Hello and welcome to Drift Off.
I'm Joanne,
And I'm so glad you're here with me tonight.
This evening's story is The Wonderful Tune,
Another gentle tale from Henry Beston,
Published in 1923 as part of his collection,
The Starlight Wonder Book.
It's a whimsical old fairy story,
Touched with music and magic.
I won't say much more than that.
So that the tale can unfold for you exactly as it's meant to.
Now before we begin Let's take a few moments to settle in.
Feel the weight of your blanket resting over you.
Soft and familiar.
Holding you gently in place.
Let your shoulders drop a little further into the mattress.
And let your hands rest.
Wherever they have come to stop.
Breathe in slowly and let it go gently.
Just this moment this quiet.
And this story about to begin.
If your eyes are already growing heavy,
Let them close if that feels right.
You are safe.
You are warm.
And you can dress.
Wherever the story takes you.
And whenever you're ready.
Let's begin.
Once upon a time.
A young minstrel wandered over hill,
Over dale,
Through the world.
Earning his bread as he strayed by piping on a penny pipe to all who cared for a tune.
Young was he,
And little of stature.
His eyes and his hair were brown.
And in bright blue was he clad.
Now he came to pass that,
As he wandered through the world.
The little minstrel said to himself one morn.
If some tunes make people merry,
And others make them sad,
Whilst still others make them dance,
Why should there not be a tune so wondrously pleasant and gay,
That all who chance to hear it must remain joyous of heart,
And can never be sad or bad or unhappy again?
Down the roads of the world I shall seek the wonderful tune.
And with this new thought in mind.
The little minstrel continued on his way through the world.
Bidding good moral to all,
Questioning all.
And some there were who thought him mad and were scarcely civil.
Others pushed him aside as a jesting vagabond.
And there were even those who would have cast him into prison as a disturber of the public mind and a wandering rogue.
But there were others too.
And these were the brave and the merciful and the kind and the merry who speeded him on his way and wished him luck in his quest.
The summer ripened and came to an end.
The crackled leaves tumbled and fled before a howling wind.
Snow covered the lonely fields,
And still the little minstrel roamed the world,
Seeking the wonderful tune.
Now it fortuned that.
As the little minstrel turned his steps to the west.
He arrived in the city of a king.
Whose court musician was said to know all the tunes in the world.
Travel-worn,
Brown of face,
And humbly clad as he was,
The youth made his way through the palace and,
Cap in hand,
Knocked gently at the great musician's door.
From behind the little green door.
Long runs and wiggles and cascades of tinkling notes came dancing out into the quiet of the deserted marble corridor.
The youth knocked yet again.
Presently,
The notes ceased,
And,
Opening the door with a stately bow,
The court musician invited the young wanderer within.
And now the youth found himself in a pleasant room,
Painted a fair apple green,
And set about with panels edged with gold.
The furniture,
Too,
Was painted green and gold,
And there were flowered curtains,
A dozing cat,
And a china bowl.
Ask for the court musician.
He was clad in a superb costume of the most fashionable lavender brocade.
Honored Master,
" said the little minstrel respectfully.
I am roaming the world for a tune so pleasant and merry that,
Once men have heard it,
They can never be sad,
Or bad,
Or unhappy again.
Pray,
Do you know this wonderful tune?
Yes,
Indeed.
I know many a wonderful tune,
Replied the court musician.
Listen now.
What is this?
And seating himself at a gay green and gold harpsichord The court musician played a merry song full of the most elegant tinkles and trills.
No,
I am sure that this is not the wonderful tune,
" said the minstrel.
Looking through an open window,
A tiny cloud sailing the sunny sky of a mild midwinter day.
And surely this is it,
Said the court musician,
Playing a second merry tune.
The little minstrel shook his head once more.
"'Dear me,
Dear me!
Not the wonderful tune?
' exclaimed the court musician,
Wrinkling his brow and pursing his lips.
Ah,
Wait.
I think I have it.
And this time,
He lifted the cover of the green and gold harpuscord so that the minstrel could see the little picture of frolicking shepherds painted upon it.
And played a long harmonious and majestical strain.
But the little minstrel shook his head again.
Young friend,
" said the court musician,
With something of a fatherly air,
Closing the harpsichord as he spoke.
I have played for you the only three tunes I know which might be the wonderful tune.
Are you quite sure you're not wasting your life upon this quest?
Perhaps such a tune as you tell of was once known in the world and is only hidden away Yet again,
Perhaps it is all only a dream.
You should go to the Kingdom of Music and inquire.
The kingdom of music,
Cried the youth.
I've never heard of such a realm.
