A CHILDREN'S PICTURE BOOK FOR THE FRENCH RED CROSS - A WWI Fundraiser E-Book

Anon E. Mouse

• Herausgeber: Abela Publishing
• Kategorie: Fantasy und Science-Fiction
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2018

Beschreibung

Edmund Dulac (22 October 1882 – 25 May 1953) was a naturalised British magazine illustrator, book illustrator and stamp designer. Born in Toulouse he studied law but later turned to the study of art at the École des Beaux-Arts. He moved to London early in the 20th century and in 1905 received his first commission to illustrate the novels of the Bronte Sisters. During World War I, Dulac produced relief books, of which “A Picture-Book for the French Red Cross” is one. In this volume are 17 illustrated fairy tales, songs, poems and stories for children selected from around the world. Herein you will find the stories like: The Story Of The Bird Feng Young Rousselle Laylá And Majnún The Nightingale Three Kings Of Orient Sindbad The Sailor The Little Seamstress The Real Princess My Lisette Cinderella The Chilly Lover The Story Of Aucassin And Nicolette Blue Beard Cerberus, The Black Dog Of Hades The Lady Badoura The Sleeper Awakened Jusef And Asenath: When, after the war the deluxe children's book market shrank he turned to magazine illustrations among other ventures. He designed banknotes during World War II and postage stamps, most notably those which heralded the beginning of Queen Elizabeth II's reign. 10% of the publisher’s profit will be donated to charities supporting wounded returned servicemen. ------- KEYWORDS/TAGS - Children’s stories, Children’s Books, Folklore, Fairy, Folk, Tales, bedtime story, legends, storyteller, fables, moral tales, myths, happiness, laughter, fairy tales for kids, around the world, nursery rhymes, fairy tales story, fairy tales book, short fairy tales, songs, poems, The Bird Feng, Young Rousselle, Layla, Majnun, Nightingale, Three Kings Of Orient, Sindbad The Sailor, Little Seamstress, Real Princess, Lisette, Cinderella, Chilly Lover, Aucassin, Nicolette, Blue Beard, Cerberus, Black Dog, Hades, Lady Badoura, Sleeper, Awakened, Jusef, Asenath, France, England, Germany, Egypt, Persia, China, Hans Christian Andersen, Thousand and One Nights, WWI, Great War, First World War

Leseprobe

A Picture-Book For The French Red Cross

ByEdmund Dulac

Published For The Daily TelegraphBy Hodder And Stoughton, London · New York · Toronto

[1915]

Resurrected By

Abela Publishing, London[2018]

A Picture Book for the French Red Cross

Typographical arrangement of this edition

© Abela Publishing 2018

This book may not be reproduced in its current format in any manner in any media, or transmitted by any means whatsoever, electronic, electrostatic, magnetic tape, or mechanical ( including photocopy, file or video recording, internet web sites, blogs, wikis, or any other information storage and retrieval system) except as permitted by law without the prior written permission of the publisher.

Abela Publishing,

London

United Kingdom

2018

ISBN-13: 978-X-XXXXXX-XX-X

email

[email protected]

Website

Abela Publishing

ASENATH

Contents

THE STORY OF THE BIRD FENG a Fairy Tale from China

YOUNG ROUSSELLE: a French Song of the Olden Time

LAYLÁ AND MAJNÚN: a Persian Love Story

THE NIGHTINGALE: after a Fairy Tale by Hans Andersen

THREE KINGS OF ORIENT: a Carol

SINDBAD THE SAILOR: a Tale from the Thousand and One Nights

THE LITTLE SEAMSTRESS: a French Song of the Olden Time

THE REAL PRINCESS: after a Fairy Tale by Hans Andersen

MY LISETTE: an Old French Song

CINDERELLA: a Fairy Tale from the French

THE CHILLY LOVER: a Song from the French

THE STORY OF AUCASSIN AND NICOLETTE: an Old World Idyll

BLUE BEARD: an Old Tale from the French

CERBERUS, THE BLACK DOG OF HADES

THE LADY BADOURA: a Tale from the Thousand and One Nights

THE SLEEPER AWAKENED: a Tale from the Thousand and One Nights

JUSEF AND ASENATH: a Love Story of Egypt

Illustrations

JUSEF AND ASENATH - Asenath

THE STORY OF THE BIRD FENG - The wonderful bird, like a fire of many colours come down from heaven, alighted before the princess, dropping at her feet the portrait

YOUNG ROUSSELLE - What do you think of Young Rousselle?

