Rappaccini's Daughter

Rappaccini's Daughter, Part 1

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Our story today is called "Rappaccini's Daughter."  It was written by Nathaniel Hawthorne. We will tell the story in two parts. Here is Kay Gallant with the first part of our story.

Many years ago, a young man named Giovanni Guasconti left his home in Naples to study in northern Italy. He rented a small room on the top floor of a dark and ancient palace. Long ago, the building had belonged to a noble family. Now, an old woman, Signora Lisabetta, rented its rooms to students at the University of Padua.

Giovanni's room had a small window. From it he could see a large garden that had many plants and flowers. "Does the garden belong to you?" he asked Signora Lisabetta one day.

"Oh no!" she said quickly. "That garden belongs to the famous doctor, Giacomo Rappaccini. People say he uses those plants to make strange kinds of medicine. He lives in that small brown house in the garden with his daughter, Beatrice."

Giovanni often sat by his window to look at the garden. He had never seen so many different kinds of plants. They all had enormous green leaves and magnificent flowers in every color of the rainbow.

Giovanni's favorite plant was in a white marble vase near the house. It was covered with big purple flowers.

One day, while Giovani was looking out his window, he saw an old man in a black cape walking in the garden. The old man was tall and thin. His face was an unhealthy yellow color. His black eyes were very cold.

The old man wore thick gloves on his hands and a mask over his mouth and nose. He walked carefully among the plants, as if he were walking among wild animals or poisonous snakes. Although he looked at the flowers very closely, he did not touch or smell any of them.

When the old man arrived at the plant with the big purple flowers, he stopped.  He took off his mask and called loudly, "Beatrice! Come help me!"

"I am coming, Father. What do you want?" answered a warm young voice from inside the house. A young woman came into the garden. Her thick, dark hair fell around her shoulders in curls. Her cheeks were pink and her eyes were large and black.

She seemed full of life, health and energy as she walked among the plants. Giovanni thought she was as beautiful as the purple flowers in the marble vase. The old man said something to her. She nodded her head as she touched and smelled the flowers that her father had been so careful to avoid.

Several weeks later, Giovanni went to visit Pietro Baglioni, a friend of his father's.  Professor Baglioni taught medicine at the university. During the visit, Giovanni asked about Doctor Rappaccini. "He is a great scientist," Professor Baglioni replied. "But he is also a dangerous man."

"Why?" asked Giovanni.

The older man shook his head slowly. "Because Rappaccini cares more about science than he does about people. He has created many terrible poisons from the plants in his garden. He thinks he can cure sickness with these poisons.

It is true that several times he has cured a very sick person that everyone thought would die. But Rappaccini's medicine has also killed many people. I think he would sacrifice any life, even his own, for one of his experiments."

"But what about his daughter?" Giovanni said. "I'm sure he loves her."

The old professor smiled at the young man. "So," he said, "You have heard about Beatrice Rappaccini. People say she is very beautiful. But few men in Padua have ever seen her. She never leaves here father's garden."

Giovanni left professor Baglione's house as the sun was setting. On his way home, he stopped at a flower shop where he bought some fresh flowers. He returned to his room and sat by the window.

Very little sunlight was left. The garden was quiet. The purple flowers on Giovanni's favorite plant seemed to glow in the evening's fading light.

Then someone came out of the doorway of the little brown house. It was Beatrice. She entered the garden and walked among the plants. She bent to touch the leaves of a plant or to smell a flower. Rappaccini's daughter seemed to grow more beautiful with each step.

When she reached the purple plant, she buried her face in its flowers. Giovanni heard her say "Give me your breath, my sister. The ordinary air makes me weak. And give me one of your beautiful flowers." Beatrice gently broke off one of the largest flowers. As she lifted it to put it in her dark hair, a few drops of liquid from the flower fell to the ground.

One of the drops landed on the head of a tiny lizard crawling near the feet of Beatrice. For a moment the small animal twisted violently. Then it moved no more. Beatrice did not seem surprised. She sighed and placed the flower in her hair.