Racer,
By what road does one go?
Come,
Said the court musician.
Taking the youth by the arm and leading him to the open window.
See you,
That land of blue cloud-capped hills at the world's edge,
And the broad and winding river which disappears among them?
You have but to follow that stream.
Farewell,
Young friend.
The world is before you,
And may you find the wonderful tune.
League after league and day after day,
The little minstrel followed the winding river till spring stood upon the hills.
And now,
With the first sight of the new leaves,
The little minstrel arrived in the land of Melody.
It was a goodly land,
This kingdom of music.
A rolling land of great fields.
Sweeping cloud shadows and ancient oaken groves.
A land of pleasant murmurs and sweet sounds.
Only birds with pretty songs dwelt in the kingdom of music,
And they sang more sweetly there than in any other kingdom of the world.
The very crickets had a more tuneful chirp,
The river a more various music,
And even the winds blew merry tunes as they whistled through the trees.
Rejoicing in the kingdom and its sounds.
The little minstrel was strolling along,
Half in a dream,
When of a sudden,
Sky and land were filled with a strange,
Huge,
Earth-shaking sound.
A sound of the scraping of thousands of fiddles.
Of the blowing of thousands of horns,
Flutes,
Trumpets,
Trombones,
And clarinets.
Of the clashing and clanging and thumping and bethumping of thousands of bass drums,
Kettle drums,
And cymbals.
Indeed,
In all his wanderings,
This little minstrel had never heard such a din.
The king of the kingdom of music was rehearsing his orchestra.
Every single person in the kingdom,
Whether man,
Woman,
Or child.
Was a member of this orchestra.
Babies alone were accepted.
Though on one occasion,
The king had made use of a gifted child with a musical howl.
Now,
When the rehearsal had come to an end.
And quiet had returned to the land.
The little minstrel made his way to the royal city.
Obtained an audience with the king,
And asked for news of the wonderful tune.
Wonderful tomb,
" said the king from his throne,
Nodding gravely.
Yes,
Once there was even such a wonderful tune.
In those days,
Peace and plenty reigned in the world,
And everyone was happy at his task beneath the sun.
One luckless eve alas,
The tune in some manner happened to get broken up into notes.
And before anyone could help it.
These notes were scattered and lost through all the kingdoms of the world.
Young man,
I fear your search is in vain.
Nevermore shall the sons and daughters of men hear the wonderful tune.
Perhaps someone might gather the notes together again,
" said the little minstrel eagerly.
Many have tried to do so,
Replied the King.
Of those who fared away,
Some returned weary in the days of their youth,
Others crept back in old age,
And others yet were lost forevermore,
And never a one returned with a single note of the wonderful tune.
Then is the time come for a new search,
Cried out the little minstrel bravely.
Farewell,
O King of the Kingdom of Music,
For I must be off gathering the notes in the highways of the world.
Farewell,
Good youth,
Answered the king.
Return to us when your quest is ended.
And may you come piping the wonderful tune.
And now the little minstrel found himself on the roads of the world again,
Strolling from the first chill,
Golden-gray laggard dawns to the twilight world of meadows in the gathering dark and village bells sounding faintly afar.
Seven long years rolled over the world.
The little minstrel searched diligently and far and wide,
Yet never a trace could he find of a single note of the wonderful tune.
His blue coat,
Which had been so gay,
Was now sadly tattered and torn.
Even his penny pipe had had a dent in it,
And his shoes,
Alas,
Were scarce worth the putting on in the morn.
Now,
It came to pass on a day in the early winter,
That the little minstrel arrived in the northern land and followed a woodland road through the silence and the cold.
The sky was overcast with a wide tent of dull grey cloud,
Through which a sun swam,
Cold as a moon,
And the whole world was very still.
So still indeed that the only sound the little minstrel could hear was the scattering of leaves beneath his feet.
Twilight came and found the little minstrel far from a house or village.
A cold wind arose,
And presently a thick snow began to fall.
And now the night and the snow closed in upon the wanderer.
Huddled in his ragged cloak,
The little minstrel trudged bravely on into the whirling storm.
But little by little,
The cold crept into his body and bones.
A weariness and a hunger for sleep overcame him,
And suddenly he sank unknowing in the brambles by the road.
When he opened his eyes again.
A great open fire was burning before him on a huge hearth.
A blue mug of steaming milk lay waiting at one side.
And over him there bent anxiously two kindly young folks.
A sturdy country lad in a green smock.
And a pretty lass in a dress of homespun brown.
These,
Twain,
Were a young husband and wife.
Who lived in a little house in the woods.
Loving each other dearly.
