 Mocasco a Montalago by Edgar Ellen Poe This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org Read by Irina Ordinat in Melbourne, Australia, in September 2007 The thousand injuries of Fortunato I had borne as best I could. But when he ventured upon insult, I vowed revenge. You, who so well know the nature of my soul, will not suppose, however, that I give utterance to a threat. At length I would be avenged. This was a point definitively settled. But the very definitiveness with which it was resolved precluded the idea of risk. I must not only punish, but punish with impunity. A wrong is unredressed when retribution overtakes its redressor. It is equally unredressed when the Avenger fails to make himself felt as such to him who has done the wrong. It must be understood that neither by word nor deed had I given Fortunato cause to doubt my good will. I continued, as was my want, to smile in his face, and he did not perceive that my smile now was at the thought of his emulation. He had a weak point, this Fortunato, although in other regards he was a man to be respected and even feared. He prided himself on his connoisseurship in wine. Few Italians have the true virtuoso spirit. For the most part their enthusiasm is adopted to suit the time and opportunity, to practice imposture upon the British and Austrian millionaires. In painting and gemmary, Fortunato, like his countryman, was a quack. But in the matter of old wines, he was sincere. In this point I did not differ from him materially. I was skilful in the Italian bandages myself, and bought largely whenever I could. It was about dusk one evening during the supreme madness of the carnival season that I encountered my friend. He accosted me with excessive warmth, for he had been drinking much. The man wore a motley. He had on a tight-fitting party-striped dress, and his head was surmounted by the conical cap and bells. I was so pleased to see him, that I thought I should never have done ringing his hand. I said to him, My dear Fortunato, you are luckily met. How remarkably well you are looking today. But I have received a pipe of what passes for a Montalardo, and I have my doubts. How? he said. A Montalardo, a pipe? Impossible! And in the middle of the carnival? I have my doubts, I replied. And I was still enough to pay the full Montalardo price, without consulting you in the matter. You were not to be found, and I was fearful of losing a bargain. A Montalardo! I have my doubts. A Montalardo! And I must satisfy them. A Montalardo! As you are engaged, I am on my way to Lucchese. If anyone has a critical turn, it is he. He will tell me, Lucchese cannot tell a Montalardo from Sherry. And yet some fools will have it that his taste is a match for your own. Come, let us go. Wither to your waltz. My friend, no. I will not impose upon you good nature. I perceive you have an engagement. Lucchese, I have no engagement. Come. My friend, no. It is nothing engagement but the severe cold with which I perceive you are afflicted. The waltz are insufferably damp. They are encrusted with nighter. Let us go, nevertheless. The cold is merely nothing. A Montalardo! You have been opposed upon. And as for Lucchese, he cannot distinguish Sherry from a Montalardo. Thus speaking, Fortunadu possessed himself of my arm. Putting on a mask of black silk and drawing a hawk lair closely about my person, I suffered him to hurry me to my palazzo. There were no attendants at home. They had absconded to make merry in honour of the time. I had told them that I should not return until the morning and had given them explicit orders not to stir from the house. These orders were sufficient, I well knew, to ensure their immediate disappearance, one and all, as soon as my back was turned. I took from their sconces two flombo, and giving one to Fortunadu, bowed him through the several suites of rooms to the archway that led into the waltz. I passed down a long and winding staircase, requesting him to be cautious as he followed. We came at length to the foot of the descent and stood together on the damp ground of the caracombs of the Montress Halls. The gate of my friend was unsteady, and the bells upon his cap jingled as he strode. The pipe, he said, it is farther on, said I, but observed the white web-work which gleams from these cavern walls. He turned toward me and looked into my eyes with two filming orbs that distilled the room of intoxication. Niter, he asked. Niter, I replied. How long have you had that cough? My poor friend found it impossible to reply for many minutes. It is nothing, he said at last. Come, I said with decision, we will go back. Your health is precious. You are rich, respected, admired, beloved. You are happy, as once I was. You are a man to be missed. For me it is no matter. Go back. You will be ill, and I cannot be responsible. Besides, there is Lucchese. Enough, he said. The cough is a mere nothing. It will not kill me. I shall not die of a cough. True, true, I replied, and indeed I had no intention of alarming you unnecessarily, but you should use all proper caution. A draught of the smudock will defend us from the damps. Here I knocked off a neck of a bottle, which I drew from a long row of its fellows, that lay upon the mould. Drink, I said, presenting him the wine. He raised it to his lips with a leer. He paused and nodded to me familiarly, while his bells jingled. I drink, he said, to the burry that repose around us, and I to your long life. He again took my arm, and we proceeded. These vaults, he said, are extensive. The Montresors, I replied, were a great and numerous family. I forget your arms. A huge human foot adore in the field as you. The foot crushes a serpent rampant, whose fangs are embedded in the heel. And the motto? Nemo me impune la cesset. Good, he said. The wine sparkled in his eyes, and the bells jingled. My own fancy grew warm with the medoc. We proceeded through the walls of piled bones, with casks and punches intermingling, into the inmost recesses of the catacombs. I paused again, and this time I made bold to seize Fortinata by an arm above the elbow. The nighter, I said. See, it increases. It hangs like moss upon the vaults. We are below the river's bed. The drops of moisture trickle among the bones. Come, we'll go back. Air it is too late. York off. It is nothing, he said. Let us go on. But first, another draft of the medoc. I broke and reached him a flag on off the grave. He emptied it at a breath. His eyes flashed with a fierce light. He left and threw the bottle upwards, with a gesticulation I did not understand. I looked at him in surprise. He repeated the movement. A grotesque one. You do not comprehend, he said. Not I, I replied. Then you are not of the brotherhood. How? You are not of the masons. Yes, yes, I said. Yes, yes. You? Impossible. A mason? A mason, I replied. A sign, he said. It is this, I answered, producing a trowel from beneath the folds of my hocklayer. You jest, he exclaimed, recalling a few paces. But let us proceed to the amontilado. Be it so, I said, replacing the tool beneath the cloak, and again, offering him my arm. He leaned upon it heavily. We continued our route in search of the amontilado. We passed through a range of low arches, descended, passed on, and descending again, arrived at a deep crypt in which the foulness of the air caused our flambeau relative glow than flame. At the most remote end of the crypt there appeared another less spacious. Its walls had been lined with human remains, piled to the vault overhead, in the fashion of the great catacombs of Paris. Three sides of this interior crypt were still ornamented in this manner. From the fourth the bones had been thrown down and laid promiscuously upon the earth, forming at one point a mound of some size. Within the wall thus exposed by the displacing of the bones we perceived a still interior recess, in depth about four feet, in width three, in height six or seven. It seemed to have been constructed for no special use in itself, but formed merely an interval between two of the colossal supports of the roof of the catacombs. And was backed by one of the circumscribing walls of solid granite. It was in vain that Fortunato, uplifting his dull torch, endeavoured to pry into the depth of the recess. Its termination the feeble light did not enable us to see. Proceed, I said. Herein is the amontilato. As for Lucchese he is an ignoramus, interrupted my friend, and stepped unsteadily forward, while I followed immediately at his heels. In an instant he had reached the extremity of the niche, and finding his progress arrested by the rock, stood stupidly bewildered. A moment more, and I had fettered him to the granite. In its surface were two iron staples, distant from each other about two feet horizontally. From one of these depended a short chain, from another a padlock. Throwing the links about his wastes, it was but a work of few seconds to secure it. He was too much astounded to resist. Withdrawing the key, I stepped back from the recess. Past your hand, I said, over the wall. You cannot help feeling the nighter. Indeed, it is very damp. Once more, let me implore you to return. No? Then I must positively leave you. But I must first render you all the little attentions in my power. The Amontolado ejaculated my friend, not yet recovered from his astonishment. True, I replied, the Amontolado. As I said these words, I busyed myself among the pile of bone, of which I have before spoken. Throwing them aside, I soon uncovered a quantity of building-stone and mortar. With these materials, and with the aid of my trowel, I began vigorously to wall up the entrance of the niche. I had scarcely laid the first tier of my masonry when I discovered that intoxication of Fortunato had in a great measure worn off. The earliest indication I had of this was a low, moaning cry from the depth of the recess. It was not a cry of a drunken man. There was then a long and obstinate silence. I had laid the second tier, and the third, and the fourth. And then I heard the furious vibrations of the chain. The noise lasted for several minutes, during which, that I might harken to it with the more satisfaction, I ceased my labours, and sat down upon the bones. When at last the clanking subsided, I resumed the trowel, and finished without interruption the fifth, the sixth, and the seventh tier. The wall was now nearly upon the level with my breast. I again paused, and holding the flambeau over the mason work, threw a few feeble rays upon the figure within. A succession of loud and thrill screams burst suddenly from the throat of the chained form, seemed to thrust me violently back. For a brief moment I hesitated, I trembled, leaving my rapier, I began to grope with it about the recess. But the thought of an instant reassured me. I placed my hand upon the solid fabric of the catacombs, and felt satisfied. I re-approached the wall, I replied to the yells of him who clamoured. I re-echoed, I aided, I surpassed them in volume, and in strength. I did this, and the clamour grew still. It was now midnight, and my task was drawing to a close. I had completed the eighth, the ninth, and the tenth tier. I had finished a portion of the last, and the eleventh. There remained but a single stone to be fitted and plastered in. I struggled with its weight. I placed it partially in its destined position. But