Go to Literature Out Loud -- Short Stories for a complete list of all short stories available at Literature Out Loud.
Click on the player to hear an audio version of this short story.
Romeo And Julia
by August Strindberg
One evening the husband came home with a roll of music under his arm and said to his wife:
"Let us play duets after supper!"
"What have you got there?" asked his wife.
"’Romeo and Julia’, arranged for the piano. Do you know it?"
"Yes, of course I do," she replied, "but I don't remember ever having seen it on the stage."
"Oh! It's splendid! To me it is like a dream of my youth, but I've only heard it once, and that was about twenty years ago."
After supper, when the children had been put to bed and the house lay silent, the husband lighted the candles on the piano. He looked at the lithographed title-page and read the title: Romeo and Julia.
"This is Gounod's most beautiful composition," he said, "and I don't believe that it will be too difficult for us."
As usual his wife undertook to play the treble and they began. D major, common time, “allegro giusto”.
"It is beautiful, isn't it?" asked the husband, when they had finished the overture.
"Y--es," admitted the wife, reluctantly.
"Now the martial music," said the husband; "it is exceptionally fine. I can remember the splendid choruses at the Royal Theatre."
They played a march.
"Well, wasn't I right?" asked the husband, triumphantly, as if he had composed "Romeo and Julia" himself.
"I don't know; it rather sounds like a brass band," answered the wife.
The husband's honour and good taste were involved; he looked for the Moonshine Aria in the fourth act. After a little searching he came across an aria for soprano. That must be it.
And he began again.
Tram-tramtram, tram-tramtram, went the bass; it was very easy to play.
"Do you know," said his wife, when it was over, "I don't think very much of it."
The husband, quite depressed, admitted that it reminded him of a barrel organ.
"I thought so all along," confessed the wife.
"And I find it antiquated, too. I am surprised that Gounod should be out of date, already," he added dejectedly. "Would you like to go on playing? Let's try the Cavatina and the Trio; I particularly remember the soprano; she was divine."
When they stopped playing, the husband looked crestfallen and put the music away, as if he wanted to shut the door on the past.
"Let's have a glass of beer," he said. They sat down at the table and had a glass of beer.
"It's extraordinary," he began, after a little while, "I never realised before that we've grown old, for we really must have vied with Romeo and Julia as to who should age faster. It's twenty years ago since I heard the opera for the first time. I was a newly fledged undergraduate then, I had many friends and the future smiled at me. I was immensely proud of the first down on my upper lip and my little college cap, and I remember as if it were to-day, the evening when Fritz, Phil and myself went to hear this opera. We had heard 'Faust' some years before and were great admirers of Gounod's genius. But Romeo beat all our expectations. The music roused our wildest enthusiasm. Now both my friends are dead. Fritz, who was ambitious, was a private secretary when he died, Phil a medical student; I who aspired to the position of a minister of state have to content myself with that of a regimental judge. The years have passed by quickly and imperceptibly. Of course I have noticed that the lines under my eyes have grown deeper and that my hair has turned grey at the temples, but I should never have thought that we had travelled so far on the road to the grave."
"Yes, my dear, we've grown old; our children could teach us that. And you must see it in me too, although you don't say anything."
"How can you say that!"
"Oh! I know only too well, my dear," continued the wife, sadly; "I know that I am beginning to lose my good looks, that my hair is growing thin, that I shall soon lose my front teeth...."
"Just consider how quickly everything passes away"--interrupted her husband. "It seems to me that one grows old much more rapidly now-a-days, than one used to do. In my father's house Haydn and Mozart were played a great deal, although they were dead long before he was born. And now --now Gounod has grown old-fashioned already! How distressing it is to meet again the ideals of one's youth under these altered circumstances! And how horrible it is to feel old age approaching!"
He got up and sat down again at the piano; he took the music and turned over the pages as if he were looking for keepsakes, locks of hair, dried flowers and ends of ribbon in the drawer of a writing-table. His eyes were riveted on the black notes which looked like little birds climbing up and down a wire fencing; but where were the spring songs, the passionate protestations, the jubilant avowals of the rosy days of first love? The notes stared back at him like strangers; as if the memory of life's spring-time were grown over with weeds.
Yes, that was it; the strings were covered with dust, the sounding board was dried up, the felt worn away.
A heavy sigh echoed through the room, heavy as if it came from a hollow chest, and then silence fell.
