Hello, everybody. My name is Natasha. And his royal highness prince Bertie the frog has commanded me to tell you the storynory of the flying trunk by Hans Christian Andersen.
 			
 It's a story about a young man was very good looking, and ever so clever telling stories. Sadie the swan who lives on the same pond as Bertie, said that she would really like to meet him one day. But I'm not so sure that I would. See for you think.
 			
 There was once a merchant who was so rich that he could have paved the whole street, and perhaps even a little side-street besides, with silver. But he did not do that; he knew another way to spend his money. If he spent a shilling, he got back a pound. Such an excellent business man was he till he died.
 
 Now his son inherited all his money. He lived very merrily; he went every night to the theatre, made paper kites out of five-pound notes, and played ducks and drakes with sovereigns instead of stones. In this way the money was likely to come soon to an end, and so it did.
 
 At last he had nothing left but four shillings, and he had no clothes except a pair of slippers and an old dressing-gown.
 
 His friends did not trouble themselves any more about him; they would not even walk down the street with him.
 
 But one of them who was rather good-natured sent him an old trunk with the message, ‘Pack up!' Now a trunk is a big wooden box with a lead and can be very useful to carry things in. That was all very well, but he had nothing to pack up, so he got into the trunk himself.
 
 It was an enchanted trunk, for as soon as the lock was pressed it could fly. He pressed it, and away he flew in it up the chimney, high into the clouds, further and further away. But whenever the bottom gave a little creak he was in terror lest the trunk should go to pieces, for then he would have turned a dreadful somersault and fallen through the cloud onto the ground -just think of it!
 
 But the trunk did not give way and only flew. In this way he arrived at the land of the Turks. He hid the trunk in a wood under some dry leaves, and then walked into the town. He could do that quite well, for all local people were dressed not so differently from him -in a dressing-gown and slippers.
 
 He met a nanny with a child.
 
 ‘Halloa! Ms. nanny,' said he, ‘what is that great castle there close to the town? The one with a window so high up?'
 
 ‘The sultan's daughter lives there,' she replied. ‘It is prophesied that she will be very unlucky in her husband, and so no one is allowed to see her except when the sultan and sultana are by. As you probablly know the sultan and sultana were the names for the king and the queen of Turkey.'
 
 ‘Thank you,' said the merchant's son, and he went into the wood, sat himself in his trunk, flew on to the roof, and crept through the window into the princess's room.
 
 She was lying on the sofa asleep, and was so beautiful that the young merchant had to kiss her. Then she woke up and was very much frightened, but he said he was a Turkish god who had come through the air to see her, and that pleased her very much.
 
 They sat close to each other, and he told her a story about her eyes. They were beautiful dark lakes in which her thoughts swam about like mermaids. And her forehead was a snowy mountain, grand and shining. These were lovely stories.
 
 Then he asked the princess to marry him, and she said yes at once.
 
 ‘But you must come here on Saturday,' she said, ‘for then the sultan and the sultana are coming to tea with me. They will be indeed proud that I receive the god of the Turks. But mind you have a really good story ready, for my parents like them immensely. My mother likes something rather moral and high-flown, and my father likes something merry to make him laugh.'
 
 ‘Yes,'he replied,‘I shall bring the very best fairy story that is both serious and funny. But the princess gave him a sabre which is a curved sword set with money.
 
 Then he flew away, bought himself a new dressing-gown, and sat down in the wood and began to make up a story, for it had to be ready by Saturday, and that was no easy matter.
 
 When he had it ready it was Saturday.
 
 The sultan, the sultana, and the whole court were at tea with the princess.
 
 He was most graciously received.
 
 ‘Will you tell us a story?' said the sultana; ‘one that is thoughtful and instructive?'
 
 ‘But something that we can laugh at,' said the sultan.
 
 ‘Oh, certainly,' he replied, and began: ‘Now, listen attentively. There was once a box of matches which lay between a tinder-box and an old iron pot, and they told the story of their youth.
 
 ‘”We wooden-matches used to be the branches of the green-fir trees. Every morning and evening the dew spark coldness like diamond, and the whole day long we had sunshine, and the little birds used to tell us stories. We were very rich, because the other trees only dressed in summer, but we had green leaves for crows in summer and in winter. Then the woodcutter came, and our family was split up. We have now the task of making light for people. That is why we relive in the kitchen.”
 