now they came from out the niche, a low laugh that erected the hairs upon my head. It was exceeded by a sad voice, which I had difficulty in recognising as that of the noble Fortunato. The voice said, Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha! A very good joke indeed, an excellent jest. We'll have many a rich laugh about it at the palazzo. Ha ha ha ha! Over our wine! The amondilado, I said. Ha ha ha ha ha! Yes! The amondilado! But is it not getting late? Will they not be waiting us at the palazzo? The lady Fortunato and the rest? Let us be gone! Yes, I said. Let us be gone. For the love of God, Mondresor! Yes, I said. For the love of God. But to these words I harkened in vain for a reply. I grew impatient. I called out, Fortunato! No answer. I thrust a torch through the remaining aperture and let it fall within. They came forth in return, only a jingling of the bells. My heart grew sick on account of the dampness of the catacombs. I hastened to make an end of my labour. I forced the last stone into its position. I plastered it up against the new masonry. I re-erected it. I harkened. In the new masonry I re-erected the old rampart of bones. For the half of a century no mortal has disturbed them. In Pate Requiescate End of The Cascua Montelado by Edgar Allan Poe. Miss Brill by Catherine Mansfield This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org Although it was so brilliantly fine the blue sky powdered with gold and great spots of light like white wine splashed over the jardin public Miss Brill was glad that she had decided on her fur. The air was motionless but when you opened your mouth there was just a faint chill like a chill from a glass of iced water before you sip and then a leaf came drifting from nowhere from the sky Miss Brill put up her hand and touched her fur dear little thing it was nice to feel it again she had taken it out of its box that afternoon shaken out the moth powder given it a good brush and rubbed the life back into the dim little eyes what has been happening to me set the sad little eyes oh how sweet it was to see them get her again from the red eider down but the nose which was of some black composition wasn't at all firm it must have had a knock somehow never mind a little dab of black ceiling wax when the time came when it was absolutely necessary little rogue yes, she really felt like that about it little rogue biting its tail just by her left ear she could have taken it off and laid it on her lap and stroked it she felt a tingling in her hands and arms but that came from walking, she supposed and when she breathed something light and sad no, not sad exactly something gentle seemed to move in her bosom there were a number of people out this afternoon far more than last Sunday and the band sounded louder and gayer that was because the season had begun for although the band played all year round on Sundays out of season it was never the same it was like someone playing with only the family to listen it didn't care how it played if there weren't any strangers present wasn't the conductor wearing a new coat too she was sure it was new he scraped with his foot and flapped his arms like a rooster about to crow and the band's men sitting in the green rotunda blew out their cheeks and glared at the music now there came a little fluty bit very pretty a little chain of bright drops she was sure it would be repeated it was she lifted her head and smiled only two people shared her special seat a fine old man in a velvet coat his hands clasped over a huge carved walking stick and the big old woman sitting upright with a roll of knitting on her embroidered apron they did not speak this was disappointing for Miss Brill always looked forward to the conversation she had become really quite expert she thought at listening as though she didn't listen at sitting in other people's lives just for a minute while they talked around her she glanced sideways at the old couple perhaps they would go soon last Sunday too hadn't been as interesting as usual an Englishman and his wife he wearing a dreadful panama hat and she buttoned boots and she'd gone on the whole time about how she ought to wear spectacles she knew she needed them but that it was no good getting any they'd be sure to break and they'd never keep on and he'd been so patient he'd suggested everything gold rims, the kind that curved round her ears little pads inside the bridge no, nothing would please her they'll always be slipping down my nose Miss Brill had wanted to shake her the old people sat on the bench still as statues never mind there was always the crowd to watch two and fro in front of the flower beds and the band retunda the couples and groups paraded stopped to talk to greet to buy a handful of flowers from the old beggar who had his tray fixed to the railings little children ran among them swooping and laughing little boys with big white silk bows under their chins little girls, little French dolls dressed up in velvet and lace and sometimes a tiny staggerer came suddenly rocking into the open from under the trees stopped, stared as suddenly sat down flop until its small high-stepping mother young hen rushed scolding to its rescue other people sat on the benches and green chairs but they were nearly always the same Sunday after Sunday and Miss Brill had often noticed there was something funny about nearly all of them they were odd, silent nearly all old and from the way they stared they looked as though they'd just come from dark little rooms or even cupboards behind the retunda the slender trees with yellow leaves down drooping and through them just a line of sea and beyond the blue sky with gold veined clouds tum tum tum till yum tum tum till yum tum tum tum tum ta blew the band two young girls in red came by and two young soldiers in blue met them and they laughed and paired and went off arm in arm two peasant women with funny straw hats passed gravely leading beautiful smoke-colored donkeys a cold, pale nun hurried by a beautiful woman came along and dropped her bunch of violets and little boy ran after to hand them to her and she took them and threw them away as if they'd been poisoned dear me, Miss Brill didn't know whether to admire that or not and now an ermine toke and a gentleman in grey met just in front of her he was tall, stiff, dignified and she was wearing the ermine toke she'd bought when her hair was yellow now everything, her hair, her face even her eyes was the same color as the shabby ermine and her hand in its cleaned glove lifted to dab her lips was a tiny yellowish paw oh, she was so pleased to see him, delighted she rather thought they were going to meet that afternoon she described where she'd been everywhere, here, there, along by the sea the day was so charming, didn't he agree and wouldn't he, perhaps but he shook his head lighted a cigarette slowly breathed a great deep puff into her face and even while she was still talking and laughing flicked the match away and walked on the ermine toke was alone she smiled more brightly than ever but even the band seemed to know what she was feeling and played more softly played tenderly and a drum beat, the brute, the brute over and over what would she do? what was going to happen now? but as Miss Brill wondered the ermine toke turned raised her hand as though she'd seen someone else much nicer, just over there and patted away and the band changed again and played more quickly, more gaily than ever and the old couple on Miss Brill's seat got up and marched away and such a funny old man with long whiskers hobbled along in time to the music and was nearly knocked over by four girls walking abreast oh, how fascinating it was how she enjoyed it how she loved sitting here, watching it all it was like a play it was exactly like a play who could believe the sky at the back wasn't painted but it wasn't till a little brown dog trotted on solemn and then slowly trotted off like a little theatre dog a little dog that had been drugged that Miss Brill discovered what it was that made it so exciting they were all on the stage they weren't only the audience, not only looking on they were acting even she had a part and came every Sunday no doubt somebody would have noticed if she hadn't been there she was part of the performance after all how strange she'd never thought of it like that before and yet it explained why she made such a point of starting from home at just the same time each week so as not to be late for the performance and it also explained why she had quite a queer shy feeling at telling her English pupils how she spent her Sunday afternoons no wonder Miss Brill nearly laughed out loud she was on the stage she thought of the old Inverley gentleman to whom she read the paper four afternoons a week while he slept in the garden she had got quite used to the frail head on the cotton pillow the hollowed eyes the open mouth and the high pinched nose if he'd been dead she mightn't have noticed for weeks she wouldn't have minded but suddenly he knew he was having the paper read to him by an actress an actress the old head lifted two points of light quivered in the old eyes an actress are ye and Miss Brill smoothed the newspaper as though it were the manuscript of her part and said gently yes I have been an actress for a long time the band had been having a rest now they started again and what they played was warm sunny yet there was just a faint chill something what was it not sadness no, not sadness something that made you want to sing the tone lifted lifted the light shun and it seems to Miss Brill that in another moment all of them the whole company would begin singing the young ones the laughing ones who were moving together they would begin and the men's voices very resolute and brave would join them and then she too she too and the others on the benches they would come in with a kind of accompaniment something low that scarcely rose or fell something so beautiful moving and Miss Brill's eyes filled with tears and she looked smiling at all the other members of the company yes we understand we understand she thought though what they understood she didn't know just at that moment a boy and girl came and sat where the old couple had been they were beautifully dressed they were in love the hero and heroine of course just arrived from his father's yacht and still soundlessly singing still with that trembling smile Miss Brill prepared to listen no, not now said the girl not here or I can't but why because of that stupid old thing at the end there asked the boy why does she come here at all who wants her and she keep her silly old mug at home it's her fur fur which is so funny giggled the girl it's exactly like a fried whiting I'll be off with you said the boy in an angry whisper then tell me ma petit chair no, not here said the girl not yet on her way home she usually bought a slice of honey cake at the bakers it was her Sunday treat sometimes there was an almond in her slice sometimes not it made a great difference if there was an almond it was like carrying home a tiny present a surprise something that might very well not have been there she hurried on the almond Sundays and struck the match for the kettle in quite a dashing way but today she passed the bakers by climbed the stairs went into the little dark room her room, like a cupboard