Genießen Sie diesen Titel jetzt und Millionen mehr, in einer kostenlosen Testversion

Kostenlos für 30 Tage, dann für $9.99/Monat. Jederzeit kündbar.

Welcome Fairy Tale

Welcome Fairy Tale

Vorschau lesen

Welcome Fairy Tale

Länge:
202 Seiten
2 Stunden
Herausgeber:
Freigegeben:
Oct 19, 2019
ISBN:
9781393659990
Format:
Buch

Beschreibung

The world has always loved a fairy tale. Both young and old have fallen captive to its spell; it suits every age and sage. Many long years have passed since fairy tales appeared, a great deal has changed, yet the tales remain.

The world is full of fairy tales. But there are still insufficient to satisfy the need of children for fresh stories. Tales not just of old favorites like Babes in the Wood, but of modern children too.

People normally hear and read fairy tales many, many times; and never tire. Read them once and you recall one scene, read them again and something else stays in your mind.

A good tale is a marvel in itself: it grows up with you. Like a trusty childhood friend, it accompanies you across the years.

So when you come to open a book of fairy tales, you say,

'Welcome, Fairy Tale.'

Dip into the magic box of fairy tales more often. And when you finally shut the lid, remember how wonderful is the world when in the hands of Good King Kindness and Good Queen Justice.

Herausgeber:
Freigegeben:
Oct 19, 2019
ISBN:
9781393659990
Format:
Buch

Über den Autor


Ähnlich wie Welcome Fairy Tale

Ähnliche Bücher

Buchvorschau

Welcome Fairy Tale - Tatjana Nikolovska

Welcome, Fairy Tale

The Baby Sparrow Dima

Pavel and Maria

The Little Girl and the Twelve Months

Two Brothers Ivan and Boris

Goat with Silver Hoof

Smart Animals

Maria and the Rainbow-Flower

The Grab and the Sea Rose

The Colorful Butterfly

The Ruffled Sparrow

The Musicians of Kolpashevo

The Stone and Alyosha

––––––––

Welcome, Fairy Tale


‘In a certain realm beyond the seas, there was once a king who had three sons...’

Thus begins the tale and, right away, from those first few words, one’s heart warms in anti­cipation of fantastic wonders and the unexpected: what next?

There comes to mind a scene of portrayed in picture books: an old, old storyteller with a long white beard and an impish look in his not-so-aged bright eyes, and gathered about him a gaggle of hushed boys and girls.

The world has always loved a fairy tale. Both young and old have fallen captive to its spell; it suits every age and sage since, as the Russian poet Alexander Pushkin once wrote,

Fairy tales are fiction, yet hold a hint or two

That no bold hero dare deem untrue.

A person may grieve at life’s ills: troubles abound, misfortune piles up so high life is scarcely worth the effort. Yet he only has to turn his mind to the tale of Ivan the Fool: how he became wise and bold, fair and fortunate-then he finds his troubles fade in the mist of fantasy. Tales summon him to fight against misfortune, promise him that once he gains, say, the Fire­bird’s feather, just as his fellow-unfortunate Ivan the peasant’s son did, all is possible.

Many long years have passed since fairy tales appeared, a great deal has changed, yet the tales remain.

The world is full of fairy tales. But there are still insufficient to satisfy the need of children for fresh stories. Tales not just of old favorites like Babes in the Wood, but of modern children too.

And today as of old,

Fairy tales are fiction, yet hold a hint or two

That no bold hero dare deem untrue.

A child may read Ruffled Sparrow and think of how the little spar­row Misha bravely fought the ugly crow and rescued the brooch; another child may draw the moral: how wonderful to have true friends.

Or take Olga Forsh’s tale The Clever Animals. It is a merry little story of how Fox, Badger, and Bear tricked the old serving-maid Mikhail and, dressing up in the General’s and his wife’s finery convinced her they were her master and mistress.

No one can resist a smile at their antics.

Or chuckle at the stupid old bear dressed up in the General’s uniform and strutting about like general thinking it his general’s duty to grind coffee. Or even giggle at the real general and his wife appalled lest it is known that animals shared their home and folk should laugh at them.

People normally hear and read fairy tales many, many times; and never tire. Read them once and you recall one scene, read them again and something else stays in your mind.