Giovanni leaned out of the window so he could see her better. At this moment, a beautiful butterfly flew over the garden wall. It seemed to be attracted by Beatrice and flew once around her head. Then, the insect's bright wings stopped and it fell to the ground dead. Beatrice shook her head sadly.

Suddenly, she looked up at Giovanni's window.  She saw the young man looking at her. Giovanni picked up the flowers he had bought and threw them down to her. "Young lady," he said, "Wear these flowers as a gift from Giovanni Guasconti."

"Thank you," Beatrice answered. She picked up the flowers from the ground and quickly ran to the house. She stopped at the door for a moment to wave shyly to Giovanni. It seemed to him that his flowers were beginning to turn brown in her hands.

For many days, the young man stayed away from the window that looked out on Rappaccini's garden. He wished he had not talked to Beatrice because now he felt under the power of her beauty.

He was a little afraid of her, too.  He could not forget how the little lizard and the butterfly had died.

One day, while he was returning home from his classes, he met Professor Baglioni on the street.

"Well, Giovanni," the old man said, "have you forgotten me?" Then he looked closely at the young man. "What is wrong, my friend? Your appearance has changed since the last time we met." It was true. Giovanni had become very thin. His face was white, and his eyes seemed to burn with fever.

As they stood talking, a man dressed in a long black cape came down the street. He moved slowly, like a person in poor health. His face was yellow, but his eyes were sharp and black. It was the man Giovanni had seen in the garden. As he passed them, the old man nodded coldly to Professor Baglioni.  But he looked at Giovanni with a great deal of interest.

"It's Doctor Rappaccini!" Professor Baglioni whispered after the old man had passed them. "Has he ever seen your face before?"

Giovanni shook his head. "No," he answered, "I don't think so."

Professor Baglioni looked worried. "I think he has seen you before. I know that cold look of his! He looks the same way when he examines an animal he has killed in one of his experiments. Giovanni, I will bet my life on it. You are the subject of one of Rappaccini's experiments!"

Giovanni stepped away from the old man. "You are joking," he said. "No, I am serious." The professor took Giovanni's arm. "Be careful, my young friend. You are in great danger."

Giovanni pulled his arm away.  "I must be going," he said, "Good night."

As Giovanni hurried to his room, he felt confused and a little frightened.

Signora Lisabetta was waiting for him outside his door.  She knew he was interested in Beatrice. "I have good news for you," she said.  "I know where there is a secret entrance into Rappaccini's garden."

Giovanni could not believe his ears. "Where is it?" he asked. "Show me the way."

Rappaccini's Daughter, Part 2

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Today, we complete the story "Rappaccini's Daughter."  It was written by Nathaniel Hawthorne. Here is Kay Gallant with the second and final part of "Rappaccini's Daughter."

Many years ago, a young man named Giovanni Guasconti left his home in Naples to study in northern Italy. He took a room in an old house next to a magnificent garden filled with strange flowers and other plants.

The garden belonged to a doctor, Giacomo Rappaccini.  He lived with his daughter, Beatrice, in a small brown house in the garden. From a window of his room, Giovanni had seen that Rappaccini's daughter was very beautiful. But everyone in Padua was afraid of her father.

Pietro Baglioni, a professor at the university, warned Giovanni about the mysterious Doctor Rappaccini. "He is a great scientist," Professor Baglioni told the young man. "But he is also dangerous. Rappaccini cares more about science than he does about people.  He has created many terrible poisons from the plants in his garden."

One day, Giovanni found a secret entrance to Rappaccini's garden. He went in. The plants all seemed wild and unnatural. Giovanni realized that Rappaccini must have created these strange and terrible flowers through his experiments.

Suddenly, Rappaccini's daughter came into the garden. She moved quickly among the flowers until she reached him. Giovanni apologized for coming into the garden without an invitation. But Beatrice smiled at him and made him feel welcome.

"I see you love flowers," she said.  "And so you have come to take a closer look at my father's rare collection."

While she spoke, Giovanni noticed a perfume in the air around her. He wasn't sure if this wonderful smell came from the flowers or from her breath.

She asked him about his home and his family. She told him she had spent her life in this garden. Giovanni felt as if he were talking to a very small child. Her spirit sparkled like clear water.

