The Story of the Traveling Musician
Geoffrey, the traveling musician, lived in the realm ruled by Bartholomew, The Magical Prince. He traveled from village to village stopping only long enough to sing a few songs and tell a few tales. He would accompany his tales with music from his ancient lute. Geoffrey was a magical musician.
One day Geoffrey came upon the hamlet of Bartersville. In Bartersville there was a noisy, busy market in the middle of town. Geoffrey made his way to the market and found a stump to sit on. He set his red feathered hat on the ground in hopes that people who enjoyed his music might drop a few ha’pennies or even a farthing into his hat. This would provide money to buy his dinner.
There were stands of every description in the market. You could buy anything your heart desired.
There was a poultry stand with live chicken, geese, turkey, French hen, turtle dove, and partridge.
There was a fresh fruit stand with apples, cranberries, gooseberries, blueberries, huckleberries, raspberries, blackberries, currants, grapes and an occasional strange fruit from the far east of a bright orange color.
There was a vegetable stand with rutabagas, turnips, parsnips, potatoes, greens, rhubarb, Swiss chard, and a strange looking round red vegetable from the southern lands.
There was a stand selling candles. There were tall candles, short candles, skinny candles, fat candles, white candles, yellow candles, hard candles, soft candles, and even lamps filled with oil that would burn all night long.
There was a stand of housewares and kitchenwares. It had copper and black pots, silver and black pans, wooden forks, wooden spoons, and knives of every shape and description for cutting any material or food you might have.
At the blacksmith’s shop you could have an iron plow sharpened or a horse’s shoe repaired.
There was a tailor’s shop where you could buy a new coat or a new pair of trousers or have your old ones repaired.
There was a bakery with fresh bread that made the entire market smell lovely. There were doughnuts, rolls, cinnamon buns, and bagels.
All the villagers were going from stand to stand buying things. Many peasants from miles around had come to trade for the things they needed back in the countryside.
Geoffrey began to play magical music from his lute. Many people began to gather around him. When a sufficiently large crowd had gathered, Geoffrey introduced his song, “This is The Tale of the Mighty Prince Bartholomew who Tamed the Dragon, Zedja.” He started to sing,
Tra la la la, I sing from my heart,
The story of The Magical Prince named Bart.
He is the finest prince of all
And he knows the magical art.
The song went on to tell the whole story of Bartholomew’s taming of the dragon with his mother’s scarf. All the people loved the song. They shouted, “Hurrah for Prince Bartholomew! Hurrah for Adrian, the Swiftest Horse in All the Realm! Hurrah for the dragon, Zedja, who is no longer mean!” The crowd was whistling and shouting, “Hurrah for Geoffrey, the traveling musician.”
As the crowd dispersed, many coins were dropped into Geoffrey’s red feathered hat, clink-clank-clunk. He had made enough money to buy his dinner. At the poultry stand he traded some coins for a fresh hen. He went to the bakery for a fresh roll, to the fruit stand for a fresh apple, and to the vegetable stand for a fresh turnip. Then he left Bartersville as quickly as he had come.
As I told you before, he stayed in each village only long enough to sing a few songs and tell a few tales before he moved on. He ate a fine dinner on the outskirts of town. He made a fire, roasted the hen, and ate it along with his turnip and bread. He saved the apple for his breakfast. After dinner he rolled out his bedroll, laid his lute beside him, and fell asleep. He slept soundly after his large meal.
The next morning he started on his way to the next village as always. There was a tiny settlement called Dusktown in the valley. In Dusktown there was no large market like Bartersville but Geoffrey liked to stop at the small villages as well as the larger ones. He would sing his songs to all the people of the realm.
On his way to Dusktown, he came upon a troop of actors. They had just come from Dusktown and asked Geoffrey, “Have you been to the market at Bartersville?”
Geoffrey replied, “Yes, I have and it is a mighty fine market, indeed.”
The actors asked, “Are there many people?”
Geoffrey chuckled, “There is a multitude of people, indeed.”
They asked, “Are they open to entertainments?”
Geoffrey assured them, “Oh yes! They loved my Song of The Magical Prince.”
Then they asked the most important question of all, “Did they give you any coins?”
Geoffrey said, “Oh, they were most generous, indeed. They gave me enough coins for my dinner and I have a few left over as well.” He rattled the coins in his pocket, jingle-jingle-jingle. The actors went merrily on their way thinking of the money they might make at the market in Bartersville.
It was a good distance to Dusktown. By the time Geoffrey reached the village, the sun was starting to set. There were still a few peasants coming in from the fields after a hard day’s work. They were sitting around a fire in the middle of town. Geoffrey smelled the hens roasting and made his way to the crowd. He sat down next to a rather large, burly and unfortunately rather smelly peasant and his jolly round wife. They recognized Geoffrey from his previous visit the year before. The peasant greeted him, “Welcome, Geoffrey! It is good to see you again. I hope you have a song for us tonight.”