"But all the same, it is strange," the husband said suddenly, "that the glorious prologue is missing in this arrangement. I remember distinctly that there was a prologue with an accompaniment of harps and a chorus which went like this."
He softly hummed the tune, which bubbled up like a stream in a mountain glen; note succeeded note, his face cleared, his lips smiled, the lines disappeared, his fingers touched the keys, and drew from them melodies, powerful, caressing and full of eternal youth, while with a strong and ringing voice he sang the part of the bass.
His wife started from her melancholy reverie and listened with tears in her eyes.
"What are you singing?" she asked, full of amazement.
"Romeo and Julia! Our Romeo and our Julia!"
He jumped up from the music stool and pushed the music towards his astonished wife.
"Look! This was the Romeo of our uncles and aunts, this was--read it--Bellini! Oh! We are not old, after all!"
The wife looked at the thick, glossy hair of her husband, his smooth brow and flashing eyes, with joy.
"And you? You look like a young girl. We have allowed old Bellini to make fools of us. I felt that something was wrong."
"No, darling, I thought so first."
"Probably you did; that is because you are younger than I am."
"No, you...."
And husband and wife, like a couple of children, laughingly quarrel over the question of which of them is the elder of the two, and cannot understand how they could have discovered lines and grey hairs where there are none.
Tuesday, December 14, 2010
Bright Space -- Pain and Suffering
Go to Abundance for more selections by Dane Allred, including other episodes from Bright Space, plus lots more!!
Click on the player to hear an audio version of this piece.
Pain and Suffering
We were once together in that bright space
But now we spin in our separate spheres
Sometimes distracted by pain
Other times worried by the suffering we endure ourselves
Or the problems others face.
When we look at one another
Really look deeply at that other person
And consider the difficulties they may be undergoing
We may wonder if there is a way we can help
With all the trouble we seem to encounter in our own lives.
But the lesson from that Bright Space is that we are all on this journey together.
You are learning what you need to learn,
And I am here to help you learn.
But I am also experiencing all the joy and sweetness,
Suffering and pain contained in this world.
And you are here to help me make it back to that Bright Space
Where we all will share all that has been learned.
Pain, trouble, suffering, and distress
Are all a part of this experience we desired
A desire so strong we left the Bright Place
So we could be all that ever was, ever is, and ever will be.
We will also experience all the joy, beauty, and happiness
Offered us in this wondrous place.
We are here together now
Trying our best to learn all we can.
And we are here together now
To help each other learn all we can.
When we look closely at that other person
No matter who, or when or where
We can still feel that connection
And know we are here for each other.
I can help you
You can help me
And when we decide to unite and work together
Heal together
Rejoice together
There is nothing we cannot overcome
There is no obstacle to stand in our way
And we will understand
We are learning all there is to learn,
And we cannot do it on our own.
Reach out today and see that connection
We once shared
That we now share
With everyone, everywhere.
Click on the player to hear an audio version of this piece.
Pain and Suffering
We were once together in that bright space
But now we spin in our separate spheres
Sometimes distracted by pain
Other times worried by the suffering we endure ourselves
Or the problems others face.
When we look at one another
Really look deeply at that other person
And consider the difficulties they may be undergoing
We may wonder if there is a way we can help
With all the trouble we seem to encounter in our own lives.
But the lesson from that Bright Space is that we are all on this journey together.
You are learning what you need to learn,
And I am here to help you learn.
But I am also experiencing all the joy and sweetness,
Suffering and pain contained in this world.
And you are here to help me make it back to that Bright Space
Where we all will share all that has been learned.
Pain, trouble, suffering, and distress
Are all a part of this experience we desired
A desire so strong we left the Bright Place
So we could be all that ever was, ever is, and ever will be.
We will also experience all the joy, beauty, and happiness
Offered us in this wondrous place.
We are here together now
Trying our best to learn all we can.
And we are here together now
To help each other learn all we can.
When we look closely at that other person
No matter who, or when or where
We can still feel that connection
And know we are here for each other.
I can help you
You can help me
And when we decide to unite and work together
Heal together
Rejoice together
There is nothing we cannot overcome
There is no obstacle to stand in our way
And we will understand
We are learning all there is to learn,
And we cannot do it on our own.
Reach out today and see that connection
We once shared
That we now share
With everyone, everywhere.
Monday, December 13, 2010
Sheepherder Translation
Go to Abundance for more selections by Dane Allred, including other episodes from Rules of Engagement, plus lots more!!
