A story
The Traveler and the Wonderful Stone Soup
This cheerful tale is told all over Europe, in France, Portugal, Sweden and many other lands. Every country tells it a little differently, but the warm heart of the story is always the same.
Once upon a time, a tired traveler named Pierre walked along a winding road. He had a big pack on his back, a floppy brown hat on his head, and a kind smile on his face. He had walked all day, and his tummy was rumbling like a little thunderstorm.
At sunset he came to a small village with red roofs, a stone fountain, and a pretty square. "Perhaps someone here will share a little supper," Pierre thought.
But that year the harvest had been small, and the villagers were worried. When they saw a stranger coming, they hurried to hide their food. One woman hid her carrots under the bed. One man hid his potatoes in the barn. A grandmother tucked her onions behind the flour sack. A boy hid a cabbage inside a basket.
Pierre knocked on the first door. "Good evening," he said. "Do you have a little food to share with a hungry traveler?"
"Oh, sorry," said the woman. "We have nothing at all."
He knocked on the second door, and the third, and the fourth. "Sorry," everyone said. "We have nothing to share."
Pierre did not frown. He did not stamp his feet. Instead, he walked to the middle of the square, sat down by the fountain, and smiled a secret smile.
"What a pity," he said loudly. "Then I shall have to make my famous stone soup."
The villagers peeked out of their windows. Stone soup? What was that?
Pierre opened his pack and took out a big black cooking pot. He filled it with water from the fountain. He gathered some sticks and made a little fire. Then, from his pocket, he took a smooth, round, grey stone. He held it up so everyone could see. Then he dropped it into the pot. Plop!
The children came out first, because children are always curious. "Excuse me, sir," said a little girl named Lucie. "What are you making?"
"Stone soup," said Pierre, stirring the pot with a wooden spoon. "It is the most delicious soup in the world. Hmm, it smells lovely already. Although," he tasted it with a slurp, "it would be even better with a little salt and pepper."
"My mother has salt and pepper!" said Lucie, and she ran home to get some.
Pierre sprinkled the salt and pepper into the pot and stirred. Slurp. "Mmm, very good. Of course, stone soup is always tastier with a few carrots. But never mind, we will manage without."
A woman stepped out of her house. "Well," she said slowly, "I think I might have one or two carrots." And she came back with a whole bunch, orange and crunchy. In they went.
Stir, stir. Slurp. "Wonderful!" said Pierre. "You know, I once had stone soup with a cabbage in it. It was fit for a king."
The boy with the basket looked at his feet. Then he smiled and lifted out his big green cabbage. "Here you are!" he said. In it went.
Stir, stir. Slurp. "Ah," said Pierre, "a few onions would make it sing."
The grandmother laughed out loud. "I have onions!" she said, and she fetched a whole basket of them.
Now more and more people gathered round. One man brought potatoes. Another brought beans. A farmer brought some barley and a handful of fresh green herbs. A baker brought loaves of warm bread. Someone brought a table, and someone else brought chairs. A family brought bowls and spoons, and a little boy brought his grandfather's fiddle.
The soup bubbled and steamed. It smelled so good that even the cats came to sit nearby and sniff the air.
At last Pierre tasted it one more time. He closed his eyes. "It is ready," he said. "The finest stone soup I have ever made."
Everyone sat down together at the long table in the square. They ladled soup into their bowls and tore pieces of warm bread. They ate and ate, and there was enough for everyone, with some left over. The fiddle played, the children danced, and the old people laughed and told stories. The stars came out above them, twinkling like bright little lanterns.
"I have not had such a happy evening in a whole year," said the grandmother, wiping her eyes.
"Neither have I," said the farmer. "And all from a stone! It must be a magic stone."
Pierre smiled kindly. He fished the stone out of the pot, washed it in the fountain and held it up.
"Dear friends," he said, "the stone is just a stone. It is not magic at all. The magic was you. Each of you thought you had too little to share. One carrot, one cabbage, one onion is not a feast. But when everyone gives a little, together you make something wonderful, enough for all."
The villagers looked at one another, and they understood. They felt a little bit shy that they had hidden their food. But mostly, they felt warm and full and happy.
"Please stay the night," said Lucie's mother, "we have a cozy bed for you."
In the morning, as Pierre set off down the road, Lucie ran after him. "Sir! You forgot your magic stone!"
Pierre bent down and closed her little hand around it. "Keep it," he said. "Whenever someone is hungry or sad, put it in a pot, and ask everyone to bring a little something."
And from then on, whenever the village had a hard time, Lucie would put the smooth grey stone into the big pot in the square, and everyone would come, carrying a carrot or a potato or a loaf of bread. And there was always enough soup, and enough smiles, for everyone.