They walked slowly though the garden as they talked. At last they reached a beautiful plant that was covered with large purple flowers. He realized that the perfume from those flowers was like the perfume of Beatrice's breath, but much stronger.

The young man reached out to break off one of the purple flowers. But Beatrice gave a scream that went through his heart like a knife. She caught his hand and pulled it away from the plant with all her strength.

"Don't ever touch those flowers!" she cried. "They will take your life!" Hiding her face, she ran into the house. Then, Giovanni saw Doctor Rappaccini standing in the garden.

That night, Giovanni could not stop thinking about how sweet and beautiful Beatrice was. Finally, he fell asleep. But when the morning came, he woke up in great pain. He felt as if one of his hands was on fire. It was the hand that Beatrice had grabbed in hers when he reached for one of the purple flowers.

Giovanni looked down at his hand. There was a purple mark on it that looked like four small fingers and a little thumb. But because his heart was full of Beatrice, Giovanni forgot about the pain in his hand.

He began to meet her in the garden every day. At last, she told him that she loved him. But she would never let him kiss her or even hold her hand.

One morning, several weeks later, Professor Baglioni visited Giovanni. "I was worried about you," the older man said. "You have not come to your classes at the university for more than a month. Is something wrong?"

Giovanni was not pleased to see his old friend. "No, nothing is wrong. I am fine, thank you." He wanted Professor Baglioni to leave. But the old man took off his hat and sat down.

"My dear Giovanni," he said.  "You must stay away from Rappaccini and his daughter. Her father has given her poison from the time she was a baby. The poison is in her blood and on her breath. If Rappaccini did this to his own daughter, what is he planning to do to you?"

Giovanni covered his face with his hands. "Oh my God!" he cried. "Don't worry, the old man continued. "It is not too late to save you. And we may succeed in helping Beatrice, too. Do you see this little silver bottle? It holds a medicine that will destroy even the most powerful poison. Give it to your Beatrice to drink."

Professor Baglioni put the little bottle on the table and left Giovanni's room. The young man wanted to believe that Beatrice was a sweet and innocent girl. And yet, Professor Baglioni's words had put doubts in his heart.

It was nearly time for his daily meeting with Beatrice. As Giovanni combed his hair, he looked at himself in a mirror near his bed. He could not help noticing how handsome he was. His eyes looked particularly bright. And his face had a healthy warm glow.

He said to himself, "At least her poison has not gotten into my body yet." As he spoke he happened to look at some flowers he had just bought that morning. A shock of horror went through his body.

The flowers were turning brown! Giovanni's face became very white as he stared at himself in the mirror.

Then he noticed a spider crawling near his window. He bent over the insect and blew a breath of air at it. The spider trembled, and fell dead. "I am cursed," Giovanni whispered to himself. "My own breath is poison."

At that moment, a rich, sweet voice came floating up from the garden. "Giovanni! You are late. Come down."

"You are a monster!" Giovanni shouted as soon as he reached her. "And with your poison you have made me into a monster, too. I am a prisoner of this garden."

"Giovanni!" Beatrice cried, looking at him with her large bright eyes. "Why are you saying these terrible things? It is true that I can never leave this garden. But you are free to go wherever you wish."

Giovanni looked at her with hate in his eyes. "Don't pretend that you don't know what you have done to me."

A group of insects had flown into the garden. They came toward Giovanni and flew around his head.  He blew his breath at them. The insects fell to the ground, dead.

Beatrice screamed. "I see it! I see it! My father's science has done this to us. Believe me, Giovanni, I did not ask him to do this to you. I only wanted to love you."

Giovanni's anger changed to sadness. Then, he remembered the medicine that Professor Baglioni had given him. Perhaps the medicine would destroy the poison in their bodies and help them to become normal again.

"Dear Beatrice," he said, "our fate is not so terrible." He showed her the little silver bottle and told her what the medicine inside it might do. "I will drink first," she said. "You must wait to see what happens to me before you drink it."

She put Baglioni's medicine to her lips and took a small sip. At the same moment, Rappaccini came out of his house and walked slowly toward the two young people. He spread his hands out to them as if he were giving them a blessing.