and sat down on the red-eyed her down she sat there for a long time the box that the fur came out of was lying on the bed she unclasped the necklace quickly quickly without looking laid it inside but when she put the lid on she thought she heard something crying end of Miss Brill by Catherine Mansfield the singing lesson by Catherine Mansfield this is a LibriVox recording all LibriVox recordings are in the public domain for more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org with despair cold, sharp despair buried deep in her heart like a wicked knife Miss Meadows in cap and gown and carrying a little baton trod the cold corridors that led to the music hall girls of all ages, rosy from the air and bubbling over with that gleeful excitement that comes from running to school on a fine autumn morning hurried, skipped, fluttered by from the hollow classrooms came a quick drumming of voices a bell rang a voice like a bird cried Murio and then there came from the staircase a tremendous knock, knock, knocking someone had dropped her dumbbells the science mistress stopped Miss Meadows good morning she cried in her sweet affected drawl isn't it cold it might be winter Miss Meadows hugging the knife stared in hatred at the science mistress everything about her was sweet pale like honey you would not have been surprised to see a bee caught in the tangles of that yellow hair it is rather sharp said Miss Meadows grimly the other smiled her sugary smile you look frozen said she her blue eyes opened wide there came a mocking light in them had she noticed anything oh, not quite as bad as that said Miss Meadows and she gave the science mistress in exchange for her smile a quick grimace and passed on forms four, five and six were assembled in the music hall the noise was deafening on the platform by the piano stood Mary Beasley Miss Meadows' favourite who played accompaniments she was turning the music stool what she saw Miss Meadows she gave a loud warning shh shh girls and Miss Meadows her hands thrust in her sleeves the baton under her arm strode down the centre aisle mounted the steps turned sharply seized the brass music stand planted it in front of her and gave two sharp taps with her baton for silence silence please immediately and looking at nobody her glance swept over that sea of coloured flannel blouses with bobbing pink faces and hands quivering butterfly hair bows and music books outspread she knew perfectly well what they were thinking meddies in a wax well let them think it her eyelids quivered she tossed her head defying them what could the thoughts of those creatures matter to someone who stood there bleeding to death pierced to the heart to the heart by such a letter I feel more and more strongly that our marriage would be a mistake not that I do not love you I love you as much as is possible for me to love any woman but truth to tell I have come to the conclusion that I am not a marrying man and the idea of settling down filled me with nothing but and the word discussed was scratched out lightly and regret written over the top Basil Miss Meadows stalked over to the piano and Mary Beasley who was waiting for this moment bent forward her curls fell over her cheeks while she breathed good morning Miss Meadows and she motioned rather than handed to her mistress a beautiful yellow chrysanthemum this little ritual of the flower had been gone through for ages and ages quite determined to have it was as much part of the lesson as opening the piano but this morning instead of taking it up instead of tucking it into her belt while she leaned over Mary and said thank you Mary how very nice turned to page 32 what was Mary's horror when Miss Meadows totally ignored the chrysanthemum made no reply to her greeting but said in a voice of ice page 14 please and mark the accents well staggering moment Mary blushed until the tears stood in her eyes but Miss Meadows was gone back to the music stand her voice rang through the music hall page 14 we will begin with page 14 a lament now girls you ought to know it by this time we shall take it all together not in part all together and without expression sing it though quite simply beating time with the left hand she raised the baton she tapped the music stand twice down came Mary on the opening chord down came all those left hands beating the air and in chimed those young mournful voices fast ah too fast fade the roses of pleasure soon autumn yields into wintered rear fleetly ah fleetly music's gay measure passes away from the listening ear good heavens what could be more tragic than that lament every note was a sigh a sob a groan of awful mournfulness Miss Meadows lifted her arms in the wide gown and began conducting with both hands I feel more and more strongly that our marriage would be a mistake she beat and the voices cried fleetly ah fleetly what could have possessed him to write such a letter what could have led up to it it came out of nothing his last letter had been all about a fumed oak bookcase he had bought for our books and a natty little hall stand he had seen a very neat affair with carved owl on a bracket holding three hat brushes in its claws how she had smiled at that so like a man to think one needed three hat brushes from the listening ear sang the voices once again said Miss Meadows time in parts still without expression fast ah too fast with the gloom of the contraltoes added one could scarcely help shuddering fade the roses of pleasure last time he had come to see her Basil had worn a rose in his buttonhole how handsome he had looked in that bright blue suit with that dark red rose and he knew it too he couldn't help knowing it first he stroked his hair then his moustache his teeth gleamed when he smiled the headmaster's wife keeps on asking me to dinner it's a perfect nuisance I never get an evening to myself in that place but can't you refuse oh well it doesn't do for a man in my position to be unpopular music's gay measure wailed the voices the willow trees outside the high narrow windows waved in the wind they had lost half their leaves the tiny ones that clung wriggled like fishes caught on a line I am not a marrying man the voices were silent the piano waited quite good said Miss Meadows but still in such a strange stony tone that the younger girls began to feel positively frightened but now that we know it we shall take it with expression as much expression as you can put into it think of the words girls use your imaginations fast ah too fast cried Miss Meadows that ought to break out a loud strong forte element and then in the second line winter drear make that drear sound as if a cold wind were blowing through it drear said she so awfully that Mary Beasley on the music stool wriggled her spine the third line should be one crescendo fleekly ah fleekly music's gay measure breaking in the first word of the last line passes and then on the word away you must begin to die to fade until the listening ear is nothing more than a faint whisper you can slow down as much as you like almost on the last line now please again the two light taps she lifted her arms again fast ah too fast and the idea of settling down fills me with nothing but disgust disgust was what he had written that was as good as to say their engagement was definitely broken off broken off their engagement people had been surprised enough that she had got engaged the science mistress would not believe it at first but nobody had been as surprised as she she was 30, Bazel was 25 it had been a miracle simply a miracle to hear him say as they walked home from church that very dark night you know some how or other I've got fond of you and he had taken hold of the end of her ostrich feather boa passes away from the listening ear repeat repeat said Miss Meadows more expression girls once more fast ah too fast the older girls were crimson some of the younger ones began to cry big spots of rain blew against the windows and one could hear the willows whispering not that I do not love you but my darling if you love me thought Miss Meadows I don't mind how much it is love me as little as you like but she knew he didn't love her not to have cared enough to scratch out that word disgust so that she couldn't read it soon autumn yields unto winter drear she would have to leave the school too she could never face the science mistress or the girls after it got known she would have to disappear somewhere passes away the voices began to die to fade to whisper to vanish suddenly the door opened a little girl in blue walked fussily up the aisle hanging her head biting her lips holding the silver bangle on her red little wrist she came up the steps and stood before Miss Meadows well Monica what is it oh if you please Miss Meadows said little girl gasping Miss Wyatt wants to see you in the mistress's room very well said Miss Meadows and she called to the girls I shall put you on your honor to talk quietly while I am away but they were too subdued to do anything else most of them were blowing their noses the corridors were silent and cold they echoed to Miss Meadows' steps the headmistress sat at her desk for a moment she did not look up she was as usual disentangling her eyeglasses which had got caught in her lace tie sit down Miss Meadows she said very kindly and then she picked up a pink envelope from the blotting pad I send for you just now because this telegram has come for you a telegram for me Miss Wyatt Basil he had committed suicide beside it Miss Meadows her hand flew out but Miss Wyatt held the telegram back a moment I hope it's not bad news she said so more than kindly and Miss Meadows tore it open pay no attention to letter must have been mad bought hat stand today Basil she read she couldn't take her eyes off the telegram I do hope it's nothing very serious said Miss Wyatt leaning forward oh no thank you Miss Wyatt blushed Miss Meadows it's nothing bad at all and she gave an apologetic little laugh it's from my fiance saying that saying that there was a pause I see said Miss Wyatt and another pause then you have 15 minutes more of your class Miss Meadows haven't you yes Miss Wyatt she got up she half ran towards the door oh just one minute Miss Meadows said Miss Wyatt I must say I don't approve of my teachers having telegram sent to them in school hours unless in case of very bad news such as death explained Miss Wyatt or a very serious accident or something to that effect good news Miss Meadows will always keep you know on the wings of hope of love of joy Miss Meadows sped back to the music hall she smiled up the steps over to the piano page 32 Mary she said page 32 and picking up the yellow chrysanthemum she held it to her lips to hide her smile then she turned to the girls wrapped with her baton page 32 girls page 32 we come here today with flowers or laden with baskets of fruit and ribbons to boot to congratulate stop stop cried Miss Meadows this is awful this is dreadful she screamed at her girls what's the matter with you all think girls think of what you're singing use your imaginations with flowers or laden baskets of fruit and ribbons to boot and congratulate Miss Meadows broke off don't look so doleful girls it ought to sound warm, joyful, eager congratulate once more quickly all together now then and this time Miss Meadows voice sounded over all the other voices full deep