LAYLÁ AND MAJNÚN - In a high chamber of the palace—it was as wondrous as that of a Sultan

If the desert were my home—then would I let the world go by

She would sit for hours, with the bird perched on the back of her hand, listening to its soft intonation of that one word 'Majnún'

THE NIGHTINGALE - Even the poor fisherman would pause in his work to listen

THREE KINGS OF ORIENT - O Star of Wonder, Star of Night

SINDBAD THE SAILOR - Knowest thou that my name is also Sindbad?

THE LITTLE SEAMSTRESS - I never at all Saw sewing so small!

THE REAL PRINCESS - Not a wink the whole night long

MY LISETTE - 'Tis Lisette whom I adore, And with reason, more and more!

CINDERELLA - 'There,' said her godmother, pointing with her wand, ... 'pick it and bring it along'

THE CHILLY LOVER - O Ursula, for thee My heart is burning,—

But I'm so cold!

THE STORY OF AUCASSIN AND NICOLETTE - But Nicolette one night escaped

BLUE BEARD - Seven and one are eight, madam!

CERBERUS - Cerberus, the black dog of Hades

THE LADY BADOURA - Nay, nay; I will not marry him

THE SLEEPER AWAKENED - Behold the reward of those who meddle in other people's affairs

EDMUND DULAC

EDMUND DULAC'S PICTURE BOOK PUBLISHED ON BEHALF OF THE CROIX ROUGE FRANÇAISE

COMITÉ DE LONDRES

9 KNIGHTSBRIDGE, LONDON, S.W.

Président d'honneurPrésidente

S. E. Monsieur PAUL CAMBON VICOMTESSE DE LA PANOUSE

Under the Patronage ofH.M. QUEEN ALEXANDRA

The work of the French Red Cross is done almost entirely by the willing sacrifice of patriotic people who give little or much out of their means. The Comité is pleased to give the fullest possible particulars of its methods and needs. It is sufficient here to say that everyone who gives even a shilling gives a wounded French soldier more than a shilling's worth of ease or pleasure.

The actual work is enormous. The number of men doctored, nursed, housed, fed, kept from the worries of illness, is great, increasing, and will increase.

You must remember that everything to do with sick and wounded has to be kept up to a daily standard. It is you who give who provide the drugs, medicines, bandages, ambulances, coal, comfort for those who fight, get wounded, or die to keep you safe. Remember that besides fighting for France, they are fighting for the civilised world, and that you owe your security and civilisation to them as much as to your own men and the men of other Allied Countries.

There is not one penny that goes out of your pockets in this cause that does not bind France and Britain closer together. From the millionaire we need his thousands; from the poor man his store of pence. We do not beg, we insist, that these brave wounded men shall lack for nothing. We do not ask of you, we demand of you, the help that must be given.

There is nothing too small and nothing too large but we need it.

Day after day we send out great bales of goods to these our devoted soldiers, and we must go on.

Imagine yourself ill, wounded, sick, in an hospital, with the smash and shriek of the guns still dinning in your ears, and imagine the man or woman who would hold back their purse from helping you.

Times are not easy, we know, but being wounded is less easy, and being left alone because nothing is forthcoming is terrible. You have calls upon you everywhere, you say; well, these men have answered their call, and in the length and breadth of France they wait your reply.

What is it to be?

No longer applicable!

Will you please send anything you can afford toEDMUND DULAC, c/o "The Daily Telegraph," London, E.C.

No longer applicable!