"My daughter," he said, "you are no longer alone in the world. Give Giovanni one of the purple flowers from your favorite plant. It will not hurt him now. My science and your love have made him different from ordinary men."

"My father," Beatrice said weakly, "why did you do this terrible thing to your own child?"

Rappaccini looked surprised. "What do you mean, my daughter?" he asked. "You have power no other woman has. You can defeat your strongest enemy with only your breath. Would you rather be a weak woman?"

"I want to be loved, not feared," Beatrice replied. "But now, it does not matter. I am leaving you, father. I am going where the poison you have given me will do no harm. Good bye to you, Giovanni."

Beatrice dropped to the ground. She died at the feet of her father and Giovanni. The poison had been too much a part of the young woman. The medicine that destroyed the poison, destroyed her, as well.

You have just heard the story "Rappaccini's Daughter."  It was written by Nathaniel Hawthorne and adapted for Special English by Dona de Sanctis. Your storyteller was Kay Gallant. This is Shep O'Neal.

The Origins of The Mother's Day

Today, Mother’s Day is a holiday of joy, brunches, gifts, flowers and phone calls. In fact, phone traffic spikes more on Mother’s Day than any other holiday. This annual celebration of moms everywhere was first officially established in 1914 when President Woodrow Wilson issued a presidential proclamation, which read that this is the day we “[publicly express] our love and reverence for the mothers of our country.”

The mother of Mother’s Day was a woman named Anna Jarvis, who, despite never becoming a mother, spent many years advocating for a national day for mothers because she felt they didn’t get enough recognition for all they did. Unfortunately, after she was successful in her campaign, Jarvis became so distraught by the commercialization of Mother’s Day that she eventually denounced the holiday and campaigned against it. Here’s the true story of Mother’s Day and how it became something that its original creator never intended.

Beyond the modern incarnation, the earliest instances of something like a Mother’s Day can be traced back to the ancient Egyptian celebration for the goddess Isis. Important to the Egyptians because of her connection to mourning and healing the sick, Isis was often shown as a mothering spirit and a role model for women. There were two celebrations associated with Isis, the largest of which took place for four days from October 31st through November 3rd. This festival’s highlight was a passion play showing how Isis brought her husband, Osiris, back from the dead.

While both the Greeks and Romans held festivals that celebrated their motherly goddesses, Rhea and Cybele, it is the Christian festival “Mothering Sunday” that’s more of a precedent to what we celebrate today. Taking place on the fourth Sunday of Lent (which falls in the month between Ash Wednesday and Easter), “Mothering Sunday” is still celebrated (mostly in the UK and parts of Europe) but, traditionally, has little to do with the American version “Mother’s Day.”  Religious in nature, the holiday marks the day that people go to their “mother” church to worship, as opposed to their normal “daughter” church. The “mother” church is the largest in the area, the one that the smaller parishes spawned off of. Since this is often a day that the entire family gets together to attend the same church services, it has since become a day to celebrate mothers as well. It also became tradition for younger kids to pick wild flowers and give them to their mother on this day.

Anne Maria Jarvis

If Anna Jarvis is considered the mother of American Mother’s Day, then Ann Maria Reeves Jarvis should be considered the grandmother. Anna Jarvis’ actual mother was a community leader in Barbour County, West Virginia and organized a series of “Mothers’ Day Work Clubs” across the county. Their aims were to raise money and help out mothers who could not afford medicine or medical attention for their families. Additionally, they inspected bottled milk and food for contamination at a time when the federal government didn’t do such things.

When the Civil War commenced, Jarvis asked her club members to pledged neutrality in the conflict and helped soldiers from both sides take care of their families. After the war, in 1868, Jarvis organized “Mothers’ Friendship Day,” an event that brought together mothers from both the Confederate and Union sides to promote peace and reconciliation. Despite authorities thinking it would erupt in violence, it was a great success and was held for several years afterwards. The day also inspired famed women’s rights activist and composer of the “The Battle Hymn of the Republic” Julia Ward Howe to write the 1870 “Mother’s Day Proclamation, which called for women to take be more politically active in promoting peace and pacifism.