 ‘”My fate was quite different,” said the iron pot, near which the matches lay.
 
 ‘”Since I came into the world I have been many times scoured, cleaned with wire-brush, and I can tell you, It doesn't feel very pleasant. And besides that, I have cooked so many dinners. My only pleasure is to have a good chat with my companions when I am lying nice and clean in my place after dinner.”
 
 ‘”Now you are talking too fast,” spluttered the fire.
 
 ‘”Yes, let us decide who is the prittiest!” said the matches.
 
 ‘”No, I don't like talking about myself,” said the pot.
 
 ‘the oven said, ”I will tell you the story of my life.
 
 ‘”Once upon a time, On the Baltic sea on a shore of Denmark”
 
 ‘What a beautiful beginning!” said all the plates. “That's a story that will please us all.”
 
 ‘And the end was just as good as the beginning. All the plates clattered for joy.
 
 ‘”Now I will dance,” said the fire tongs, who used to pick up coals for the fire with her legs. and she danced. Oh! how high she could kick!
 
 ‘The old chair-cover in the corner split when he saw her.
 
 ‘The kettle would have sung but she said she had a cold; she could not sing unless she boiled.
 
 ‘In the window was an old quill pen made out of a feather for dipping into ink. There was nothing remarkable about her except that she had been dipped too deeply into the ink. But she was very proud of that.
 
 ‘”If the kettle will not sing,” said she, “outside the door hangs a nightingale in a cage who will sing.”
 
 ‘”I don't think it's right,” said the kettle, “that such a beautiful bird should be capped in a cage. I may to sing for entertainment.”
 
 ‘”Oh, let us have some play acting,” said everyone. “Do let us!”
 
 ‘Suddenly the door opened and the servant girl came in. Everyone was quite quiet. There was not a sound. But each pot thought he was the cleverest and the best looking object in the kitchen.
 
 ‘The servant girl took the matches and lit the fire with them. How they spluttered and flamed, to be sure! “Now everyone can see,” they thought, “that we are the prittiest! How we sparkle! What a light we make. We are so bright and beautiful.”
 
 ‘But in that moment, they were burnt out. and the matches were no more.'and that was the end of the young man's story.
 
 ‘That was a delightful story!' said the sultana. ‘I quite feel myself in the kitchen with the matches. Yes, now you shall marry our daughter.'
 
 ‘Yes, indeed,' said the sultan, ‘you shall marry our daughter on Monday.' And they treated the young man as one of the family.
 
 The wedding was arranged, and the night before the whole town was illuminated.
 
 Biscuits and gingerbreads were thrown among the people, the street boys stood on tiptoe crying hurrahs and whistling through their fingers. It was all so splendid.
 
 ‘Now I must also give them a treat,' thought the merchant's son. And so he bought rockets, crackers, and all the kinds of fireworks you can think of, put them in his trunk, and flew up with them into the air.
 
 Whirr-r-r, how they fizzed and blazed!
 
 All the Turks jumped so high that their slippers flew above their heads; such a splendid glitter they had never seen before.
 
 Now they could quite well understand that it was the god of the Turks himself who was to marry the princess.
 
 As soon as the young merchant came down again into the wood with his trunk he thought, ‘Now I will just go into the town to see how the show has taken.'
 
 And it was quite natural that he should want to do this.
 
 Oh! what stories the people had to tell!
 
 Each one whom he asked had seen it differently.
 
 ‘I saw the Turkish god himself,' said one. ‘He had eyes like glittering stars, and a beard like foaming water.'
 
 ‘He flew away in a cloak of fire,' said another. They were splendid things that he heard, and the next day was to be his wedding day.
 
 Then he went back into the wood to sit in his trunk; but what had become of it? The trunk had been burnt. A spark of the fireworks had set it a light, and the trunk was in ashes. He could no longer fly up to the tower, and could never reach his bride.
 
 The princess stood the whole day long on the roof and waited for the young merchant; perhaps she is waiting there still.
 
 But he wandered through the world and told stories; though they are not so merry as the one he told about the matches.
 
 And that's the storynory of the flying trunk by Hans Christian Anderssen. If you would to like to hear more stories like this one, don't forget to drop by at Storynory.com. Bertie has loads more free stories. And lots of other interesting besides, so tell all your friends about Storynory too. I will be back with another story. Until then, from me Natasha, Byebye.