„Dreams are private stories, and stories are shared dreams.”

Two stars - Stories of a Wandering Storyteller

The folk tales of this exceptionally beautiful volume are from Samuel Allo, a widely traveled storyteller from Brittany, who roams from village to village, gathering and retelling stories.

These tales are vessels of wisdom that has been passed down from generation to generation for hundreds of years. They offer testimony to shared human experience in a shared world. In other words, they remind us that no matter where we live, we share values that span both centuries and continents. 

Hajnalka Szimonidesz has created a visual backdrop for these tales consisting of images that might well be characterized as paintings, for the word “illustration” does not quite capture the feeling that one has when one takes the book in hand and thinks, quite simply, „this is the most beautiful collection of stories I have ever seen.”

EXCERPT FROM THE BOOK

One night when I was in Burkina Faso, Africa, I didn t have a place to sleep. The villagers suggested that I knock on the door to Aruna s house, as Aruna was a storyteller himself. Aruna welcomed me warmly, and in exchange for a few stories from me, his six-year old son told me the following tale, a story which he had learned from his father.

The Story of the Tailor
 
Once upon a time there was a tailor. He lived with his family at the edge of a small village, where the fields begin to fold into rolling hills lifting themselves towards the sky.
This tailor spent most of his days in his workshop, in a swirling sea of motley fabrics, cloths, and colorful balls of thread, tirelessly making clothes for the villagers. He worked with all his heart and soul, doing his very best to make the most beautiful garments possible. And thanks to his sedulous work and his studious craftsmanship, he was able to provide for his family, and they lived a modest but comfortable life.
One day, when the tailor came home with a roll of new cloth on his shoulder and was just about to get down to work, there came a knock at the door of his workshop.
A somber figure in a black coat entered and spoke to him in an eerily menacing voice.
“Tailor,” he said, “make me a cloak!”
The tailor began to tremble, and he spoke in a voice that quivered with fear.
“Who are you?” he asked.
The answer sounded like a stern sentence delivered from on high.
“I am Death, and I have asked that you make me a cloak. I shall wait until three days have passed, and if you have not finished my cloak by then, I shall come for you and take you with me to the land from which no man returns. Remember tailor, you have three days!”
Death then left and closed the door behind him.

The tailor stood motionless for a time. Then he somehow pulled himself together and got back to work, but he could not think of anything but his fearful encounter with Death and the grim thought of the fate that awaited him if he could not complete the task in time.
He had just finishing laying out the roll of cloth when there came another loud knock at the door. This time, without so much as giving the tailor a moment to invite him in, a frighteningly thin, pale figure entered the workshop. He spoke in a sharp, commanding voice.
“Tailor, make a cloak for me too!”
Again, the tailor s voice quivered with fear.
“Who are you?” he asked.

The pale figure spoke, and there was not a trace of mercy in his voice either.
“I am Disease, and I want a cloak from you. I shall give you three days to sew it, but if you have not finished in three days, I shall come for you and take you with me to the land from which no man returns, and I shall take not only you, but each and every one of your children too.”
“But, but…” the tailor stammered.
“Do not weary me with your whimpering,”the pale figure said. “Have the cloak ready for me in three days!”
Disease then left and the tailor again was alone.
Make two cloaks in three days? Impossible! What could he do? Should he sew a cloak for Death or should he sew a cloak for Disease?
He was brooding over this impossible question when all of a sudden there came another knock at the door.
This time, a warm figure with a bright smile stepped in and spoke in a voice soothing and warm.
“Tailor, I too would like to ask you to make a cloak for me.”
The tailor s voice shook with anger as he spoke.

“Listen, two people have already knocked at my door today, and each of them asked me to make him a cloak, and each of them gave me only three days! But I cannot sew that many cloaks in three days! It would be impossible!”
“No cause for alarm, good tailor!” the gentle figure said. “If you do not have time to make me a cloak, then do not make me a cloak. We shall see each other again when three days have passed.”
With that, the mysterious figure headed for the door. The tailor stumbled along behind him in astonishment.
“But who are you?” he asked.
The figure man stopped in the doorway and turned around.
“I am Gratitude,” he replied.
Troubled by these three encounters and not knowing what to do, where to begin, the tailor finally left his workshop and went into the house to find his wife. The moment she saw him, she knew something unsettling had happened. She hurried to his side.
“What is troubling you?” she asked, her voice tense with worry.
“I am afraid…” he replied quietly.
“Afraid? But of what could you possibly be afraid?”
“Strange things have befallen me,” he whispered, as much to himself as to her. “I fear I am in grave peril. I do not know what to do.”
The tailor told his wife everything that had happened, from beginning to end.
“It s getting late,” she said. “Go to bed! Sleep on it for one night, and trust me, tomorrow morning, you will know what to do.”

The tailor went to bed, and just as his wife had said would happen, when he awoke at sunrise, he knew exactly what to do.
He went into his workshop, carefully smoothed out the cloth that he had laid out the day before, took his scissors in hand, and
one by one, he cut from the roll the pieces he would need to make a splendid cloak. Then he patiently began to sew.
His hands were nimble and precise as he sewed stitch after stitch. He worked with all his heart and soul, as he always did, and perhaps even more so than usual.
As the sun began to set at the end of the third day, he stood up straight. The cloak was finished. It was a dazzlingly beautiful garment, perhaps the most beautiful he had ever made.
He carefully folded it up and stepped out through the workshop door into the open air.
Outside, the stars were just beginning to sparkle in the sky.

Three figures were waiting for the tailor by the door to his house: Death, Disease, and Gratitude. The tailor walked over to them…”

The ending of the tale can be found in the book Two Stars ...

Translated by Thomas Cooper

Source: New Hungarian Childlit 10.2 Tales - Dreams are Private Stories & Stories are Shared Dreams

Petőfi Literery Fund / Petőfi Cultural Agency

SAMUEL ALLO French travelling storyteller

He was born in a small town in Brittany, France. After graduating as a physical education teacher, he set off on a journey around the world on foot, sharing the stories and songs of his homeland with the people and cultures of other countries. He has since shared his tales, told in French, Breton, English, Spanish, in nearly 1,000 schools, where he has exchanged traditional stories with students from all over the world.

HAJNALKA SZIMONIDESZ Hungarian illustrator                           

She was born in Budapest. She is a freelance illustrator and visual artist. She started illustrating storybooks in 2007 and since then has published more than 60 storybooks. Her drawings are mainly in gouache and acrylic on watercolor paper. Her illustrations, compositions, figures, and colors are a source of joy and comfort.