The lesson: When everyone shares a little, together we can make something big and wonderful, with enough for all.
Once upon a time, a tired traveler named Pierre walked along a winding road. He had a big pack on his back, a floppy brown hat on his head, and a kind smile on his face. He had walked all day, and his tummy was rumbling like a little thunderstorm.
At sunset he came to a small village with red roofs, a stone fountain, and a pretty square. "Perhaps someone here will share a little supper," Pierre thought.
But that year the harvest had been small, and the villagers were worried. When they saw a stranger coming, they hurried to hide their food. One woman hid her carrots under the bed. One man hid his potatoes in the barn. A grandmother tucked her onions behind the flour sack. A boy hid a cabbage inside a basket.
Pierre knocked on the first door. "Good evening," he said. "Do you have a little food to share with a hungry traveler?"
"Oh, sorry," said the woman. "We have nothing at all."
He knocked on the second door, and the third, and the fourth. "Sorry," everyone said. "We have nothing to share."
Pierre did not frown. He did not stamp his feet. Instead, he walked to the middle of the square, sat down by the fountain, and smiled a secret smile.
"What a pity," he said loudly. "Then I shall have to make my famous stone soup."
The villagers peeked out of their windows. Stone soup? What was that?
Pierre opened his pack and took out a big black cooking pot. He filled it with water from the fountain. He gathered some sticks and made a little fire. Then, from his pocket, he took a smooth, round, grey stone. He held it up so everyone could see. Then he dropped it into the pot. Plop!
The children came out first, because children are always curious. "Excuse me, sir," said a little girl named Lucie. "What are you making?"
"Stone soup," said Pierre, stirring the pot with a wooden spoon. "It is the most delicious soup in the world. Hmm, it smells lovely already. Although," he tasted it with a slurp, "it would be even better with a little salt and pepper."
"My mother has salt and pepper!" said Lucie, and she ran home to get some.
Pierre sprinkled the salt and pepper into the pot and stirred. Slurp. "Mmm, very good. Of course, stone soup is always tastier with a few carrots. But never mind, we will manage without."
A woman stepped out of her house. "Well," she said slowly, "I think I might have one or two carrots." And she came back with a whole bunch, orange and crunchy. In they went.
Stir, stir. Slurp. "Wonderful!" said Pierre. "You know, I once had stone soup with a cabbage in it. It was fit for a king."
The boy with the basket looked at his feet. Then he smiled and lifted out his big green cabbage. "Here you are!" he said. In it went.
Stir, stir. Slurp. "Ah," said Pierre, "a few onions would make it sing."
The grandmother laughed out loud. "I have onions!" she said, and she fetched a whole basket of them.
Now more and more people gathered round. One man brought potatoes. Another brought beans. A farmer brought some barley and a handful of fresh green herbs. A baker brought loaves of warm bread. Someone brought a table, and someone else brought chairs. A family brought bowls and spoons, and a little boy brought his grandfather's fiddle.
The soup bubbled and steamed. It smelled so good that even the cats came to sit nearby and sniff the air.
At last Pierre tasted it one more time. He closed his eyes. "It is ready," he said. "The finest stone soup I have ever made."
Everyone sat down together at the long table in the square. They ladled soup into their bowls and tore pieces of warm bread. They ate and ate, and there was enough for everyone, with some left over. The fiddle played, the children danced, and the old people laughed and told stories. The stars came out above them, twinkling like bright little lanterns.
"I have not had such a happy evening in a whole year," said the grandmother, wiping her eyes.
"Neither have I," said the farmer. "And all from a stone! It must be a magic stone."
Pierre smiled kindly. He fished the stone out of the pot, washed it in the fountain and held it up.
"Dear friends," he said, "the stone is just a stone. It is not magic at all. The magic was you. Each of you thought you had too little to share. One carrot, one cabbage, one onion is not a feast. But when everyone gives a little, together you make something wonderful, enough for all."
The villagers looked at one another, and they understood. They felt a little bit shy that they had hidden their food. But mostly, they felt warm and full and happy.
"Please stay the night," said Lucie's mother, "we have a cozy bed for you."
In the morning, as Pierre set off down the road, Lucie ran after him. "Sir! You forgot your magic stone!"
Pierre bent down and closed her little hand around it. "Keep it," he said. "Whenever someone is hungry or sad, put it in a pot, and ask everyone to bring a little something."
And from then on, whenever the village had a hard time, Lucie would put the smooth grey stone into the big pot in the square, and everyone would come, carrying a carrot or a potato or a loaf of bread. And there was always enough soup, and enough smiles, for everyone.
The lesson: When everyone shares a little, together we can make something big and wonderful, with enough for all.