Click on the player to hear the audio version of this episode.
Sheepherder Translation
As per usual, I got stuck on the side of the road in the middle of nowhere. I am trying to get to a stand of pine trees to cut into pine poles and posts. I had backed down the road in the beautiful mountains of Utah at the ripe age of 17, and put my left rear tire into mid-air on the dirt road. My truck was belching blue smoke, and the sheepherder nearby thought there might be a fire. As he rode up on his horse, I have never been so glad to see another human being. There really is no desperation quite like being stuck in the top of the mountains, especially when you think no one else who can help you is closer than 50 miles away. The old man listened patiently to my stupidity, and then said he thought if he tied his rope to the back of the truck, his horse could pull the rear end of my truck back onto the road.
I was out of ideas and welcomed the help. He was right. As he pulled the rope backwards with his horse, I put the truck in reverse and one cloud of blue smoke later I was back on the road. I jumped out to thank him and he invited me to come to his trailer for coffee.
This man had just saved my life, and I was obligated to at least spend a little time with him as payment. A sheepherder goes up to the mountain in the spring and has little human contact the entire summer, mostly just getting supplies from his employer and going to town once in a while. It would have been the height of rudeness to refuse his hospitality, especially after his rescue of me and my truck.
I decided to play it by ear and at least show the respect of spending some time with him.
The very first thing he did was pour the coffee and hand it to me with a smile.
I found out that this man was from Colorado, and that he had two sons who drove trucks for some company up there. After we talked for a few more minutes. He confessed to me that he didn't read English all that well. Spanish was his native language.
He pulled out a letter and asked me if I would read it to him. He indicated that a girl he had met at a dance in town a couple of weeks ago had sent it to him (what would the address be?) and he couldn't read it.
He asked if I would read it for him.
He had rescued me from the mountain. He had offered the hospitality of coffee in his trailer. It didn't seem like an outlandish request, but remember, this is a personal letter from a woman to a man.
I had no idea if there would be suggestive or other language in the letter, but I decided I better read it to him and then excuse myself - before he had me write a reply.
It was actually a sweet moment after all. The woman wrote to him about how she had enjoyed his company and hoped she would see him again. The awkwardness of the situation seemed to fade, but for anyone else who may have happened by, they would have seen a young man reading a love letter to an old man while they sat having coffee in a sheepherder's trailer. I can still see it in my mind.
The old man sat there patiently listening while I read the words of a woman that he couldn't read himself. It was so personal and so involved that I found myself detaching from the situation and ignoring the words. I vanished from the scene and it was just this old man and a woman who cared for each other communicating in the only way they could.
I finished the letter and stood abruptly. I was uncomfortable, but the old man was only grateful. We had helped each other out, and the debt was paid. I excused myself and thanked him for the help and the hospitality, and I never saw him again.
We spent perhaps 30 or 40 minutes together, but this memory is one that will always warm my heart. I think it is only when we are reaching out to one another to help in any way we can that we fully live. Even if it is just reading a love note to someone who can't read it. Or just pulling some dumb kid's truck back onto the road with your horse.
I wonder why it's the little things like this that make us feel truly a part of humanity. Good luck on your next dirt road.
Click on the player to hear the audio version of this episode.
Sheepherder Translation
As per usual, I got stuck on the side of the road in the middle of nowhere. I am trying to get to a stand of pine trees to cut into pine poles and posts. I had backed down the road in the beautiful mountains of Utah at the ripe age of 17, and put my left rear tire into mid-air on the dirt road. My truck was belching blue smoke, and the sheepherder nearby thought there might be a fire. As he rode up on his horse, I have never been so glad to see another human being. There really is no desperation quite like being stuck in the top of the mountains, especially when you think no one else who can help you is closer than 50 miles away. The old man listened patiently to my stupidity, and then said he thought if he tied his rope to the back of the truck, his horse could pull the rear end of my truck back onto the road.
I was out of ideas and welcomed the help. He was right. As he pulled the rope backwards with his horse, I put the truck in reverse and one cloud of blue smoke later I was back on the road. I jumped out to thank him and he invited me to come to his trailer for coffee.
This man had just saved my life, and I was obligated to at least spend a little time with him as payment. A sheepherder goes up to the mountain in the spring and has little human contact the entire summer, mostly just getting supplies from his employer and going to town once in a while. It would have been the height of rudeness to refuse his hospitality, especially after his rescue of me and my truck.