Working contentedly at their daily tasks,
And dealing hospitably and generously with all.
Returning through the storm from a distant sheepfold.
The young countrymen had found the little minstrel lying in the snow.
And had carried him on his shoulders to the shelter of his home.
After a few days had passed,
And the little minstrel felt quite himself again,
He told his generous friends of his search for the notes of the wonderful tune.
It was at night that he told of his quest.
The supper had been cleared away.
The house was still.
And the little minstrel and his hosts were gathered by the fire.
A note of the wonderful tune,
Bless me!
But I think we have one in this house!
" exclaimed the young wife.
And she went to the mantle and fished about in an ancient brown bowl standing in the gloom.
Yes,
Here it is.
Sure enough.
A note of the wonderful tune.
And thus did it come to pass that the little minstrel obtained the first note of the wonderful tune,
For the young husband and wife were quick to make a gift of it to their guest.
The second note,
The little minstrel discovered on a glorious midsummer day.
It had lain in an old bird's nest in the heart of a great tree,
And a chance breeze tumbled nest and note together at the minstrel's feet.
The third note had been hidden away amid the books of a famous scholar.
Who lived all alone in an ancient tower,
Gathering the wisdom of the world.
The fourth note was given the minstrel by a little child whose toy it was.
The fifth note was turned up out of the earth on a spring morning by a whistling ploughman who saw the minstrel passing by.
And called to him to come and see the strange thing he had found.
The sixth note.
The minstrel hat of a weaver,
Who laboured in his own house at his own loom,
And upon it woe fare and beautiful things.
The Seventh Note.
A Great Nobleman Possessed.
He dwelt in his castle,
Free of little fears and mean rivalries,
And truth and courage and honor were his squires.
The eighth note,
The minstrel had of a young sailor,
Who chanced to discover it in an old ship that sailed the seas.
Of the ninth and last note,
However,
There was still no sign.
So the little minstrel put the eight others into his pocket that had no hole in it.
And turned again to his quest.
And presently,
He walked over a hill into the kingdom of the Blue Lakes,
Where reigned the Lady Amaret.
Now,
The kingdom of the Blue Lakes was quite the fairest of all the kingdoms of the world.
And Amarit,
The fairest queen.
Her palace stood on an open hill by her kingdom's eastern bound.
Of gold and white marble was it made,
And from its terrace one looked westward to the distant mountains over a woodland bright with lakes.
All day long there,
A gay court of lords and ladies in silks and fine array held festival.
The music of lutes and violins was ever to be heard,
And scarce an hour there was but had its pleasure.
And scarce a pleasure but had its hour.
Clad in a queen's robe of scarlet and gold cloth,
And seated in a jeweled throne raised upon the terrace,
The Lady Amaret received the ragged pilgrim of the toon.
Last note of the wonderful tune,
" said the Lady Amaranth.
Seek no more.
It is here.
Beyond the palace domain,
By a lake in the depths of the Wildwood.
My court fool has built for himself a bower.
And upon its walls hangs the last note of the wonderful tune.
Stay with us a while,
And you shall have it,
I promise you.
May I not go this very instant and find it,
Your Majesty?
" asked the little minstrel anxiously.
Long have I roamed the world in search of it,
And I need it so for the tune.
Nay,
Stay a while,
Answered the Queen,
Unyielding.
For even were I to bid you go,
Ye would never find the bower,
So cunningly it is hidden in the wood.
You have wandered long and afar,
Good friend.
Stay now a while from your quest.
My kingdom is the fairest in the world.
And you shall have all you desire.
Aunt Amrit gave a command that new apparel of the fairest blue cloth be prepared for the little minstrel.
And then a place be set for him at the royal board.
Now it came to pass that as the Lady Amarant and her court Behold how brave a youth the little minstrel appeared in his new apparel.
And hearken to the thousand wonderful tales he had to tell of his quest.
They found him the best company in the world.
And determined to hold him in the realm.
To this end,
Therefore.
They strove to drown the memory of his quest in a tide of gayest merriments.
But in spite of feasts and festivals,
The little minstrel never once forgot the last note of the wonderful tune.
Try as he might,
The little minstrel could never find the note.
Again and again he had tried to make his way to the Fool's Bower,
Only to lose himself in the tangled paths of the Wildwood.
Again and again he had questioned the court fool,
Only to be met with a mocking courtesy,
A finger to the lips,
And a jesting wink of the eye.
One day he even ventured to remind the Lady Amrit of her promise.
But she only laughed at him for his impatience,
And swept him off in her golden boat to a pageant on the lakes.