glowing with expression end of the singing lesson by Catherine Mansfield the sisters from Dubliners by James Joyce this is a LibriVox recording all LibriVox recordings are in the public domain for more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org there was no hope from this time it was the third stroke night after night I had passed the house it was vacation time and studied the lighted square of window and night after night I had found it lighted in the same way faintly and evenly if he was dead I thought I would see the reflection of candles on the darkened blind for I knew that two candles must be set at the head of a corpse he'd often said to me I am not long for this world and I had thought his words idle now I knew they were true every night as I gazed up at the window I said softly to myself the word paralysis it had always sounded strangely in my ears like the word nomen in the euclid and the word simony in the catechism but now it sounded to me like the name of some maleficent and sinful being it filled me with fear and yet I longed to be nearer to it and to look upon its deadly work old Cotter was sitting at the fire smoking when I came downstairs to supper while my aunt was ladling out to my stir but he said as if returning to some form or remark of his no I wouldn't say he was exactly but there was something queer there was something uncanny about him I'll tell you my opinion he began to puff at his pipe no doubt arranging his opinion in his mind tiresome old fool when we knew him first he used to be rather interesting talking of faints and worms but I soon grew tired of him and his endless stories about the distillery I have my own theory about it I think it was one of those peculiar cases but it's hard to say he began to puff again at his pipe without giving us his theory my uncle saw me staring and said to me well so your old friend is gone you'll be sorry to hear who? said I Father Flynn is he dead? Mr. Cotter here has just told us he was passing by the house I knew that I was under observation so I continued eating as if the news had not interested me my uncle explained to old Cotter the youngster and he were great friends the old chap taught him a great deal mind you and to say he had a great wish for him God have mercy on his soul said my aunt piously old Cotter looked at me for a while I felt that his little beady black eyes were examining me but I would not satisfy him by looking up from my plate he returned to his pipe and finally spat rudely into the grate I wouldn't like children of mine he said to have much to say to a man like that what do you mean how do you mean Mr. Cotter asked my aunt what I mean is said old Cotter it's bad for children my idea is let a young lad run about and play with young lads of his own age and not be am I right Jack that's my principal too said my uncle let him learn to box his corner that's what I'm always saying to that little Ross seclusion there take exercise why when I was a nipper every morning in my life I had a cold bath winter and summer and that's what stands to me now education's all very fine and large Mr. Cotter might take a pic of that leg mutton he added to my aunt no no not for me said old Cotter my aunt brought the dish from the safe and put it on the table but why do you think it's not good for children Mr. Cotter she asked it's bad for children said old Cotter because their mind are so impressionable when children see things like that you know it has an effect I crowned my mouth would stir but her fear that I might give utterance to my anger tiresome old red-nosed imbecile it was late when I fell asleep though I was angry with old Cotter for alluding to me as a child I puzzled my head to extract meaning from his unfinished sentences in the dark of my room I imagined that I saw again the heavy grey face of the paralytic I drew the blankets over my head and tried to think of Christmas but the grey face still followed me it murmured and I understood that it desired to confess something I felt my soul receding into some pleasant and vicious region and there again I found it waiting for me it began to confess to me in a murmuring voice and I wondered why it smiled continually and why the lips were so moist with spittle but then I remembered that I had died of paralysis and I felt that I too was smiling feebly as if to absolve the simoniac of his sin the next morning after breakfast I went down to look at Little House in Great Britain Street it was an unassuming shop registered under the vague name of drapery the drapery consisted mainly of children's booties and umbrellas and on ordinary days a notice used to hang in the window saying umbrellas recovered no notice was visible now for the shutters were up a crepe bouquet was tied to the door knocker with ribbon two poor women and a telegram boy were reading the card pinned on the crepe I also approached and read July 1st 1895 the reference James Flynn formerly of St. Catherine's Church Mead Street aged 65 years R.I.P the reading of the card persuaded me that he was dead and I was disturbed to find myself at check had he not been dead I would have gone into the little dark room behind the shop to find him sitting in his armchair by the fire neatly smothered in his great coat perhaps my aunt would have given me a packet of high toast for him and this present would have roused him from his stupefied toes it was always I who emptied the packet into his black stuff box for his hands trembled too much to allow him to do this he was spilling half the snuff about the floor even as he raised his large trembling hand to his nose little clouds of smoke dribbled through his fingers over the front of his coat it may have been these constant showers of snuff which gave his ancient priestly garments their green faded luck for the red handkerchief blackened as it always was with the snuff stains of a week with which he tried to brush away the fallen grains was quite inefficacious I wished to go in and look at him but I had not the courage to knock I walked away slowly along the sunny side of the street reading all the theatrical advertisements in the shop windows as I went I found it strange that neither I nor the day seemed in a morning mood and I felt even annoyed at discovering in myself a sensation of freedom as if I had been freed from something by his death I wondered at this for as my uncle had said the night before he had taught me a great deal he had studied in the Irish College in Rome and he had taught me to pronounce Latin properly he had told me stories about the catacombs and about Napoleon Bonaparte and he had explained to me the meaning of the different ceremonies of the Mass and of the different vestments worn by the priest sometimes he had amused himself by putting difficult questions to me asking me what one should do in certain circumstances or whether such and such sins were mortal or venial or only imperfections his questions showed me how complex and mysterious were certain institutions of the church which I had always regarded as the simplest acts the duties of the priests toward the Eucharist and towards the secrecy of the confessional seemed so grave to me that I wondered how anybody had ever found in himself the courage to undertake them and I was not surprised when he told me that the fathers of the church had written books as the post office directory and as closely printed as the law notices in the newspaper elucidating all these intricate questions often when I thought of this I could make no answer or only a very foolish and halting one upon which he used to smile and nod his head twice or thrice sometimes he used to put me through the responses of the Mass which he had made me learn by heart and as I pattered he used to smile pensively and nod his head now and then pushing huge pinches of snuff up each nostril alternately when he smiled he used to uncover his big discolored teeth and let his tongue lie upon his lower lip a habit which had made me feel uneasy in the beginning of a acquaintance before I knew him well as I walked along in the sun I remembered old Cotter's words and tried to remember what had happened afterwards in the dream I remembered that I had noticed long velvet curtains and a swinging lamp of antique fashion I felt that I had been very far away in some land where the customs were strange in Persia I thought but I could not remember the end of the dream in the evening my aunt took me with her to visit the house of mourning it was after sunset but the window panes of the houses that looked to the west reflected the tony gold of a great bank of clouds nanny received us in the hall and as it would have been unseemly to have shouted at her my aunt shook hands with her for all the old woman pointed upwards interrogatively and on my aunt's nodding proceeded to toil up the narrow staircase before us her bowed head being scarcely above the level of the banister rail at the first landing she stopped and beckoned us forward encouragingly towards the open door of the dead room my aunt went in and the old woman seeing that I hesitated to enter began to beckon to me again repeatedly with her hand I went in on tiptoe the room through the lace end of the blind was suffused with dusky golden light amid which the candles looked like pale thin flames he had been coffined nanny gave the lead and we three knelt down at the foot of the bed I pretended to pray but I could not gather my thoughts because the old woman's mutterings distracted me I noticed how clumsily her skirt was hooked at the back and how the heels of her cloth boots were trodden down all to one side the fancy came to me that the old priest was smiling as he lay there in his coffin but no when we rose and went up to the head of the bed I saw that he was not smiling there he lay, solemn and copious vested as for the altar his large hands loosely retaining a chalice his face was very truculent, grey and massive with black cavernous nostrils circled by a scanty white fur there was a heavy odour in the room the flowers we crossed ourselves and came away in the little room downstairs we found Eliza seated in his armchair in state I groped my way towards my usual chair in the corner while nanny went to the sideboard and brought out a canter of sherry and some wine glasses she set these on the table and invited us to take a little glass of wine then at her sister's bidding she filled out the sherry into the glasses and passed them to us she pressed me to take some cream crackers also but I declined because I thought I would make too much noise eating them she seemed to be somewhat disappointed at my refusal and went over quietly to the sofa where she sat down behind her sister no one spoke we all gazed at the empty fireplace my aunt waited until Eliza sighed and then said how well he's gone to a better world Eliza sighed again and bowed her head in a scent my aunt fingered the stem of her wine glass before sipping a little did he peacefully? she asked all quite peacefully ma'am said Eliza you couldn't tell when the bread went out of him he had a beautiful death, God be praised and everything Father O'Rourke was in with him at Tuesday and anointed him and prepared him and all he knew then he was quite resigned he looks quite resigned, said my aunt that's what the woman we had in to wash him said she said