Part 4

When Sunday came the whole town assembled before the palace, and, when they heard the bird sing, they were as excited as if they had drunk themselves merry on tea, which is a way they have in China. All except the poor fisherman, who had so often paused from his toil to listen to the real _Nightingale_. 'It is a very good imitation,' said he; 'but it lacks something, I can't say what.' And the little kitchen-maid, who was now a real cook, said nothing, but stole away in sadness to the wood, where she knew that she would hear the real music that she loved.

Following the opinion of the people the emperor banished the real _Nightingale_ from the kingdom, and placed the toy bird on a silken cushion close to his bed, with the gifts of gold and jewels it had received arranged around it. And he promoted it to the rank of 'Chief Imperial Singer of the Bed-Chamber,' class one, on the left side; that is to say, nearest the heart, for even an emperor's heart is on the left side. And he gave the music master royal permission to write a work of five-and-twenty volumes about the bird, which no one has ever read to this day, because it is so tremendously difficult; but you would not find any one in China who would not claim to have mastered it thoroughly, since they one and all object to be thought stupid and to have their bodies trampled upon.

For a whole year the artificial bird ground out its mechanical tunes. They were even set to music by the skilled men of the time, and the people sang them in their homes. On great public festivals, when the bird sang before delighted multitudes, they would raise their voices and join in the chorus. It was a great success. But one night, when the bird was singing its best by the emperor's bedside, something inside the toy went 'whizz.' Then, with a grating catch and a snap, the main crank broke: 'whirr' went all the wheels, and the music stopped.

The emperor immediately summoned the Chief Winder of the Imperial Singer of the Bed-Chamber, and he, with the assistance of the skilled workmen of his department, managed, in less than seven days and nights of talk and toil, to put the works right again; but, he said, the inside of the bird was not what it used to be, and, unless it was used very sparingly, say once a year, he hesitated to say what might happen in the end.

This was a terrible blow to China! The bird could only sing once a year, but, on that great annual occasion, it was listened to with long-pent-up enthusiasm; and, at the end of the concert, the music master made a speech, in which he used none but the most difficult words, to prove that the bird was still as good as ever, in fact even better, and that his saying so made it so.

Five years passed away, during which time the bird sang five times; and then a great grief fell upon the nation. The emperor lay dying. The physicians came and went, shaking their heads: they gave no hope. The gentleman-in-waiting, when questioned by the people as to the state of their emperor, merely answered 'Ph!' So bad was the outlook that already a new emperor had been chosen, and the whole court hurried to congratulate him.

The old emperor lay pale and still in his gorgeous bed, but he was not dead. While the courtiers were jostling each other in their efforts to catch the eye of the emperor-elect; while the lackeys were running hither and thither exchanging the news, and the chamber-maids giving a grand coffee-party, the old emperor's spark of life flickered and flickered. Through a high open window the moon shone in upon the bed with its velvet hangings and heavy golden tassels; upon the pale face of the emperor; upon the jewelled bird by his side. Now he gasped for breath: there was something heavy on his chest. With a great effort he opened his eyes, and there, sitting upon him, he saw Death, wearing his own golden crown, with his own golden sword in one hand, and in the other his own imperial banner. Death grinned as he settled himself more heavily. Then, as the emperor still struggled for breath, he saw, peering at him round the folds of the bed-hangings, the faces of all the deeds he had ever committed. Some were hideous as they hissed, 'Do you remember?' Others were sweet and loving as they murmured, 'Do you remember?' And then, while they told him in one breath all that he had ever done, good and bad, Death sat heavier and heavier upon him, nodding his head at all they had to say.

The perspiration streamed down the emperor's face. At last he shrieked aloud, 'This is unbearable! Sound the drums! Give me music to drown their voices!' Then he said to the bird by his side, 'You precious little bird--golden bird with your coat of jewels--sing, sing! I have given you everything; I have even hung my golden slipper round your neck,--now sing, I command you, sing!'

But there was no response. The bird stood there, a dumb thing: you see, it could not sing because there was nobody there to wind it up. Then, as Death fastened his empty sockets upon him, a terrible silence fell. Deeper and deeper it grew, and the emperor could hear nothing but the beating of Death's heart--his own would soon be silent.

Suddenly through the open window came a lovely burst of song. Radiant, sparkling as a shower of pearls, the living notes of rarest melody fell within the silent chamber. It was the _Nightingale_, perched on a branch outside--the _Nightingale_ as God had made it, singing the song that God had taught it. It had heard the emperor's call, and had come to bring him comfort.

Slowly, slowly, as it sang divinely, the faces that peered round the velvet folds grew wan. Pale Death himself started, and turned still paler with wonder and amazement. 'How beautiful!' he said; 'sing on, little bird, thrilling with life!'