I decided to play it by ear and at least show the respect of spending some time with him.
The very first thing he did was pour the coffee and hand it to me with a smile.
I found out that this man was from Colorado, and that he had two sons who drove trucks for some company up there. After we talked for a few more minutes. He confessed to me that he didn't read English all that well. Spanish was his native language.
He pulled out a letter and asked me if I would read it to him. He indicated that a girl he had met at a dance in town a couple of weeks ago had sent it to him (what would the address be?) and he couldn't read it.
He asked if I would read it for him.
He had rescued me from the mountain. He had offered the hospitality of coffee in his trailer. It didn't seem like an outlandish request, but remember, this is a personal letter from a woman to a man.
I had no idea if there would be suggestive or other language in the letter, but I decided I better read it to him and then excuse myself - before he had me write a reply.
It was actually a sweet moment after all. The woman wrote to him about how she had enjoyed his company and hoped she would see him again. The awkwardness of the situation seemed to fade, but for anyone else who may have happened by, they would have seen a young man reading a love letter to an old man while they sat having coffee in a sheepherder's trailer. I can still see it in my mind.
The old man sat there patiently listening while I read the words of a woman that he couldn't read himself. It was so personal and so involved that I found myself detaching from the situation and ignoring the words. I vanished from the scene and it was just this old man and a woman who cared for each other communicating in the only way they could.
I finished the letter and stood abruptly. I was uncomfortable, but the old man was only grateful. We had helped each other out, and the debt was paid. I excused myself and thanked him for the help and the hospitality, and I never saw him again.
We spent perhaps 30 or 40 minutes together, but this memory is one that will always warm my heart. I think it is only when we are reaching out to one another to help in any way we can that we fully live. Even if it is just reading a love note to someone who can't read it. Or just pulling some dumb kid's truck back onto the road with your horse.
I wonder why it's the little things like this that make us feel truly a part of humanity. Good luck on your next dirt road.
Negotiations -- a limerick by Dane Allred
Go to Literature Out Loud -- Poems for a complete list of all poems available at Literature Out Loud.
Click on the player to hear an audio version of this limerick.
Negotiations
by Dane Allred
The best kind of negotiations
And the various machinations
Is where each side thinks
The other deal stinks
And they got the best obligations.
Tuesday, December 7, 2010
Abundance Movement Dec 5
Go to Abundance for more selections, including other original pieces by Dane Allred and his audio versions of many famous short stories and poems called Literature Out Loud, plus lots more!!
This is the complete episode of "Abundance" called "Movement" from December 5th.
Click on the player to hear the podcast of this episode.
This is the complete episode of "Abundance" called "Movement" from December 5th.
Click on the player to hear the podcast of this episode.
The Touch of The Master's Hand by Myra Brooks Welch
Go to Literature Out Loud -- Poems for a complete list of all poems available at Literature Out Loud.
Click on the player to hear an audio version of this poem.
The Touch of The Master's Hand
by Myra Brooks Welch
It was battered and scarred,
And the auctioneer thought it
Hardly worth his while
To waste his time on the old violin,
But he held it up with a smile.
"What am I bid, good people", he cried,
"Who starts the bidding for me?"
"One dollar, one dollar, Do I hear two?"
"Two dollars, who makes it three?"
"Three dollars once, three dollars twice,
Going for three". . . but no!
From the room far back a gray-haired man
Came forward and picked up the bow;
Then wiping the dust from the old violin,
And tightening up the strings,
He played a melody, pure and sweet,
As sweet as an angel sings.
The music ceased and the auctioneer
With a voice that was quiet and low,
Said "What now am I bid for this old violin?"
As he held it aloft with its bow.
"One thousand, one thousand, Do I hear two?"
"Two thousand, Who makes it three?"
"Three thousand once, three thousand twice,
Going and gone", said he.
The people cheered, but some of them cried,
"We do not quite understand.
What changed its worth?" Swift came the reply:
"The touch of the Master's hand."
And many a man with life out of tune,
And battered and scarred with sin,
Is auctioned cheap to the thoughtless crowd
Much like the old violin.
A "mess of pottage," a glass of wine,
A game and he travels on,
He's going once, and going twice -
He's going - and almost gone!
But the MASTER comes, and the foolish crowd,
Never can quite understand,
The worth of a soul, and the change that's wrought
By the touch of the MASTER'S hand.
Click on the player to hear an audio version of this poem.
