary man, for you are exceptionally idle and more sensitive to heat and cold than most people. You would never be able to go barefoot or to wear only one thin dress in the wintertime. Do you think that you would ever have the patience or the endurance to live a hermit's life? In answer to your prayer, however, I will help you in another way. I will send you to the country of perpetual life where death never comes, where the people live forever. Saying this, Chofuku put into Centaro's hand a little crane made of paper, telling him to sit on its back, and it would carry him there. Centaro obeyed wonderingly. The crane grew large enough for him to ride on it with comfort. It then spread its wings, rose high in the air, and flew away over the mountains, right out to sea. Centaro was at first quite frightened, but, by degrees, he grew accustomed to the swift flight through the air. On and on they went for thousands of miles, the bird never stopped for rest or food. But, as it was a paper bird, it doubtless did not require any nourishment. And strange to say, neither did Centaro. After several days they reached an island. The crane flew some distance inland, and then alighted. As soon as Centaro got down from the bird's back, the crane folded up of its own accord and flew into his pocket. Now Centaro began to look about him wonderingly, curious to see what the country of perpetual life was like. He walked first round the country, and then through the town. Everything was, of course, quite strange and different from his own land. But both the land and the people seemed prosperous, so he decided that it would be good for him to stay there, and took up lodgings at one of the hotels. The proprietor was a kind man, and when Centaro told him that he was a stranger and had come to live there, he promised to arrange everything that was necessary with the governor of the city concerning Centaro's sojourn there. He even found a house for his guest, and in this way Centaro obtained his great wish and became a resident in the country of perpetual life. Within the memory of all the islanders, no man had ever died there, as sickness was a thing unknown. Priests had come over from India and China and told them of a beautiful country called Paradise, where happiness and bliss and contentment fill all men's hearts, but its gates could only be reached by dying. This tradition was handed down for ages from generation to generation, but none knew exactly what death was, except that it led to Paradise. Quite unlike Centaro and other ordinary people, instead of having a great dread of death, they all, both rich and poor, longed for it as something good and desirable. They were all tired of their long, long lives and longed to go to the happy land of contentment called Paradise, of which the priests had told them centuries ago. All this Centaro soon found out by talking to the islanders. He found himself, according to his ideas, in the land of topsy-turvydom. Everything was upside down. He had wished to escape from dying. He had come to the land of perpetual life with great relief and joy, only to find that the inhabitants themselves doomed never to die would consider it bliss to find death. What he had hitherto considered poison, these people ate as good food, and all the things to which he had been accustomed as food they rejected. Whenever any merchants from other countries arrived, the rich people rushed to them eager to buy poisons. These they swallowed eagerly, hoping for death to come so that they might go to Paradise. But what were deadly poisons in other lands, or without effect in this strange place, and people who swallowed them with the hope of dying only found that they, in a short time, felt better in health instead of worse? Vanely they tried to imagine what death could be like. The wealthy would have given all their money, and all of their goods, if they could shorten their lives to two or three hundred years even. Without any change to live on forever seemed to this people weary-some and sad. In the chemist shops there was a drug which was in constant demand, because after using it for a hundred years, it was supposed to turn the hair slightly gray, and to bring about disorders of the stomach. Centara was astonished to find that the poisonous globefish was served up in restaurants as a delectable dish, and hawkers in the streets went about selling sauces made as Spanish flies. He never saw anyone ill after eating these horrible things, nor did he ever see anyone with as much as a cold. Centara was delighted. He said to himself that he would never grow tired of living, and that he considered it profane to wish for death. He was the only happy man on the island. For his part he wished to live thousands of years and to enjoy life. He set himself up in business, and for the present never even dreamed of going back to his native land. As years went by, however, things did not go as smoothly as at first. He had heavy losses in business, and several times some affairs went wrong with his neighbors. This caused him great annoyance. Time passed, like the flight of an arrow for him, for he was busy from morning till night. Three hundred years went by in this monotonous way, and then at last he began to grow tired of life in this country, and he longed to see his own land and his old home. However long he lived here, life would always be the same. So was it not foolish and weary some to stay on here forever? Centara, in his wish to escape from the country of perpetual life, recollected Jofuku, who had helped him before when he was wishing to escape from death, and he prayed to the saint to bring him back to his own land again. No sooner did he pray than the paper crane popped out of his pocket. Centara was amazed to see that it had remained undamaged after all of these years. Once more the bird grew and grew till it was large enough for him to mount it, as he did so the bird spread its wings and flew swiftly out across the sea in the direction of Japan. Such was the willfulness of the man's nature that he looked back and regretted all he had left behind. He tried to stop the bird in vain. The crane held on its way for thousands of miles across the ocean. Then a storm came on and the wonderful paper crane got damp, crumpled up, and fell into the sea. Centara fell with it. Very much frightened at the thought of being drowned, he cried out loudly to Jofuku to save him. He looked round but there was no ship in sight. He swallowed a quantity of seawater, which only increased his miserable plight. While he was thus struggling to keep himself afloat, he saw a monstrous shark swimming towards him. As it came nearer it opened its huge mouth ready to devour him. Centara was all but paralyzed with fear now that he felt his end so near, and screamed out as loudly as ever he could to Jofuku to come and rescue him. Lo and behold Centara was awakened by his own screams to find that during his long prayer he had fallen asleep before the shrine, and that all his extraordinary and frightful adventures had only been a wild dream. He was in a cold perspiration with fright and utterly bewildered. Suddenly a bright light came towards him, and in the lights stood a messenger. The messenger held a book in his hand and spoke to Centara. I am sent to you by Jofuku who an answer to your prayer has permitted you in a dream to see the land of perpetual life. But you grew weary of living there and bagged it to be allowed to return to your native land so that you might die. Jofuku, so that he might try you, allowed you to drop into the sea, and then sent a shark to swallow you up. Your desire for death was not real, for even at that moment you cried out loudly, and shouted for help. It is also a vain for you to wish to become a hermit or to find the elixir of life. These things are not for such as you, your life is not austere enough. It is best for you to go back to your paternal home and to live a good and industrious life. Never neglect to keep the anniversaries of your ancestors, and make it your duty to provide for your children's future. Thus will you live to a good old age and be happy, but give up the feigned desire to escape death for no man can do that, and by this time you have surely found out that even when selfish desires are granted, they do not bring happiness. In this book I give you, there are many precepts good for you to know, if you study them you will be guided in the way I have pointed out to you. The angel disappeared as soon as he had finished speaking, and Centaro took the lesson to heart. With the book in his hand he returned to his old home, and giving up all his old vain wishes, tried to live a good and useful life, and to observe the lessons taught him in the book, and he and his house prospered henceforth. End of the story of the man who did not wish to die. Selected from the work entitled, Japanese Fairy Tales, Compiled by Ye the Adora Osaki. Translated by Sadanami Sanjin. Read by Andrea Bourne.