'Lay down the imperial banner,' answered the _Nightingale_; 'lay down the golden sword; lay down the emperor's crown.'

'Agreed!' And the mighty snatcher, Death, laid down these treasures for the price of a song. The _Nightingale_ went on singing. And it sang as it flitted from bough to bough, until it reached the quiet churchyard where the grass grows green upon the graves, where the roses bloom living on the breast of death, and the cypress points to the immortal skies. There on the cypress' topmost twig it perched and sang a song so rich and rare, so far-reaching, that it touched the heart of Death sitting on the chest of the emperor,--for, after all, Death has a tender heart. Filled with a longing for his own garden, melted by the _Nightingale's_ song, he vanished in a cold, grey mist,--out at the window.

Soon came the _Nightingale_ fluttering with delight above the emperor's bed. Then it perched by the side of the toy bird, and the emperor looked, and knew at last the difference between the natural and the artificial. He knew, too, that he ought to have known it before.

'You heavenly little bird!' he said. 'Welcome back to my heart! I banished you from my kingdom, but you heard my call and returned to charm away those evil visions, and even Death himself. Thanks! A world of thanks! How can I ever repay you?' Tears shone in the emperor's eyes.

'I am already repaid,' said the _Nightingale_. 'When first I sang to you I saw tears in your eyes, and now I see them again. Those are the jewels that I wear in my heart, not upon my coat. But sleep now; you must get well. Sleep--I will sing you to sleep!'

So the little bird sang, and the emperor fell into a healing sleep. In the morning, when the sun shone in at the window, he awoke refreshed and well. Where were his attendants? None was there: they were all busy running after the emperor-elect. But the _Nightingale_ was there, perched on the window-sill, singing divinely.

'Little _Nightingale_,' said the emperor tenderly, 'you must come and stay with me always. You shall sing only when you like; and, as to this toy bird here, I will smash it in a thousand bits.'

'Oh! you mustn't do that,' replied the real bird, 'it did its best, and, after all, it is a pretty thing. Keep it always by you. I can't come to live in the palace, but let me come whenever I like and sit in the tree outside your window and sing to you in the evening. I will sing you songs to make you happy, to cheer and comfort you. And sometimes I will sing of those who suffer, to make you sad, and then you will long to help them. I will sing of many things unknown to you in your great wide kingdom, for the little gray bird flies far and wide, from the roof-tree of the humblest peasant to the bed of the mighty emperor. Yes, I will come very often--but--but will you promise me one thing?'

'I will promise you anything, little bird.' The emperor had risen from his bed; he now stood by the window in his imperial robes, and the jewels in the golden crown upon his head flashed and sparkled in the moonlight. Taking his heavy sword he pressed the golden hilt against his heart as he repeated, 'anything--anything!'

'It is just one little thing,' said the _Nightingale_. 'Never let any one know that you have a little gray bird who tells you everything. It is far better.'

With that the _Nightingale_ skipped to a branch of the tree, trilled a long trill, and then, in the grey light of dawn, flew off to her nest.

When the courtiers and attendants came in to view the body of their late master, he was still standing by the window in his imperial robes. They gasped in horror at missing their grief.

'Good morning!' said the emperor.

[Illustration: O STAR OF WONDER, STAR OF NIGHT p. 41]

THREE KINGS OF ORIENT

A CAROL

GASPAR, MELCHIOR, BALTHAZAR:

WE three Kings of Orient are, Bearing gifts we traverse afar Field and fountain, Moor and mountain, Following yonder star. O Star of Wonder, Star of Night, Star with Royal Beauty bright, Westward leading, Still proceeding, Guide us to Thy perfect Light.

GASPAR.

Born a King on Bethlehem plain, Gold I bring to crown Him again, King for ever, Ceasing never Over us all to reign. O Star of Wonder, Star of Night, Star with Royal Beauty bright, Westward leading, Still proceeding, Guide us to Thy perfect Light.

MELCHIOR:

Frankincense to offer have I-- Incense owns a Deity nigh. All men, raising Prayer and praising, Worship Him, God on High. O Star of Wonder, Star of Night, Star with Royal Beauty bright, Westward leading, Still proceeding, Guide us to Thy perfect Light.

BALTHAZAR:

Myrrh is mine; its bitter perfume Breathes a life of gathering gloom;-- Sorrowing, sighing, Bleeding, dying, Sealed in the stone cold tomb. O Star of Wonder, Star of Night, Star with Royal Beauty bright, Westward leading, Still proceeding, Guide us to Thy perfect Light.