Now it happened on the following morning that the Lady Amaret,
Taking counsel with her court,
Determined to destroy the note.
Lest the minstrel should discover it and go.
Summoning the captain of the palace guard before her,
She said to him,
Go tonight to the bower of the courtful.
Take the last note of the wonderful tune and fling it into the depths of the lake.
And now it was night.
And the lords and ladies of the court strolling forth from dinner.
Walked through the palace to the Terrace of the West.
A storm was gathering afar.
An approaching thunder growled,
And lightning,
Flashing in the sky,
Was mirrored in the waters of the lake.
Presently there came wind and a patter of rain,
And soldiers of the palace guard entered to close the windows and the doors.
The little minstrel stood apart by a great window,
Gazing forth into the darkness and the storm.
His fine new clothes weighed like lead upon his shoulders,
His jeweled neckcloth scarce left him free to breathe,
And with all his heart he longed for his rags,
His liberty,
And the cool rain on his eyes.
But the last note He cannot leave that behind.
Suddenly,
He heard one soldier say to another,
Our companions will be caught in the storm.
They have ridden forth with the captain to the fool's bower to destroy the last note of the wonderful tune.
Oh,
The note.
The note.
Oh,
What shall I do?
Cried the minstrel.
His heart sinking into depths of despair.
Even now it may be lost to the world,
This time forever.
I must find the court fool.
He shall tell me where the bower lies.
And he looked about in the splendid throng for the fantastic Motley of the Fool.
But he saw only many enriched garments and the gleam of jewels reflecting many lights.
Suddenly,
He chanced to recall.
That the court fool dwelt in the garret of the palace.
So up great and little stairs he fled To the fool's chamber in the eves.
The rain was now falling in torrents on the roof close overhead,
And all at once a terrible peal of thunder shook the palace to its depths.
Never pausing to knock,
The little minstrel burst in at the door.
Candles were burning within the humble chamber.
Lightning flared at an oval window,
And the court fool stood in the center of the floor,
Still in his motley clad.
Friend,
" said the court fool,
With a low bow and a mocking smile.
Allow me to present you with the last note of the wonderful tune.
And with those words he handed the note to the very much astonished youth.
I feared lest mishap destroy it,
Continued the court fool.
So yester-eve I took it from my bower.
You see,
I believe in the wonderful tune.
And without my note,
This last note.
Your tune would scarce be worth the playing.
And now your hand,
Little minstrel,
For you must hurry away at once to the wind and rain.
So the minstrel pressed the hand of the court fool and,
Hastening down a tiny corner staircase,
Went forth into the storm.
And as he fled,
He cried aloud to the thunder and the rain and the wild wind.
The Wonderful Toon.
The Wonderful Toon.
I have it.
I have it.
The Wonderful Toon.
And now the storm wore itself away.
The summer stars shone forth in the clearest of blue skies,
And the only sound to be heard was the rain dripping from the trees.
Drenched to the skin,
But with a fire of joy in his heart.
The minstrel hurry through the night toward the kingdom of music far away.
When he arrived there on a summer's morning.
He found the people of the palace assembled in the hall of state,
And the king upon his throne.
I have it,
Your majesty,
" cried out the little minstrel breathlessly.
I have it.
Every note.
Here is the wonderful tune.
What?
Wonderful tune,
" cried the king,
Leaping to his feet.
Quick!
Somebody!
Ring all the bells!
Send trumpeteers through the streets.
Assemble the orchestra and call hither the violinist-in-chief.
The Lord Organist,
And the Grand Harbour.
We shall play it over at once.
Said the violinist-in-chief,
After he had put on his huge spectacles and studied the wonderful tune.
Don't you feel that those last bars ought to be played very fast,
Like this?
No,
I do not agree with you,
Replied the Lord Organist.
A huge personage with a majestic air and a bad temper.
Those bars should be played slowly.
Here he waved a large solemn finger.
Like this.
You are both entirely wrong,
" interrupted the Grand Harper,
A short fellow with long arms and long fingers.
To my way of thinking,
The entire tune should be played throughout in the same time.
In this fashion.
Listen to my tapping now.
Impossible.
Absurd.
No,
Never!
" cried the Lord Organist and the Violinist-in-Chief,
In one long indignant breath.
We appeal to the King.
But the king had ideas of his own on the matter.
And thus it was that the musicians all took to quarreling as to how the wonderful tune should be played.
And are quarreling still.
But Sunday.
They will make up their minds as to how it should go.
The little minstrel will leave the kingdom of music and come through the world piping the tune.
And then,
Oh then,
What times there will be.
Sweet dreams my friends.
Sleep well.