A good tale is a marvel in itself: it grows up with you. Like a trusty childhood friend, it accompanies you across the years.

So when you come to open a book of fairy tales, you say,

‘Welcome, Fairy Tale.’

Dip into the magic box of fairy tales more often. And when you finally shut the lid, remember how wonderful is the world when in the hands of Good King Kindness and Good Queen Justice.

The Baby Sparrow Dima

FBTR4709.jpg

Sparrows are just like people. The grown-ups are as dull as ditchwater and everything they say sounds as if it came out of a book, but the young have minds of their own.

Once upon a time, there lived a baby sparrow and his name Dima. He lived on top of a bath-house window in a nice warm nest made of tow, bits of moss and other soft stuff. He had not yet tried to fly, but already he was flapping his little wings and poking his head out of the nest. He was very impatient to know what the outside world was like and whether it was good enough for him.

‘Tweet, tweet-what are you up to?’ Mother Sparrow would ask and Dima would shake his wings and, peeping down at the ground, would chirrup back:

‘It’s ch-err-ibly dark down there! Ch-err-ibly dark!’

Then Father Sparrow would come home with insects for them to eat and start boasting.

‘I’m the chief! I’m the chief!’

And Mother Sparrow would chirp approvingly: ‘Yes, chief! Yes, chief!’

But Dima just swallowed the insects and thought to himself: ‘They give you a leggy worm and talk as if it was fantastic!

And he would keep poking his head out of the nest and peering round.

‘Now, child! Now, child!’ his mother chirped at him. "Mind you don’t fall out!’

‘Don’t be silly! Not I,’ Dima chirped back.

‘It’ll be silly you if there’s a cat about! He’ll gobble you up!’ his father explai­ned, flying off on another hunt.

And so the days went by. Yet Dima’s wings were in no hurry to grow.

One day a strong wind sprang up.

‘Twee-ee-eet! Twee-ee-eet! What’s this?’ Dima wanted to know.

‘It's the wind,’ his mother told him. ‘And it could blow you out of the nest. Then- whoops! Down you go to the cat!’

Dima did not like the sound of that, so he said:

‘Why are the trees swaying? Let them stop swaying, and the wind will go away.’

His mother tried to explain how things worked, but he would not believe her. He had his answer for everything.

A man walked past the bath-house, swinging his arms.

‘The cat must have torn his wings off,’ Dima tweeted. ‘Only the bones remain.

‘That’s a man. Men don’t have wings!’ his mother said.

‘Why not?’

‘That’s how they are. All they can do is hop about on two legs, see?’

‘But why?’

‘Because if they had wings, they would chase us, just as Daddy and I chase insects.’

‘That’s twash!’ Dima tweeted. ‘Twash and twaddle! Everyone ought to have wings. It can’t be the same fun on the ground as it is in the air! When I grow up, I’ll see that everyone can fly.’

So Dima refused to trust his mother. He was too young to know that you can land in trouble if you don’t trust your mother.

Boldly he perched on the very edge of the nest, chirping out a cheery song:

Wingless human beings all,

Tour legs are useless things!

You may be big, you may be tall But you each insect bites and stings.

Now look at me, small as can be

I feed on insects, as you see.

He went on singing till he fell right out of the nest. Down went Mother Sparrow after him. But so did the cat a big ginger monster with green eyes.

Dima was frightened out of his feathers. He spread his little wings and, trem­bling on his small grey legs, twittered timidly:

‘Highly honored to see you, I’m sure.’

But his mother pushed him aside. And with her feathers ruffled up, she looked very brave and fierce, her open beak aiming straight at the cat’s green eyes. ‘Quick, Dima!’ she cried. ‘Upon the window! Fly!’

Fear lifted the little sparrow off the ground. He took one jump, flapped his wings once and then again, and there he was on the window ledge.

And after that, his mother came. Though she had lost her tail she was overjoyed. She gave him a good peck on the back of the head, saying, ‘Well?’

‘Well what?’ said Dima. ‘You can’t learn everything at once!’

Meanwhile, the cat was sitting on the ground, picking Mother Sparrow’s feathers off his paw, staring up at them and miaowing sadly:

‘What a sweet little spar-r-riow! Just like a miaowse! Miaow!’