GASPAR, MELCHIOR, BALTHAZAR:

Glorious now behold Him arise, King and God and Sacrifice; Heav'n sings Hallelujah, Hallelujah the earth replies. O Star of Wonder, Star of Night, Star with Royal Beauty bright, Westward leading, Still proceeding, Guide us to Thy perfect Light.

SINDBAD THE SAILOR

A TALE FROM THE THOUSAND AND ONE NIGHTS

O KING of the Age, as thou biddest me re-tell the strangest adventure of _Sindbad the Sailor_ in all his marvellous voyages, I will name it without hesitation: it is that of _Sindbad's_ fifth voyage, wherein he was in fearful peril from that great bird, the rukh, and afterwards was ridden almost to the point of death by the Old Man of the Sea.

But first let me call to thy recollection how _Sindbad the Sailor_ came to tell his story to Sindbad the Landsman, for herein lies much meaning, O King.

In the time of the Caliph Harun-er-Rashid, in the palmy days of Baghdad, there lived and slaved a poor, discontented porter, whose moments of rest and leisure were most pleasantly occupied in grumbling at his hard lot. Others lived in luxury and splendour while he bore heavy burdens for a pittance. There was no justice in the world, said he, when some were born in the lap of wealth, and others toiled a lifetime for the price of a decent burial.

This discontented porter would run apace with his burden to gain time for a rest upon the doorstep of some mansion of the rich, where, a master in contrasts, he would draw comparisons between his own lot and that of the rich man dwelling within. Loudly would he call on Destiny to mark the disparity, the incongruity, the injustice of the thing; and not until he had drunk deep at the fountain of discontent would he take up his burden and trudge on, greatly refreshed.

One day, in pursuance of this strange mode of recreation, he chanced to select the doorstep of a wealthy merchant named _Sindbad the Sailor_, and there, through the open window, he heard as it were the chink of endless gold. The song, the music, the dance, the laughter of the guests--all seemed to shine with the light of jewels and the lustre of golden bars. Immediately he began to revel in his favourite woe. He wrung his hands and cried aloud: 'Allah! Can such things be? Look on me, toiling all day for a piece of barley bread; and then look on him who knows no toil, yet eateth peacocks' tongues from golden dishes, and drinketh the wine of Paradise from a jewelled cup. What hath he done to obtain from thee a lot so agreeable? And what have I done to deserve a life so wretched?'

As one who flings back a difficult question, and then bangs the door behind him, so the porter rose and shouldered his burden to continue his way, when a servant came running from within, saying that his master had sharp ears and had invited the porter into his presence for a fuller hearing of his woes.

As soon as the porter came before the wealthy owner of the house, seated among his guests and surrounded by the utmost luxury and magnificence, he was greeted with the question: 'What is thy name?' 'My name is Sindbad,' replied the porter, greatly abashed. At this the host clapped his hands and laughed loudly. 'Knowest thou that my name is also _Sindbad_?' he cried. 'But I am _Sindbad the Sailor_, and I have a mind to call thee Sindbad the Landsman, for, as thou lovest a contrast, so do I.'

'True,' said the porter, 'I have never been upon the sea.'

'Then, Sindbad the Landsman,' was the quick rejoinder, 'thou hast no right to complain of thy hard lot. Come, be seated, and, when thou hast refreshed thyself with food and wine, I will relate to thee what at present I have told no man--the tale of my perils and hardships on the seas and in other lands--in order to show you that the great wealth I possess was not acquired without excessive toil and terrible danger. I have made seven voyages: the first thou shalt hear presently--nay, if thou wilt accept my hospitality for seven days, I will tell thee the history of one each day.'

Thus it was, O King, that _Sindbad the Sailor_, surrounded by a multitude of listeners, came to tell the story of his voyages to Sindbad the Landsman. Now on the fifth day he spoke as follows:

Having sworn that my fourth voyage should be my last, I dwelt in the bosom of my family for many months in the utmost joy and happiness. But soon my heart grew restless in my bosom, and I longed again for the perils of the sea, and the adventures found only in other lands. Moreover, I had become inspired of a new ambition to possess a ship of my own in which to sail afar, and even to greater profit than on my former voyages.

I arose, therefore, and gathered together in Baghdad many bales of rich merchandise, and departed for the city of El-Basrah, where, in the river's mouth, I soon selected a splendid vessel. I purchased this and secured a master and a crew, over whom I set my own trusty servants. Then, together with a goodly company of merchants as passengers, their bales and mine being placed in the hold, I set sail.

Fair weather favoured us as we passed from island to island, bartering everywhere for gain, as merchants do, until at length we came to an island which seemed never to have known the fretful heel of man. Here we landed, and, almost immediately, on sweeping our gaze over the interior, we espied a strange thing, on which all our attention and wonder soon became centred.