Anna Jarvis

Ann Maria Reeves Jarvis died in 1905, but her daughter took up the mantle of asking women to be more engaged in public affairs. Legend says that Anna Jarvis conceived the “Mother’s Day” holiday while at her mother’s funeral standing beside the open grave. Whether true or not, wanting a specific day to honor people like her mother – hard working, proud and rarely celebrated – she wrote thousands of letters to prominent Americans, including President Teddy Roosevelt and Mark Twain, asking for them to consider her idea.

Much like when the author of Mary Had a Little Lamb, Sarah Hale, before her did more or less the same in convincing Abraham Lincoln to establish a national day of Thanksgiving, it worked, with Twain’s support being printed in newspapers across the country; in 1908, Presidential candidate William Jennings Bryan also stated that he was “heartily in sympathy with the movement.”

The most avid supporter, however, was from former Postmaster General and department store mogul John Wanamaker. Not only was he vocal about his support for this day of remembrance, he also provided his store’s auditorium in Philadelphia as the site of the first “Mother’s Day” celebration on May 10, 1908. While the auditorium only sat five thousand people, fifteen thousand tried to gain admittance. Jarvis herself spoke for 70 minutes, talking about her mother and what we must do as a nation to remember all mothers. After her address, another speaker told Jarvis in front of thousands that, “Your Mother’s Day idea will honor you through ages to come.”

While the Senate initially rejected a resolution in 1908 concerning the proposed holiday, President Wilson officially signed legislation in 1914 declaring that the second Sunday in May would forever be the national holiday of “Mother’s Day.” Jarvis made the white carnation the official flower of the holiday she had championed, stating:

Its whiteness is to symbolize the truth, purity and broad-charity of mother love; its fragrance, her memory, and her prayers. The carnation does not drop its petals, but hugs them to its heart as it dies, and so, too, mothers hug their children to their hearts, their mother love never dying. When I selected this flower, I was remembering my mother’s bed of white pinks.

She also trademarked an official Mother’s Day seal and incorporated her “Mother’s Day International Association.” She even had a slogan – “in honor of the best mother who ever lived — your own.” Needless to say, she took Mother’s Day very seriously.

However, as the years passed, Jarvis started losing a grip on the holiday she invented. As happens to nearly every major holiday, flower, candy and greeting card companies began to realize the profit potential of Mother’s Day. Jarvis responded by denouncing any commercialization of Mother’s Day, thinking any attempt to make money off Mother’s Day – even if it was for a good cause – was wrong and not in the spirit of the thing. After all, something like a hand written note expressing your personal feelings is far superior than some store bought card. As she said,

A printed card means nothing except that you are too lazy to write to the woman who has done more for you than anyone in the world. And candy! You take a box to Mother—and then eat most of it yourself. A pretty sentiment.

At one point, she had nearly three dozen Mother’s Day-related lawsuits pending, including one against a nonprofit organization run by the First Lady Eleanor Roosevelt. Obviously confused and annoyed, Roosevelt told the New York Times that “I think (Jarvis) misunderstands us. She wanted Mother’s Day observed. We want it observed, are working for its observance and are really aiding her.”

Jarvis also went after the US Postal Service because they issued a Mother’s Day stamp featuring a white carnation, which she thought was a blatant advertisement for the floral industry.

Despite spending significant amounts of money campaigning against the commercialization of Mother’s Day in her later years, Jarvis was unable to stop it from becoming something she didn’t want. She subsequently went into reclusion in the final years of her life. In debt, angry and in failing health, she lived in a giant brick mansion in Philadelphia with her blind sister, Lillian. Outside the mansion was a sign alerting visitors “Warning — Stay Away.”

On November 24, 1948, Anna Marie Jarvis died at the age of 84.

Shortly before her death, a reporter paid Jarvis a visit, wanting to talk to her about the holiday she had invented. “She told with me with great bitterness,” the reporter said, “that she was sorry she had ever started Mother’s Day.”

The Legend Of Sleepy Hollow

                         

Continue practicing English From Short Stories. Don't forget.                 Those who don't listen to, don't speak.

Todays story is called "The Legend of Sleepy Hollow.  It is about something strange that happed long ago in a valley called "Sleepy Hollow".  It was written by Washington Irving. The story is told by Doug Johnson.