Instead, please donate to your nearest

Royal British Legion Office

or to your nearest charity supporting wounded returned servicemen and women.

The Story of the Bird Feng

A Fairy Tale from China

In the Book of the Ten Thousand Wonders there are three hundred and thirty-three stories about the bird called Feng, and this is one of them.

Ta-Khai, Prince of Tartary, dreamt one night that he saw in a place where he had never been before an enchantingly beautiful young maiden who could only be a princess. He fell desperately in love with her, but before he could either move or speak, she had vanished. When he awoke he called for his ink and brushes, and, in the most accomplished willow-leaf style, he drew her image on a piece of precious silk, and in one corner he wrote these lines:

The flowers of the pæonyWill they ever bloom?A day without herIs like a hundred years.

The Wonderful Bird, Like A Fire Of Many Colours Come Down From Heaven, Alighted Before The Princess, Dropping At Her Feet The Portrait

He then summoned his ministers, and, showing them the portrait, asked if anyone could tell him the name of the beautiful maiden; but they all shook their heads and stroked their beards. They knew not who she was.

So displeased was the prince that he sent them away in disgrace to the most remote provinces of his kingdom. All the courtiers, the generals, the officers, and every man and woman, high and low, who lived in the palace came in turn to look at the picture. But they all had to confess their ignorance. Ta-Khai then called upon the magicians of the kingdom to find out by their art the name of the princess of his dreams, but their answers were so widely different that the prince, suspecting their ability, condemned them all to have their noses cut off. The portrait was shown in the outer court of the palace from sunrise till sunset, and exalted travellers came in every day, gazed upon the beautiful face, and came out again. None could tell who she was.

Meanwhile the days were weighing heavily upon the shoulders of Ta-Khai, and his sufferings cannot be described; he ate no more, he drank no more, and ended by forgetting which was day and which was night, what was in and what was out, what was left and what was right. He spent his time roaming over the mountains and through the woods crying aloud to the gods to end his life and his sorrow.

It was thus, one day, that he came to the edge of a precipice. The valley below was strewn with rocks, and the thought came to his mind that he had been led to this place to put a term to his misery. He was about to throw himself into the depths below when suddenly the bird Feng flew across the valley and appeared before him, saying:

'Why is Ta-Khai, the mighty Prince of Tartary, standing in this place of desolation with a shadow on his brow?'

Ta-Khai replied: 'The pine tree finds its nourishment where it stands, the tiger can run after the deer in the forests, the eagle can fly over the mountains and the plains, but how can I find the one for whom my heart is thirsting?'

And he told the bird his story.

The Feng, which in reality was a Feng-Hwang, that is, a female Feng, rejoined:

'Without the help of Supreme Heaven it is not easy to acquire wisdom, but it is a sign of the benevolence of the spiritual beings that I should have come between you and destruction. I can make myself large enough to carry the largest town upon my back, or small enough to pass through the smallest keyhole, and I know all the princesses in all the palaces of the earth. I have taught them the six intonations of my voice, and I am their friend. Therefore show me the picture, O Ta-Khai, and I will tell you the name of her whom you saw in your dream.'

They went to the palace, and, when the portrait was shown, the bird became as large as an elephant, and exclaimed, 'Sit on my back, O Ta-Khai, and I will carry you to the place of your dream. There you will find her of the transparent face with the drooping eyelids under the crown of dark hair such as you have depicted, for these are the features of Sai-Jen, the daughter of the King of China, and alone can be likened to the full moon rising under a black cloud.'

At nightfall they were flying over the palace of the king just above a magnificent garden. And in the garden sat Sai-Jen, singing and playing upon the lute. The Feng-Hwang deposited the prince outside the wall near a place where bamboos were growing and showed him how to cut twelve bamboos between the knots to make the flute which is called Pai-Siao and has a sound sweeter than the evening breeze on the forest stream.

And as he blew gently across the pipes, they echoed the sound of the princess's voice so harmoniously that she cried:

'I hear the distant notes of the song that comes from my own lips, and I can see nothing but the flowers and the trees; it is the melody the heart alone can sing that has suffered sorrow on sorrow, and to which alone the heart can listen that is full of longing.'