There in the distance shone beneath the sun a great white dome. Loud was the talk among us as to the meaning of this. Some said the island could not be uninhabited since a mosque was built upon it; others contended that, as the island was uninhabited, the structure could not be a mosque. A third party, cooling their minds in the shade of the trees, preferred idly that it was probably some huge white rock smoothed and rounded by wind and weather; yet even these, when the discussion became heated, were constrained by curiosity to follow as we bent our steps inland to discover what this strange object really was.

As we drew nearer and nearer the wind-and-weather merchants lost in countenance what they gained in speed, for the mystery deepened: it was very clear that no mere wind and weather could have fashioned such a perfect, glistening dome. Nearer still, and then we all ran our utmost, and arrived breathless at the base of the marvellous structure. Gigantic and perfect in form, this must be some wonderful dome built to the glory of Allah, and fashioned in such a way that, with its lower half imbedded in earth and its upper half rising in the air, it typified at once the division and the union of heaven and earth. A learned merchant of our company--one who had travelled greatly in the further realms of Ind--raised his voice and assured us that the object represented the mysterious Hiranyagarbha--the Egg of All Things; whereupon another, to test this theory in derision, struck violently with his hatchet upon the shell of this supposed egg. 'If this be the egg of Hiranya--something,' he shouted, 'let us get to the yolk!'

Following his words, and his blow, the strangest thing happened. The great dome seemed to shake itself as if something within it had awakened to life. We stood in awe and waited. Then, as a chicken comes forth out of its shell, there came forth, with a terrific rending of the dome, a mighty fledgling having the aspect of that monstrous bird, the rukh, which, when grown, darkens the sky with its wings.

'It is indeed the young of the rukh,' I cried, for well I knew the bird. 'Beware!'

At first we were terrified beyond measure, but soon some among us, seeing the helplessness of the creature, set upon it with their hatchets, and, though I pleaded with them to forbear, it was quickly slain and dismembered.

'Woe!' I cried. 'Ye have slain the offspring of the rukh, and, as the time of hatching was near, the parents will come, and there will be trouble.'

But they heeded my words so little that they roasted and ate the choicest parts of the young rukh, and left the remains as a sign of contempt. I, who live to tell the tale, O Landsman, did not eat. In vain I entreated them to conceal all traces of their foul crime, even as they had concealed the choicest portions in their capacious stomachs. In vain I told them what I had learnt by costly peril at the hands of the giant rukh, foretelling the dire vengeance of those fierce monsters of the sky. Indeed, from the experiences of a former voyage, as you know, I had every reason to fear them. But the merchants, smacking their lips at the memory of their repast, laughed in my face. 'We have dined,' said they, 'and your fearsome rukhs cannot touch us.' To this I returned no word, but a stern face; for I knew the power of the rukh.

We returned towards the ship, but we had no sooner reached the seashore when we saw the master making signs of wild alarm. Shouting loudly to us to make all haste he pointed towards the horizon. He had sailed those seas before, and he knew, as did I, the sign of a terrible danger. There in the distance were two black clouds, growing rapidly larger.

'A storm!' cried some among us.

'Nay, nay,' I answered. 'I would it were, even a twofold storm. Storms come not so. Yonder come the rukh and his mate to attend the hatching of their young. Aboard! aboard! We may yet escape.'

As soon as I had given this warning there were hurry and scurry among the merchants. The flesh of the young rukh seemed to have turned within them, and it now cried out for vengeance. With all haste we made our way on board the ship.

'What have ye done?' cried the master in alarm.

They were silent.

'They have roasted and eaten the young of the rukh,' I said. The master wrung his hands and his face blanched. Then he sprang to action.

'All sail! all sail!' he cried out. 'Woe be on us if we escape not quickly. They know not yet, but when they learn they will rest not until----'

Instantly the crew leapt to the ropes, while the merchants stood around in terror, regarding the two black clouds as they drew rapidly towards us, side by side. Now they loomed nearer as monstrous birds, and presently they passed overhead, darkening the sky as they craned their gigantic necks and looked down upon us with suspicion.

With the utmost speed the ship was put upon her way, the while we watched the rukhs hover and settle inland. We were already speeding fast for the open sea when we saw them rise and circle in the air, heard their hoarse complaint and clamour for vengeance, and noted their swift swoop towards the rocky heights of the interior. We gave a sigh of relief. We thought we had escaped, so well did the breeze serve us; but we had forgotten, or did not yet know, the power of wings.

Soon there arose from the far heights of the island two gigantic shapes. As they moved towards us they grew bigger and bigger, and now we heard the oarage of their wings, ever louder and louder on our ears. They were coming, the rukhs, to wreak vengeance; and, now we saw it with fear, in the talons of each was a granite crag torn from the bedrock of the island. Their purpose was as plain as it was terrible.