he just looked as if he was asleep he looked that peaceful and resigned no one would think he'd make such a beautiful corpse yes indeed, said my aunt she sipped a little more from her glass and said well, Miss Flynn, at any rate it must be a great comfort for you to know that you did all you could for him you were both very kind to him, I must say Eliza smoothed her dress over her knees ah, poor James, she said God knows we done all we could as poor as we are we wouldn't see him want anything while he was in it Nanny had leaned her head against a sofa pillow and seemed about to fall asleep there is poor Nanny, said Eliza, looking at her she's wore out all the work we had she and me getting in the woman to wash him and then laying him out and then the coffin and then arranging about the mass in the chapel only for father or worker don't know what we'd done at all it was him who brought us all them flowers and them two candlesticks out of the chapel and wrote out the notice for the Freemans general and took charge of all the papers for the cemetery and poured James's insurance it wasn't that good of him, said my aunt Eliza closed her eyes and shook her head slowly ah, there's no friends like the old friends, she said when all is said and done, no friends anybody can trust indeed that's true, said my aunt and I'm sure now that he's gone to his eternal reward he won't forget you and all your kindness to him ah, poor James, said Eliza he was no great trouble to us you wouldn't hear him in the house anymore than now still I know he's gone and all to that it's when it's all over that you'll miss him, said my aunt I know that, said Eliza I won't be bringing him in his cup of beef tea anymore nor you, ma'am, sending him his stuff ah, poor James she stopped as if she were communing with the past and then said, shrewdly mind you, I noticed there was something queer coming over him laterally whenever I'd bring him in his soap to him there I'd find him with his brevery falling to the floor lying back in the chair in his mouth open she laid a finger against her nose and frowned then she continued but still in all he kept on saying that before the summer was over he'd go out for a drive one fine day just to see the old house again where we were all born down in Irish town and take me and Nanny with him if we could only get one of them new fangled carriages that makes no noise that Father Work taught him about then with the rheumatic queues for the day, cheap, he said Johnny rushes over the way there and drive out the three of us together of a Sunday evening he had his mind set on that, poor James the Lord had mercy on his soul, said my aunt Eliza took out her handkerchief and wiped her eyes with it then she put it back again in her pocket and gazed into the empty grate for some time without speaking he was too scrupulous always, she said the duties of the priesthood was too much for him and then his life was, you might say, crossed yes, said my aunt, he was a disappointed man you could see that the silence took possession of little room and under cover of it I approached the table and tasted my sherry and then returned quietly to my chair in the corner Eliza seemed to have fallen into a deep reverie we waited respectfully for her to break the silence and after a long pause she said slowly it was that chalice he broke, that was the beginning of it of course to say it was alright, it contained nothing I mean but still, to say it was the boy's fault what poor James was so nervous, God be merciful to him and was it, said my aunt I heard something Eliza nodded that affected his mind, she said and after that he began to mope by himself talking to no one and wondering about by himself so one night he was wanted for to go on a call and he couldn't find them anywhere they looked high up and low down and still they couldn't see his height from anywhere so then the clerk suggested to try to chapel and then they got the keys and opened the chapel and the clerk and father of work and another priest that was there brought in a light for it to look for him and what do you think but there he was sitting up by himself in the dark in his confession box wide awake and laughing like softly to himself she stopped suddenly as if to listen I too listened but there was no sound in the house and I knew that the old priest was lying still in his coffin as we had seen him, solemn and truculent in death an idle chalice on his breast Eliza resumed wide awake and laughing like to himself so then of course when they saw that that made them think that there was something gone wrong with him and of the sisters by James Joyce this is a LibriVox recording all LibriVox recordings are in the public domain for more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org this reading by Todd Cutler The Survivors A Memorial Day Story by Elsie Singmaster in the year 1868 when Memorial Day was instituted Fosterville had 35 men in its parade Fosterville was a border town in it enthusiasm had run high and many more men had enlisted than those required by the draft all the men were on the same side but Adam Faust, who slipping away joined himself to the troops of his mother's southern state it could not have been any great trial for Adam to fight against most of his companions in Fosterville for there was only one of them with whom he did not quarrel that one was his cousin Henry from whom he was inseparable and if whose friendship for any other boys he was intensely jealous Henry was a frank open-hearted lad who would have lived on good terms with the whole world if Adam had allowed him to Adam did not return to Fosterville until the morning of the first Memorial Day of whose establishment he was unaware he had been ill for months and it was only now that he had earned enough to make his way home he was slightly lame and he had lost two fingers of his left hand he got down from the train at the station and found himself at once in a great crowd he knew no one and no one seemed to know him without asking any questions he started up the street he meant to go first of all to the house of his cousin Henry and then to set about making arrangements to resume his long interrupted business that of a saddler which he could still follow in spite of his injury as he hurried along he heard the sound of band music and realized that some sort of procession was advancing with the throng about him he pressed to the curb the tune was one which he hated the colors he hated also the marchers, all but one, he had never liked there was Newton Town with the sergeant stripe on his blue sleeve there was Edward Green, a captain there was Peter Allinson, a color bearer at their head, taller, handsomer dear than ever to Adam's jealous eyes walked Henry Faust in an instant of forgetfulness Adam waved his hand but Henry did not see Adam chose to think that he saw and would not answer the veterans passed and Adam drew back and was lost in the crowd but Adam had a parade of his own and the evening when the music and the speeches were over and the half dozen graves of those of Fosterville's young men who had been brought home had been heaped with flowers and Fosterville sat on doorsteps and porches talking about the day Adam put on a gray uniform and walked from one end of the village to the other these were people who had known him always the word flew from step to step many persons spoke to him some laughed and a few jeered to no one did Adam pay any heed passed the house of Newton Town passed the store of Ed Green passed the wide lawn of Henry Faust walked Adam his hands clasped behind his back as though to make more perpendicular than perpendicularity itself that stiff backbone Henry Faust ran down the steps and out to the gate oh Adam cried he Adam stopped stock still he could see Peter Allinson in Newton Town and even Ed Green on Henry's porch they were all having ice cream and cake together well what said he roughly won't you shake hands with me no said Adam won't you come in never still Henry persisted someone might do you harm Adam let them said Adam then Adam walked on alone Adam walked alone for 40 years not only on Memorial Day did he don his gray uniform and make the rounds of the village when the Fosterville Grand Army Post on Friday evenings in the poster Adam managed to meet most of the members either going or returning he and his gray suit became gradually so familiar to the village that no one turned his head or glanced up from book or paper to see him go by he had from time to time a new suit and he ordered from somewhere in the south a succession of gray broad brimmed military hats the father the war sank into the past the straighter grew old Adam's back the prouder his head sometimes early in the 40 years the acquaintances of his childhood especially the women remonstrated with him the wars over Adam they would say can't you forget it those GAR fellows don't forget it Adam would answer they haven't changed their principles why should I change mine but you might make up with Henry that's nobody's business but my own but when you were children you were never separated make up Adam when Henry needs me I'll help him said Adam Henry will never need you look at all he's got well then I don't need him to clear Adam as he walked away he went back to his saddler shop where he sat all day stitching he had ample time to think of Henry in the past brought up like twins he would say sharing like brothers now he has a fine business and a fine home and fine children I have nothing but I have my principles I never chuckled to him someday he'll need me you'll see as Adam grew older it became more and more certain that Henry would never need him for anything Henry tried again and again to make friends but Adam would have none of him he talked more and more to himself as he sat at his work used to help him over the brook and bade his hook for him even built corn cob houses for him to knock down that much literally was than me stepped out of the race when I found he wanted Annie he might ask me for something Adam seemed often to be growing childish by the year 1875 15 of Fosterville's 35 veterans had died the men who survived the war were for the most part not strong men and weaknesses established in prisons and on long marches asserted themselves 15 times the Fosterville post paraded to the cemetery and read its committal service and fired its salute for these parades Adam did not put on his grey uniform during the next 20 years deaths were fewer Fosterville prospered as never before it built factories and electric car line of all its enterprises Henry Faust was at the head he enlarged his house and bought farms and grew handsomer as he grew older everybody loved him all Fosterville except Adam sought his company it seemed sometimes as though Adam would almost die from loneliness and jealousy Henry Faust sitting with Ed Green said Adam to himself never accustomed his eyes to this phenomenon Henry, consortant with Newtown the grand army post also grew in importance it paraded each year with more ceremony it imported fine music and great speakers from Memorial Day presently the sad procession to the cemetery began once more there was a long cold winter with many cases of pneumonia and three veterans succumbed there was an intensely hot summer and twice in one month the post read its committal