So it all came right in the end, that is, if we don’t count the loss of Mummy’s tail.

Pavel and Maria

C:\Users\Goce\AppData\Local\Temp\FineReader12.00\media\image4.jpeg

Midsummer Day comes in the tenth week after Easter. The sun bakes the earth to its very core, and the fabulous wormwood begins to flower. The fiery sun glares down into the lakes, into the greenest bed, beneath the underwater snags, underneath the water plants.

Nowhere can the water nymphs hide. So of a still evening or a moonlit night they - appear above the waters of the lake and take refuge inside tree trunks. That is when folk calls them wood nymphs.

This is the prologue; now comes the story.

There once was a brother and sister, Pavel and Maria, who lived together in a lit­tle hut upon the lakeside.

It was a quiet lake to look at, but it was said a water demon lurked within its depths.

When the moon would rise above the lake, a gurgling and seething would surge up from the backwaters, overgrown with rushes, billow across the lake, and out from the rushes would appear the water demon upon an oaken snag, wearing a slimy hat. Should you see him, you’d better watch out before he drags you under.

Pavel gave strict orders to his sister Maria,

‘If ever I’m away, don’t dare set foot outside this hut after dark; sing no songs across the lake’s waters. Sit at home quietly as a little mouse.’

‘As you say, Brother,’ Maria said,

Off went Pavel into the forest. Maria, however, grew weary sitting alone at her handloom; so she cupped her chin in her hands and began to sing,

0 golden moon, did you not take

A walk across the lake?

Look down into its watery gloom

And drown within its pool of doom?

Suddenly she heard somebody tapping on the shutters.

‘Who’s there?’ cried Maria.

‘Come out to us, come out to us,’ shrill voices called behind the shutters.

Outran Maria and gasped.

From the lake to the hut stretched a line of water nymphs.

Hand in hand the nymphs circled around, laughing, playing.

Maria threw up her hands in fright. But there was no escape: they clustered round and placed a crown of flowers on her head.

‘Come and join us, come and join our dance,’ they piped. ‘You are the loveliest of all, pray be our queen.’

Taking Maria by the hand they circled round and round.

All of a sudden, a monstrous blue head in a slimy hat appeared from the rushes.

‘Hello, Maria,’ wheezed the water demon. ‘I’ve long been waiting for you.’ 

And his claws stretched out towards her.

Late that morning Pavel returned. No matter where he searched, his sister was not to be found. At last, he found her slippers and girdle lying upon the lakeside.

Poor Pavel sank down and wept.

The days went by, the sun crept closer to the earth.

Whitsuntide arrived.

‘I’ll go and live out my days elsewhere,’ he mused. ‘But first I must make myself some new bast shoes.’

So he sought out a good strong lime tree at the back of the lake, stripped off some bark, plaited new shoes and went off.

On and on he went until, lo and behold, he came to the very same stripped lime from which he had taken the bast.

‘Well I never, I must have backtracked,’ he thought, making off in the opposite direction.

He made his way around the lake, yet again came upon the bare lime.

‘This is witchcraft,’ thought Pavel, scared, and trotted off in another direction.

But his bast shoes themselves took him to the same old spot...

Pavel grew angry, took up an ax and was about to fell the lime tree when he heard a human voice,

‘Do not fell me, dear brother.’

Pavel dropped the ax as if stung.

‘Dear sister, is it you?’ he cried.

‘It is I, dear brother. The water demon made me his wife, so now I am a tree, as you see me. In spring I shall be a nymph once more... When you stripped the bark from my body, it was I who made sure you did not go far.’

‘Is there no way you can escape the demon?’ asked Pavel.

‘There is one way. You must find the wormwood in a marshy spot and cast the flower into my face.’

No sooner had she spoken than Pavel’s shoes carried him off into the forest. The wind whistled

Sie haben das Ende dieser Vorschau erreicht. Registrieren Sie sich, um mehr zu lesen!
Seite 1 von 1

Rezensionen

Was die anderen über Welcome Fairy Tale denken

0
0 Bewertungen / 0 Rezensionen
Wie hat es Ihnen gefallen?
Bewertung: 0 von 5 Sternen

Leser-Rezensionen