The Touch of The Master's Hand
by Myra Brooks Welch
It was battered and scarred,
And the auctioneer thought it
Hardly worth his while
To waste his time on the old violin,
But he held it up with a smile.
"What am I bid, good people", he cried,
"Who starts the bidding for me?"
"One dollar, one dollar, Do I hear two?"
"Two dollars, who makes it three?"
"Three dollars once, three dollars twice,
Going for three". . . but no!
From the room far back a gray-haired man
Came forward and picked up the bow;
Then wiping the dust from the old violin,
And tightening up the strings,
He played a melody, pure and sweet,
As sweet as an angel sings.
The music ceased and the auctioneer
With a voice that was quiet and low,
Said "What now am I bid for this old violin?"
As he held it aloft with its bow.
"One thousand, one thousand, Do I hear two?"
"Two thousand, Who makes it three?"
"Three thousand once, three thousand twice,
Going and gone", said he.
The people cheered, but some of them cried,
"We do not quite understand.
What changed its worth?" Swift came the reply:
"The touch of the Master's hand."
And many a man with life out of tune,
And battered and scarred with sin,
Is auctioned cheap to the thoughtless crowd
Much like the old violin.
A "mess of pottage," a glass of wine,
A game and he travels on,
He's going once, and going twice -
He's going - and almost gone!
But the MASTER comes, and the foolish crowd,
Never can quite understand,
The worth of a soul, and the change that's wrought
By the touch of the MASTER'S hand.
Monday, December 6, 2010
Bright Space -- Unity
Go to Abundance for more selections by Dane Allred, including other episodes from Bright Space, plus lots more!!
Click on the player to hear an audio version of this poem.
Bright Space
by Dane Allred
Unity
There is a brightness we can feel when we work in unity.
The space between us becomes brighter
We feel more as one
The work draws us together in a way
Nothing else can produce.
Working side by side with another someone
A someone we knew from the bright space
But had forgotten
Had lost
And had to rediscover again
Brings back that light we knew with that someone.
That someone we turned to in that long ago and far away
And said to each other,
“We are together now,
And we are all that ever is, ever was, or ever will be.”
But we both knew there was another way
For us to learn all there is to know
To experience all there is.
Alone, apart from each other, we could explore and discover all we could not know
If we stayed in that bright space together.
So now, as I stand by you, and you stand by me,
We are apart, but are still one.
That bright space is in me
And that bright space is in you.
And we feel the connection we had lost.
The recognition of that light we see in each other’s eyes,
That we see in the eyes of everyone who is anyone who is anywhere
Sparks that light again
And as we toil we remember
We are here to help each other learn all we can
We are here to learn all we can
We are striving to learn all there is to learn
As we spin in our separate spheres
Until that time we rejoin with that bright space
And are as one again.
All experience
All sadness
All happiness
All joy
All things will be joined again as one
And then we will truly feel the unity
The oneness we feel now when working side by side
On this marble we call Earth
Which speeds through space
Carrying all of us to that final destination.
That bright space where we will be one.
Click on the player to hear an audio version of this poem.
Bright Space
by Dane Allred
Unity
There is a brightness we can feel when we work in unity.
The space between us becomes brighter
We feel more as one
The work draws us together in a way
Nothing else can produce.
Working side by side with another someone
A someone we knew from the bright space
But had forgotten
Had lost
And had to rediscover again
Brings back that light we knew with that someone.
That someone we turned to in that long ago and far away
And said to each other,
“We are together now,
And we are all that ever is, ever was, or ever will be.”
But we both knew there was another way
For us to learn all there is to know
To experience all there is.
Alone, apart from each other, we could explore and discover all we could not know
If we stayed in that bright space together.
So now, as I stand by you, and you stand by me,
We are apart, but are still one.
That bright space is in me
And that bright space is in you.
And we feel the connection we had lost.
The recognition of that light we see in each other’s eyes,
That we see in the eyes of everyone who is anyone who is anywhere
Sparks that light again
And as we toil we remember
We are here to help each other learn all we can
We are here to learn all we can
We are striving to learn all there is to learn
As we spin in our separate spheres
Until that time we rejoin with that bright space
And are as one again.
All experience
All sadness
All happiness
All joy
All things will be joined again as one
And then we will truly feel the unity
The oneness we feel now when working side by side
On this marble we call Earth
Which speeds through space
Carrying all of us to that final destination.
That bright space where we will be one.
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