service and fired its salute a few years more and the post numbered but three passed them still on post evenings walked Adam head in air hands clasped behind his back there was Edward Green round fat who puffed and panted there was Newton Town who walked in spite of palsy as though he had won the battle of Gettysburg there was last of all Henry Faust who at 75 was hail and strong usually a tall son walked beside him or grandchild clung to his hand he was almost never alone it was as though everyone who knew him tried to have as much as possible of his company passed him with a grave nod walked Adam Adam was two years older than Henry it required more and more stretching of arms behind his back to keep his shoulders straight in April Newton Town was taken ill and died Edward Green was terrified though he considered himself in spite of his shortness of breath a strong man don't let anything happen to you Henry he would say don't let anything get you Henry I can't march alone I'll be there Henry would reassure him only one look at Henry and the most alarmed would have been comforted it would kill me to march alone said Edward Green as if Faustreville realized that it could not continue long to show its devotion to its veterans it made this year special preparations for Memorial Day the Faustreville band practiced elaborate music the children were drilled and marching the children were to proceed the veterans to the cemetery and were to scatter flowers over the graves houses were gaily decorated flags and banners floated in the pleasant spring breeze early in the morning carriages and wagons began to bring in the country folk Adam Faust realized as well as Faustreville that the parades of veterans were drawing to their clothes this may be the last time I can show my principles said he with grim setting of his lips I will put on my grey coat early in the morning though the two veterans were to march to the cemetery carriages were provided to bring them home Faustreville meant to be as careful as possible of its treasures I don't need any carriage to ride in like Ed Green said Adam proudly I can march out and back perhaps Ed Green will have to ride out as well as back but Edward Green neither rode nor walked the day turned suddenly warm the heat and excitement accelerated his already rapid breathing the doctor forbade his setting foot to the ground but I will cried Edward in whom the spirit of the war still lived no said the doctor then I will ride you will stay in bed said the doctor so without Edward Green the parade was formed before the courthouse waited the band and the long line of school children and the Burgess and the fire company and the distinguished stranger took the address until Henry Faust appeared in his blue suit with his flag on his breast and his bouquet in his hand on each side of him walked a tall middle aged son who seemed to hand him over reluctantly to the Marshal who was to escort him to his place smilingly he spoke to the Marshal but he was the only one who smiled or spoke for an instant men and women broke off in the middle of their sentences a husky something in their throats children looked up at him with awe even his own grandchildren did not dare to wave or call from their places in the ranks then the storm of cheers broke on the next corner Adam Faust waited he was clad in his gray uniform those who looked at him closely saw with astonishment that it was a new uniform his brows met in a frown his gray mustache seemed to bristle how he hates them said one citizen of Fosterville to another just look at poor Adam used to bait his hook for him Adam was saying used to carry him pick a back used to go haves with him on everything now he walks with Ed Green Adam pressed forward to the curb the band was playing marching through Georgia which he hated everybody was cheering the volume of sound was deafening your Ned Green said Adam fat, lazy didn't have a wound dare say he hid behind a tree dare say the band was in sight now the back of the drum major appeared then all the musicians swung around the corner after them came the little children with their flowers and their shining faces him and Ned Green next said old Adam but Henry walked alone Adam's whole body jerked in his astonishment he heard someone say that Edward Green was sick that the doctor had forbidden him to march or even to ride as he pressed near the curb he heard the admiring comments of the crowd isn't he magnificent see his beautiful flowers his grandchildren always send him his flowers he's our first citizen he's mine Adam wanted to cry out he's mine never had Adam felt so miserable so jealous, so heart-sick his eyes were filled with the great figure Henry was in truth magnificent not only in himself but in what he represented he seemed symbolic of a great era of the past and at the same time of a new age which was advancing old Adam understood all his glory he's mine said old Adam again foolishly Adam leaned forward with startled staring eyes Henry had bowed and smiled in answer to the cheers across the street his own house was a mass of color red white and blue over windows and doors gay dresses on the porch on each side the pavement was crowded with a shouting multitude surely no hero has ever had a more glorious passage through the streets of his birthplace but old Adam saw that Henry's face blanched that there appeared suddenly upon it an expression of intolerable pain for an instant Henry's step faltered and grew uncertain then old Adam began to behave like a wild man he pushed himself through the crowd he flung himself upon the rope as if to tear it down he called out wait, wait frightened women fearful of some sinister purpose tried to grasp and hold him no man was immediately at hand or Adam would have been seized and taken away as for the feeble women Adam shook them off and laughed at them let me go you geese said he a mounted marshal saw him and rode down upon him men started from under their ropes to pursue him but Adam eluded them or outdistanced them he strode across an open space with a surety which gave no hint of the terrible beating of his heart until he reached the side of Henry him he greeted breathlessly and with terrible eagerness Henry said he gasping Henry do you want me to walk along Henry saw the alarmed crowds he saw the marshal's hand stretch to seize Adam he saw most clearly of all the tearful eyes under the beatling brows Henry's voice shook but he made himself clear it's all right said he to the marshal let him be I saw that you were alone said Adam I said Henry needs me I know what it is to be alone I but Adam did not finish his sentence he found a hand on his a blue arm linked tightly in his grey arm he felt himself moved along amid thunderous roars of sound of course I need you said Henry I've needed you all along then old but young their lives almost ended but themselves immortal united to be divided no more amid an ever thickening sound of cheers the two marched down the street the end of the survivors The Turnings of a Bookworm by Carolin Wells from the wit and humor of America volume 1 of 10 edited by Marshall P. Wilder read by Carolin Francis this is a LibriVox recording all LibriVox recordings are in the public domain for more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org love levels all plots dead men sell no tales a new boom sweeps clean circumstances alter bookcases the more haste the less red too many books spoil the trade many hands make light literature epigrams cover a multitude of sins ye cannot serve art and mammon a little sequel is a dangerous thing it's a long page that has no turning don't look a gift book in the binding a guilt-edged volume makes no accuser in a multitude of characters there is safety incidents will happen even in the best regulated novels one touch of nature makes the whole book sell where there's a will there's a detective story a book in the hand is worth two in the library an ounce of invention is worth a pound of style a good name is rather to be chosen than great characters where there's so much puff there must be some buyer end of The Turnings of a Bookworm by Carolyn Wells The Ugly Duckling by Hans Andersen this is a LibriVox recording all LibriVox recordings are in the public domain for more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org read by Carolyn Francis it was summer in the land of Denmark and though for most of the year the country looks flat and ugly it was beautiful now the wheat was yellow the oats were green the hay was dry and delicious to roll in and from the old ruined house which nobody lived in down to the edge of the canal was a forest of great birdocks so tall that a whole family of children might have dwelt in them and found out it was under these birdocks that a duck had built herself a warm nest and was now sitting all day on six pretty eggs five of them were white but the sixth, which was larger than the others was of an ugly gray color the duck was always puzzled about that egg and how it came to be so different from the rest other birds might have thought that when the duck went down in the morning to the water to stretch her legs in a good swim some lazy mother might have been on the watch and have popped her egg into the nest but ducks are not clever at all and are not quick at counting so this duck did not worry herself about the matter but just took care that the big egg should be as warm as the rest this was the first set of eggs that the duck had ever laid and to begin with she had been proud and laughed at the other mothers who were always neglecting their duties to gossip with each other or to take little extra swims besides the two in the morning and evening that were necessary for health but at length she grew tired of sitting there all day surely eggs take longer hatching than they did she said to herself and she pined for a little amusement also still but if she left her eggs and the ducklings in them to die none of her friends would ever speak to her again so there she stayed only getting off the eggs several times a day to see if the shells were cracking which may have been the very reason why they did not crack sooner she had looked at the eggs at least 150 times when to her joy she saw a tiny crack on two of them cramming back to the nest she drew the eggs closer the one to the other and never moved for the whole of that day next morning she was rewarded by noticing cracks in the whole five eggs and by midday two little yellow heads were poking out from the shells this encouraged her so much that after breaking the shells with her bill so that the little creatures could get free of them she sat steadily the whole night upon the nest and before the sun rose the five white eggs were empty and ten pairs of eyes were gazing out upon the green world now the duck had been carefully brought up and did not like dirt and besides broken shells are not at all comfortable things to sit or walk upon so she pushed the rest out over the side and decided to have some company to talk to till the big egg hatched but day after day went on and the big egg showed no signs of cracking and the duck grew more and more impatient and began to wish to consult her husband who never came I can't think what is the matter with it the duck grumbled to her neighbor who had called in to pay her a visit why