Geoffrey started playing his magical lute. A few more peasants joined the circle around the fire. They were eating the coarse brown bread they baked in Dusktown and drinking from their flagons. Geoffrey announced, “This is The Song of the Whippoorwill.” Everyone listened as Geoffrey sang,
Tra la tra-la-la, sing my bird,
Whip whip whippoorwill whip,
Singing me your magical word,
Whip whip whippoorwill whip.
All the people cheered. “Hurrah for Geoffrey, the traveling musician! Hurrah for The Song of the Whippoorwill! Please sing us another song!” Since Geoffrey really had no place to go, he figured another song wouldn’t hurt and he sang his most famous Song of the Nightingale.
Tripolee, tripolee, in the evening,
Hear the nightingale sing.
Tripolee, tripolee, in the evening,
The song of her lover dying.
A few people cheered , “Hurrah for Geoffrey! Hurrah for The Song of the Nightingale!” However, most of the peasants had fallen asleep around the fire. Their friends roused them and said, “It is time to go now. Geoffrey is finished.”
Soon there was no one left but Geoffrey and the rather large, burly and unfortunately smelly peasant and his jolly round wife. They invited him to their hut, “Would you please spend the night with us?”
Geoffrey politely declined, “No, thank you. You have been very hospitable to share your meal of roast hen and bread with me but I must be on my way. For you see, tomorrow I am expected at the castle of The Magical Prince Bartholomew.”
Geoffrey camped outside of town as was his usual habit and fell asleep. During the night a nightingale came and perched in the tree above where Geoffrey was sleeping. Geoffrey awoke in the middle of the night to her mournful song. He looked up into the sky and saw a multitude of stars. He had never seen such a brilliant sky. There were stars upon stars upon stars. He listened to the nightingale’s song and memorized the notes the bird sang.
As he was singing with the bird, a shooting star flashed across the sky from east to west in one brilliant red streak. It passed so close that Geoffrey could hear its music. It made a swishing-whirring-whistling sound as it sailed through the sky. Geoffrey had never heard such music. As the shooting star passed over the horizon, Geoffrey fell back to sleep .
The dew dripping from the tree onto Geoffrey’s head woke him to a bright sun. He happily made his way up the mountains, higher and higher, until he came to the moat of the castle of Prince Bartholomew. At the gate he called “Ahoy, ahoy! ‘Tis I, Geoffrey, the traveling musician.”
The guard at the gate called down, “And what brings you to the castle of The Magical Prince Bartholomew?”
Geoffrey hollered, “Ahoy, ahoy! I am Geoffrey, the traveling musician, here to sing songs to the Magical Prince and his horse Adrian, to his beautiful wife with golden hair that shines like the sun and to the children of the castle.” The guard lowered the gate which formed a bridge over the moat and Geoffrey crossed. The guard raised the bridge.
The courtyard was filled with children playing and laughing. When they saw Geoffrey, they became quiet for they remembered the traveling musician. On his visit the year before he had sung many children‘s songs for them. They had been singing the songs they learned from him all year long; The Song of The Nightingale, The Song of the Whippoorwill, and The Tale of Bartholomew’s Taming of the Dragon, Zedja. They started pulling on Geoffrey's trousers, “Sing The Song of the Whippoorwill! Sing The Song of the Nightingale! Sing The Song of The Magical Prince!”
Geoffrey said, “Now wait, children. I have a new song this year. It is the Song of the Shooting Star.” You see, as I told you before, Geoffrey was a magical musician. Whenever something happened to him in the night, he would wake with a new song.
Shoo, shoo, shooting star ablaze,
Singing your song from far away,
Across the shoo-shoo-shoo sky,
From the east to the west on high,
Shoo, shoo-shoo, shooting star,
Shoo, shoo-shoo, shooting star.
All the children laughed and squealed for glee and shouted, “Hurrah for Geoffrey, the traveling musician! Hurrah for the Song of the Shooting Star.”
Just then Prince Bartholomew came down from the tower into the courtyard. He smiled to see all the children having such fun. He said, “Geoffrey it is so good to see you again this year. We have missed you. I heard your Song of the Shooting Star from the tower. It is a fine new song, indeed.
The Princess Maria invited him, “We hope that you will stay and spend at least a few days with us here at the castle.”
But, of course, Geoffrey said, “No, thank you kindly. My habit is to stay only long enough to sing a few songs and tell a few tales and then move on.”
Bartholomew said, “Yes. I understand. We will see you next year then.”
Geoffrey waved, “Goodbye and bless you all.”
The guard let down the bridge. Geoffrey crossed. The guard lifted the gate up again and Geoffrey, the traveling musician, was gone.
The Traveling Musician by C. Walker ©03