At that moment the wonderful bird, like a fire of many colours come down from heaven, alighted before the princess, dropping at her feet the portrait. She opened her eyes in utter astonishment at the sight of her own image. And when she had read the lines inscribed in the corner, she asked, trembling:

'Tell me, O Feng-Hwang, who is he, so near, but whom I cannot see, that knows the sound of my voice and has never heard me, and can remember my face and has never seen me?'

Then the bird spoke and told her the story of Ta-Khai's dream, adding:

'I come from him with this message; I brought him here on my wings. For many days he has longed for this hour, let him now behold the image of his dream and heal the wound in his heart.'

Swift and overpowering is the rush of the waves on the pebbles of the shore, and like a little pebble felt Sai-Jen when Ta-Khai stood before her....

The Feng-Hwang illuminated the garden sumptuously, and a breath of love was stirring the flowers under the stars.

It was in the palace of the King of China that were celebrated in the most ancient and magnificent style the nuptials of Sai-Jen and Ta-Khai, Prince of Tartary.

And this is one of the three hundred and thirty-three stories about the bird Feng as it is told in the Book of the Ten Thousand Wonders.

Young Rouselle A French Song of Olden Times

Young Rousselle has three houses got,Never a roof to all the lot,—For swallows' nests they will serve quite well—What do you think of Young Rousselle?Ah! ah! ah! truth to tell,A jolly good chap is Young Rousselle.Young Rousselle, he has three top-coats;Two are of cloth as yellow as oats;The third, which is made of paper brown,He wears if it freezes or rain comes down.Ah! ah! ah! truth to tell,A jolly good chap is Young Rousselle.Young Rousselle, he has three old hats;Two are as round as butter-pats;The third has two little horns, 'tis said,Because it has taken the shape of his head.Ah! ah! ah! truth to tell,A jolly good chap is Young Rousselle.Young Rousselle, he has three fine eyes;Each is quite of a different size;One looks east and one looks west,The third, his eye-glass, is much the best.Ah! ah! ah! truth to tell,A jolly good chap is Young Rousselle.Young Rousselle, he has three black shoesTwo on his feet he likes to use;The third has neither sole nor side:That will do when he weds his bride.Ah! ah! ah! truth to tell,A jolly good chap is Young Rousselle.Young Rousselle three hairs can find:Two in front and one behind;And, when he goes to see his girl,He puts all three of them in curl.Ah! ah! ah! truth to tell,A jolly good chap is Young Rousselle.Young Rousselle, three boys he has got:Two are nothing but trick and plot;The third can cheat and swindle well,—He greatly resembles Young Rousselle.Ah! ah! ah! truth to tell,A jolly good chap is Young Rousselle.Young Rousselle, he has three good tykes;One hunts rabbits just as he likes,One chivies hares,—and, as for the third,He bolts whenever his name is heard.Ah! ah! ah! truth to tell,A jolly good chap is Young Rousselle.Young Rousselle, he has three big cats,Who never attempt to catch the rats;The third is blind, and without a lightHe goes to the granary every night.Ah! ah! ah! truth to tell,A jolly good chap is Young Rousselle.Young Rousselle, he has daughters three,Married as well as you'd wish to see;Two, one could scarcely beauties call,And the third, she has just no brains at all.Ah! ah! ah! truth to tell,A jolly good chap is Young Rousselle.Young Rousselle, he has farthings three,—To pay his creditors these must be;And, when he has shown these riches vast,He puts them back in his purse at last.Ah! ah! ah! truth to tell,A jolly good chap is Young Rousselle.Young Rousselle, he will run his rigA long while yet ere he hops the twig,For, so they say, he must learn to spellTo write his own epitaph,—Young Rousselle!Ah! ah! ah! truth to tell,A jolly good chap is Young Rousselle.

WHAT DO YOU THINK OF YOUNG ROUSSELLE?