I could have hatched two broods in the time that this one has taken let me look at it said the old neighbor ah I thought so it is a turkey's egg once when I was young they tricked me to sitting on a brood of turkey eggs myself and when they were hatched the creatures were so stupid that nothing would make them learn to swim I have no patience when I think of it well I will give it another chance side the duck and if it does not come out of its shell in another 24 hours I will just leave it alone and teach the rest of them to swim properly and to find their own food I really can't be expected to do two things at once and with a fluff of her feathers she pushed the egg into the middle of the nest all through the next day she sat on giving up even her morning bath for fear that a blast of cold might strike the big egg in the evening when she ventured to peep she thought she saw a tiny crack in the upper part of the shell filled with hope she went back to her duties though she could hardly sleep all night for excitement when she woke with the first streaks of light she felt something stirring under her yes there it was at last as she moved a big awkward bird tumbled head foremost to the ground there was no denying it was ugly even the mother was forced to admit that to herself though she only said it was large and strong you won't need any teaching when you are once in the water she told him with a glance of surprise at the dull brown which covered his back his long naked neck and indeed he did not though he was not half so pretty to look at as the little yellow balls that followed her when they returned they found the old neighbor on the bank waiting for them to take them into the duckyard no it is not a young turkey certainly whispered she in confidence to the mother for though it is lean and skinny and has no color to speak of there was something rather distinguished about it and it holds its head up well it is very kind of you to say so answered the mother who by this time had some secret doubts of its loveliness of course when you see it by itself it is all right though it is different somehow from the others but one cannot expect all once children to be beautiful by this time they had reached the center of the yard where a very old duck was sitting who was treated with great respect by all the fouls present you must go up and bow low before her whispered the mother to her children nodding her head in the direction of the old lady and keep your legs well apart as you see me do no well-bred duckling turns in its toes it is a sign of common parents the little ducks tried hard to make their small fat bodies copy the movements of their mother and the old lady was quite pleased with them but the rest of the ducks looked on discontentedly and said to each other oh dear me here are ever so many more the yard is full already and did you ever see anything quite as ugly as that great tall creature he is a disgrace to any brood I shall go and chase him out so saying she put up her feathers and running to the big duckling bit his neck the duckling gave a loud quack it was the first time he had felt any pain and at the sound his mother turned quickly leave him alone she said fiercely or I will send for his father he was not troubling you no but he is so ugly and no one can put up with him answered the stranger and though the duckling did not understand the meaning of the words he felt he was being blamed and became more uncomfortable still when the old Spanish duck who ruled the fall yard struck in it certainly is a great pity he is so different from these beautiful darlings if he could only be hatched over again the poor little fellow drooped his head and did not know where to look but was comforted when his mother answered he may not be quite as handsome as the others but he swims better and is very strong I am sure he will make his way in the world as well as anybody well you must feel quite at home here said the old duck waddling off so they did all except the duckling who was snapped at by everyone when they thought his mother was not looking even the turkey cock who was so big never passed him without mocking words and his brothers and sisters who would not have noticed any difference unless it had been put into their heads soon became as rude and unkind as the rest at last he could bear it no longer one day he fancied he saw signs of his mother turning against him too so that night when the ducks and hens were still asleep he stole away through an open door and under cover of the burdock leaves scrambled on by the bank of the canal till he reached a wide grassy moor full of soft marshy places where the reeds grew here he lay down but he was too tired and too frightened to fall asleep and with the earliest peep of the sun the reeds began to wrestle and he saw that he had blundered into a colony of wild ducks but as he could not run away again he stood up and bowed politely you are ugly said the wild ducks when they looked him well over but however it is no business of ours to marry one of our daughters and that we should not allow and the duckling answered that he had no idea of marrying anybody and wanted nothing but to be left alone after his long journey so for two whole days he lay quietly among the reeds eating such food as he could find and drinking the water of the moorland pool till he felt himself quite strong again he wished he might stay where he was forever he was so comfortable and happy away from everyone with nobody to bite him and tell him how ugly he was he was thinking these thoughts when two young ganders caught sight of him as they were having their evening splash among the reeds looking for their supper we are getting tired of this moor they said and tomorrow we think of trying another where the lakes are larger will you come with us is it nicer than this asked the duckling doubtfully and the words were hardly out of his mouth when piff, paw and the two newcomers were stretched dead beside him at the sound of the gun the wild ducks in the rushes flew into the air and for a few minutes the firing continued luckily for himself the duckling could not fly and he floundered along through the water till he could hide himself amidst some tall ferns which grew in a hollow but before he got there he met a huge creature on four legs which he afterwards knew to be a dog who stood and gazed at him with a long red tongue hanging out of his mouth the duckling grew cold with terror and tried to hide his head beneath his little wings the dog snuffed at him and passed on and he was able to reach his place of shelter I am too ugly even for a dog to eat, said he to himself well, that is a great mercy and he curled himself up in the soft grass till the shots died away in the distance when all had been quiet for a long time and there were only stars to see him he looked out and looked about him he would never go near a pool again never, thought he and seeing that the moor stretched far away in the opposite direction from which he had come he marched bravely on till he got to a small cottage which seemed too tumble down for the stones to hold together many hours longer even the door only hung upon one hinge and as the only light in the room sprang from a tiny fire he edged himself cautiously in and lay down under a chair close to the broken door from which he could get out if necessary but no one seemed to see him or smell him so he spent the rest of the night in peace now in the cottage dwelt an old woman her cat and the hen and it was really they and not she who were masters of the house the old woman who passed all her days in spinning yarn which she sold at the nearest town loved both the cat and the hen as her own children and never contradicted them in any way so it was their grace and not hers that the duckling would have to gain it was only next morning when it grew light that they noticed their visitor who stood trembling before them with his eye on the door ready to escape at any moment they did not however appear very fierce and the duckling became less afraid as they approached him can you lay eggs ask the hen and the duckling answered meekly no I don't know how upon which the hen turned her back and the cat came forward can you ruffle your fur when you are angry or purr when you are pleased and again the duckling had to admit that he could do nothing but swim which did not seem of much use to anybody so the cat and the hen went straight off to the old woman who was still in bed such a useless creature has taken refuge here they said it calls itself a duckling but it can neither lay eggs nor purr what had we better do with it keep it sure replied the old woman briskly it is all nonsense about it not laying eggs anyway we will let it stay here for a bit and see what happens so the duckling remained for three weeks and shared the food of the cat and the hen but nothing in the way of eggs happened at all then the sun came out and the air grew soft and the duckling grew tired of being in a hut and wanted with all his might to have a swim and one morning he got so restless that even his friends noticed it what is the matter asked the hen and the duckling told her I am so longing for the water again you can't think how delicious it is to put your head under the water and dive straight to the bottom I don't think I should enjoy it replied the hen doubtfully and I don't think the cat would like it either and the cat when asked agreed there was nothing she would hate so much I can't stay here any longer I must get to the water repeated the duck and the cat and the hen who felt hurt and offended answered shortly very well then go the duckling would have liked to say goodbye and thank them for their kindness as he was polite by nature but they had both turned their backs on him so he went out of the rickety door feeling rather sad but in spite of himself he could not help a thrill of joy when he was out in the air and water once more and cared little for the rude glances of the creatures he met for a while he was quite happy and content but soon the winter came on and snow began to fall and everything to grow very wet and uncomfortable and the duckling soon found that it is one thing to enjoy being in the water and quite another to like being damp on land the sun was setting one day like a great scarlet globe and the river to the ducks vast the wilderness was getting hard and slippery when he heard a sound of whirring wings and high up in the air a flock of swans were flying they were as white as snow which had fallen during the night and their long necks with yellow bills were stretched southwards for they were going they did not know quite wither but to a land where the sun shone all day oh if he only could have gone with them but that was not possible of course and besides what sort of companion could an ugly thing like him be to those beautiful beings so he walked sadly down to a sheltered pool and dived to the very bottom and tried to think it was the greatest happiness he could dream of but all the same he knew it wasn't and every morning it grew colder and colder and the duckling had hard work to keep himself warm indeed it would be truer to say that he never was warm at all and at last after one better night his legs moved so slowly that the ice crept closer and closer and when the morning light