Narrator: The valley known as Sleepy Hollow hides from the world in the high hills of New York state. There are many stories told about the quiet valley. But the story that people believe most is about a man who rides a horse at night. The story says the man died many years ago during the American revolutionary war. His head was shot off. Every night he rises from his burial place, jumps on his horse and rides through the valley looking for his lost head.

Near Sleepy Hollow is a village called Tarry Town. It was settled many years ago by people from Holland. The village had a small school. And one teacher, named Ichabod Crane. Ichabod Crane was a good name for him, because he looked like a tall bird, a crane. He was tall and thin like a crane. His shoulders were small, joined two long arms. His head was small, too, and flat on top. He had big ears, large glassy green eyes and a long nose.

Ichabod did not make much money as a teacher. And although he was tall and thin, he ate like a fat man. To help him pay for his food he earned extra money teaching young people to sing. Every Sunday after church Ichabod taught singing.

Among the ladies Ichabod taught was one Katrina Van Tassel. She was the only daughter of a rich Dutch farmer. She was a girl in bloom…much like a round red, rosy apple. Ichabod had a soft and foolish heart for the ladies, and soon found himself interested in Miss Van Tassel.

Ichabods eyes opened wide when he saw the riches of Katrinas farm: the miles of apple trees and wheat fields, and hundreds of fat farm animals. He saw himself as master of the Van Tassel farm with Katrina as his wife.

But there were many problems blocking the road to Katrinas heart. One was a strong young man named Brom Van Brunt.  Brom was a hero to all the young ladies. His shoulders were big. His back was wide. And his hair was short and curly. He always won the horse races in Tarry Town and earned many prizes. Brom was never seen without a horse.

Sometimes late at night Brom and his friends would rush through town shouting loudly from the backs of their horses. Tired old ladies would awaken from their sleep and say: "Why, there goes Brom Van Brunt leading his wild group again!"

Such was the enemy Ichabod had to defeat for Katrinas heart.

Stronger and wiser men would not have tried. But Ichabod had a plan. He could not fight his enemy in the open. So he did it silently and secretly. He made many visits to Katrinas farm and made her think he was helping her to sing better.

Time passed, and the town people thought Ichabod was winning. Broms horse was never seen at Katrinas house on Sunday nights anymore.

One day in autumn Ichabod was asked to come to a big party at the Van Tassel home. He dressed in his best clothes. A farmer loaned him an old horse for the long trip to the party.

The house was filled with farmers and their wives, red-faced daughters and clean, washed sons. The tables were filled with different things to eat. Wine filled many glasses.

Brom Van Brunt rode to the party on his fastest horse called Daredevil. All the young ladies smiled happily when they saw him. Soon music filled the rooms and everyone began to dance and sing.

Ichabod was happy dancing with Katrina as Brom looked at them with a jealous heart. The night passed. The music stopped, and the young people sat together to tell stories about the revolutionary war.

Soon stories about Sleepy Hollow were told. The most feared story was about the rider looking for his lost head. One farmer told how he raced the headless man on a horse. The farmer ran his horse faster and faster. The horseman followed over bush and stone until they came to the end of the valley. There the headless horseman suddenly stopped. Gone were his clothes and his skin. All that was left was a man with white bones shining in the moonlight.

The stories ended and time came to leave the party. Ichabod seemed very happy until he said goodnight to Katrina. Was she ending their romance? He left feeling very sad. Had Katrina been seeing Ichabod just to make Brom Van Brunt jealous so he would marry her?

Well, Ichabod began his long ride home on the hills that surround Tarry Town. He had never felt so lonely in his life. He began to whistle as he came close to the tree where a man had been killed years ago by rebels.

He thought he saw something white move in the tree. But no, it was only the moonlight shining and moving on the tree. Then he heard a noise. His body shook.  He kicked his horse faster. The old horse tried to run, but almost fell in the river, instead. Ichabod hit the horse again. The horse ran fast and then suddenly stopped, almost throwing Ichabod forward to the ground.

There, in the dark woods on the side of the river where the bushes grow low, stood an ugly thing. Big and black. It did not move, but seemed ready to jump like a giant monster.