broke he was caught vast as in a trap and soon his senses went from him a few hours more and the poor duckling's life had been ended but by good fortune a man was crossing the river on his way to his work and saw in a moment what had happened he had on thick wooden shoes and he went and stamped so hard on the ice that it broke and then he picked up the duckling and tucked him under his sheepskin coat where his frozen bones began to thaw a little instead of going on his work the man turned back to his children who gave him a warm mess to eat and put him in a box by the fire and when they came back from school he was much more comfortable than he had been since he had left the old woman's cottage they were kind little children and wanted to play with him but alas the poor fellow had never played in his life and thought they wanted to tease him and flew straight into the milk pan into the butter dish and from that into the meal-barrow and at last terrified at the noise and confusion right out of the door and hid himself in the snow amongst the bushes at the back of the house he never could tell afterwards exactly how he had spent the rest of the winter he only knew that he was very miserable and that he never had enough to eat but by and by things grew better the earth became softer the sun hotter the birds sang and the flowers once more appeared in the grass when he stood up he felt different somehow from what he had done before he fell asleep among the reeds to which he had wandered after he had escaped from the peasant's hut his body seemed larger and his wings stronger something pink looked at him from the side of a hill he thought he would fly towards it and see what it was oh how glorious it felt to be rushing through the air wheeling first one way and then another he had never thought that flying could be like that the duckling was almost sorry when he drew near the pink cloud and found it was made up of apple blossoms growing beside a cottage of a canal he fluttered slowly to the ground and paused for a few minutes under a thicket of strings and while he was gazing about him their walk slowly passed a flock of the same beautiful birds he had seen so many months ago fascinated he watched them one by one step into the canal and float quietly upon the waters as if they were part of them I will follow them said the duckling to himself ugly though I am I would rather be killed by them than suffer all I have suffered from cold and hunger and from the ducks and the fowls who should have treated me kindly and flying quickly down to the water he swam after them as fast as he could it did not take him long to reach them for they had stopped to rest in a green pool shaded by a tree whose branches swept the water and directly they saw him coming some of the younger ones swam out to meet him with cries of welcome which again the duckling hardly understood he approached them glad yet trembling and turning to one of the older birds who by this time had left the shade of the tree he said if I'm to die I would rather you should kill me I don't know why I was ever hatched for I am too ugly to live and as he spoke he bound his head and looked down into the water reflected in the still pool he saw many white shapes with long necks and golden bills and without thinking he looked for the dull gray body and the awkward skinny neck but no such thing was there instead he beheld beneath him a beautiful white swan the new one is the best of all said the children when they came down to feed the swans with biscuit and cake before going to bed his feathers are wider and has speak more golden than the rest and when he heard that the duckling thought that it was worthwhile having undergone persecution and loneliness that he had passed through as otherwise he would never have known what it was to be really happy end of the ugly duckling by Hans Anderson The Ultimate Experiment by Thornton Decay They were all gone now the masters all dead and their atoms scattered to the never-ceasing winds that swept the great crystallite city towers in ever-increasing fury that had been the last wish of each as he had passed away dying from sheer old age true, true, true true, true true, true true, true, true true, true, true true, true true true true to death But the comet that trailed its poisoning wake across space to leave it behind upon Earth a noxious, lethal gas性 had done it's work too well no living soul breathed upon Earth no one lived here now But Kiren, and his kind and, so thought Kiren to himself he might as well be a great robot, able to do only one thing instead of the mental giant he was, so obsessed had he become what the task he had set himself to do. Tirelessly he worked, for the masters had bred, if that is the word to use, fatigue and the need for restoration out of his race long decades ago. Sometimes, though, he would stop his work when the great red-dying sun began to fade into the west, and his round eyes would grow wistful as he looked out over the great city that stretched in towering minarets and lofty spires of pure crystal blue for miles on every side, a fairy city of the rarest hue and beauty. A city for the gods, and the gods were dead, Karen felt, at such times, a great loneliness that the last master must have known. They had been kind, the masters, and Karen knew that his people, as they went about the eternal tasks of keeping the great city in perfect shape for the masters who no longer needed it, must miss them as he did. Never to hear their voices ringing, never to see them again gathered in groups to witness some game, or to play amid the silver fountains and flowery gardens of the wondrous city, made him infinitely saddened. It would always be like this, unless. But thinking, dreaming, reminiscing would not bring it all back, for there was only one answer, to still the longing, work. The others worked, and did not dream, but instead kept busy tending to the thousand and one tasks the masters had set them to do, had left them doing, when the last master perished. He too must remember the trust they had placed in his hands, and fulfill it as best he could. From the time the great red eye of the sun opened itself in the east until it disappeared in the blue haze beyond the crystallite city, Karen labored with his fellows. Then at the appointed hour the musical signals would peel forth their sweet, sad chimes, whispering good night to the ears that would hear them no more, and all operations would halt for the night, just as it had done when the masters were here to supervise it. Then when the morning came he would start once more, trying, testing, experimenting with his chemicals and plastics, for ever following labyrinth of knowledge, seeking for the great triumph that would make the works of the others of some real use. His hands molded the materials carefully, lovingly, to a pattern that was set in his mind as a thing to cherish. Day by day his experiments in their liquid baths took form under his careful modeling. He mixed his chemicals with the same loving touch, the same careful concentration, and paints taking thoroughness, studying often his notes and analysis charts. Everything must be just so, lest his experiment not turn out perfectly. He never became exasperated at a failure, nor a defect that proved to be the only reward for his faithful endeavors, but worked patiently on toward a goal that he knew would ultimately be his. Then one day, as the great red sun glowed like an immense red eye overhead, Karen stepped back to admire his handiwork. In that instant the entire wondrous city seemed to breathe a silent prayer as he stood transfixed by the sight before him. Then it went on as usual, hurrying noiselessly about its business. The surface cars, empty though they were, fled swiftly about, supported only by the rings of magnetic force that held them to their designated paths. The gravoships, raised from their tower-dromes, to speed silently into the eye of the red sun that was dying. No one now, Karen thought to himself, as he studied his handiwork. Then he walked unheritly to the cabinet in the laboratory corner, and took from it a pair of earphones resembling those of a long forgotten radio set. Just as unheritly, though his mind was filled with turmoil and his being with excitement, he walked back and connected the earphones to the box upon his bench. The phones dangled in the liquid bath before him, as he adjusted them to suit his requirements. Slowly he checked over every step of his experiment before he went farther. Then, as he proved them for the last time, his hands went slowly to the small knife switch upon the box at his elbow. Next he threw into connection the larger switch upon his laboratory wall, bringing into his laboratory the broadcast power of the crystallite city. The laboratory generators hummed softly, drowning out the quiet hum of the city outside, as they built up, sending tiny living electrical impulses over the wires like minute currents that come from the brain. Karen sat breathless, his eyes intent. Closer to his work he bent, watching lovingly, fearful lest all might not be quite right. Then his eyes took on a brighter light as he began to see the reaction. He knew the messages he had sent out were being received and coordinated into a unit that would stir and grow into intellect. Suddenly the machine flashed its little warning red light and automatically snapped off. Karen twisted quickly in his seat and threw home the final switch. This he knew was the ultimate test. On the results of the flood of energy impulses that he had set in motion rested the fulfillment of his success or failure. He watched with slight misgivings. This had never been accomplished before. How could it possibly be a success now? Even the masters had never quite succeeded at this final test. How could he only a servant? Yet it must work, for he had no desire in life but to make it work. Then suddenly he was on his feet, eyes wide. From the two long coffin-like liquid baths there arose two perfect specimens of the homosapiens. Man and woman they were, and they blinked their eyes in the light of the noonday sun, raised themselves dripping from the baths of their creation, and stepped to the floor before Karen. The man spoke, the woman remained silent. I am Adam too, he said, created by you, Karen, from a formula they left in their image. I was created to be a master, and she whom you have also created is to be my wife. We shall mate, and the race of man shall be reborn through us and others whom I shall help you create. The man halted at the last declaration he intoned, and walked smilingly toward the woman who stepped into his open arms, returning his smile. Karen smiled too within his pumping heart. The words the man had intoned had been placed in his still-pregnable mind by the teleteach phones and record that the last master had prepared before his death had halted his experiments. The actions of the man toward the woman, Karen knew, was caused by the natural constituents that went to form his chemical body and govern his humanness. He, Karen, had created a living man and woman. The masters lived again because of him. They would sing and play and again peeple the magnificent crystallite city, because he loved them and had kept on until success had been his. But then why not such a turnabout, had