Ichabods hair stood straight up. It was too late to run, and in his fear, he did the only thing he could. His shaking voice broke the silent valley.

"Who are you?" The thing did not answer. Ichabod asked again. Still no answer. Ichabods old horse began to move forward. The black thing began to move along the side of Ichabods horse in the dark. Ichabod made his horse run faster. The black thing moved with them. Side by side they moved, slowly at first. And not a word was said.

Ichabod felt his heart sink. Up a hill they moved above the shadow of the trees. For a moment the moon shown down and to Ichabods horror he saw it was a horse. And it had a rider. But the riders head was not on his body. It was in front of the rider, resting on the horse.

Ichabod kicked and hit his old horse with all his power. Away they rushed through bushes and trees across the valley of Sleepy Hollow. Up ahead was the old church bridge where the headless horseman stops and returns to his burial place.

"If only I can get there first, I am safe," thought Ichabod. He kicked his horse again. The horse jumped on to the bridge and raced over it like the sound of thunder. Ichabod looked back to see if the headless man had stopped. He saw the man pick up his head and throw it with a powerful force. The head hit Ichabod in the face and knocked him off his horse to the dirt below.

They found Ichabods horse the next day peacefully eating grass. They could not find Ichabod.

They walked all across the valley. They saw the foot marks of Ichabods horse as it had raced through the valley. They even found Ichabods old hat in the dust near the bridge. But they did not find Ichabod. The only other thing they found was lying near Ichabods hat.

It was the broken pieces of a round orange pumpkin.

The town people talked about Ichabod for many weeks. They remembered the frightening stories of the valley. And finally they came to believe that the headless horseman had carried Ichabod away.

Much later an old farmer returned from a visit to New York City. He said he was sure he saw Ichabod there. He thought Ichabod silently left Sleepy Hollow because he had lost Katrina.

As for Katrina, her mother and father gave her a big wedding when she married Brom Van Brunt. Many people who went to the wedding saw that Brom smiled whenever Ichabods name was spoken. And they wondered why he laughed out loud when anyone talked about the broken orange pumpkin found lying near Ichabods old dusty hat.

Announcer: You have heard "The Legend of Sleepy Hollow" written by Washington Irving. It was first published in eighteen twenty. Listen next week to the Voice of America for another AMERICAN STORY in Special English.

Time for reading along

International Action Urged to Stop Migrant 'Ghost Ships'


In the first week of January, more than 1,000 migrants had to be rescued in the Mediterranean Sea. Many were refugees from Syria.

They were traveling on two of what the International Organization for Migration calls “ghost ships.” Smugglers operated the ships from Turkey and charged the migrants several thousand dollars each to travel. Then, when the ships were close to the Italian coast, the crews disappeared -- leaving the ships and their passengers.

Some people were lucky – they survived. The first ship, carrying 736 people, reached Italy on New Year’s Eve. A European Union boat rescued the other, with 359 Syrian refugees. But both ships could easily have overturned and sent passengers into the sea.

Italian officials reported that more than 160,000 migrants were rescued at sea last year. That number is about three times higher than in 2013. Most migrants were Syrian or Eritrean.

In addition, the IOM said more than 3,000 migrants disappeared on the Mediterranean Sea in 2014. They are believed to have drowned. The IOM said the migrants were crossing from North Africa when their small, unsafe boats overturned or sank.

Joel Millman works for the IOM. He says migrations are continuing at high numbers through the winter in very dangerous conditions. The IOM is especially concerned because Italy has stopped a program that rescued migrants at sea. The European Union now has a smaller rescue program called Triton.

Mr. Millman says thousands of Syrians are fleeing their country every month. So, smugglers can plan on a steady flow of customers. The IOM estimates that they can earn as much as three million dollars for operating a ghost ship.

And, Mr. Millman notes that the demand for smugglers’ services in Turkey is likely to increase now that Lebanon requires visas from Syrians.

I’m Anne Ball.

Words in this Story

migrants – n. people who go from one place to another, often to find work
smugglers – n. people who secretly bring people or things from one country into another
survived – v. remaining alive during or after a dangerous situation