A
n old woman had five grown-up sons that looked just alike. The eldest could gulp up the ocean at a mouthful; the second was hard enough to nick steel; the third had extensible legs; the fourth was unaffected by fire; the fifth lived without breathing. They all concealed their peculiar traits, and their neighbours did not even guess that they were queer.
The eldest supported the family by fishing, going alone to the sea, and bringing back loads of spoil. The neighbours often besought him to teach their sons how to fish, and he at last let all their boys go with him, one day, to learn his art. On reaching the shore, he sucked the sea into his mouth, and directed the boys to the dry bottom, to collect the fish. When he was tired of holding the water, he beckoned to the boys to return, but they were playing amongst strange objects, and paid no heed to him. When he could contain the sea no longer, he had to let it flow back into its former basin, and all the boys were drowned.
As he went homeward, he passed the doors of the parents, who inquired how many fish their sons had caught, and how long they would be in coming back. He told them the facts, yet they would not excuse him, and they dragged him before the magistrate to account for the loss of their children. He defended himself by saying that he had not invited the boys to go with him, and had consented to their going only when the parents had repeatedly urged him; that, after the boys were on the ocean-bed, he had done his utmost to induce them to come ashore; that he had held the water as long as he could, and had then thrown it in the sea-basin solely because nothing else would contain it. Notwithstanding this defence, the judge decided that, since he took the boys away and did not bring them back, he was guiltyof murder, and sentenced him to decapitation. He entreated leave to pay one visit to his aged mother before his execution, and this was granted. He went alone and told his brothers of his doom, and the second brother returned in his stead to the judge, thanked him for having given him permission to perform a duty required by filial piety, and said he was then ready to die. He knelt with bowed head, and the headsman brought the knife down across the back of his neck, but the knife was nicked and the neck was left unscathed. A second knife, and a third of finer steel, were brought and tried by headsmen who were accustomed to sever heads clean off at one stroke. Having spoiled their best blades without marring his neck, they took him back to prison and informed the judge that the sentence could not be executed.
The judge then decreed that he should be dropped into the sea which covered his victims. When he heard this decision, he said that he had taken leave of his mother supposing that his head was to be cut off, and that, if he was to be drowned, he must go to her and make known his fate, and get her blessing anew. Permission being given, he went and told his brothers what had happened, and the third brother took the place of the second, and presented himself before the judge as the criminal that was to be sunk in the sea. He was carried far from shore and thrown overboard, but he stretched his legs till his feet touched bottom and he stood with his head in the air. They hauled him aboard and took him farther from land, but still his extensible legs supported him above the waters. Then they sailed to mid-ocean, and cast him into its greatest depths, but his legs still lengthened so that he was not drowned. They brought him back to the judge, reported what had been done, and said that some other method of destroying him must be followed.
He was then condemned to death by being boiled in oil; and while the caldron was being heated, he begged and obtained leave to go and tell his mother of his late survival, and, of the manner in which he was soon to be taken off. His brothers having heard the latest judgment, the fourth one went to bear the penalty of the law, and was lowered into the kettle of boilingoil, where he disported himself as if in a tepid bath, and even asked the executioners to stir up the fire a little to increase the warmth. Finding that he could not be fried, he was remanded to prison.
Then the populace, the bereaved parents, and the magistrate joined in effort to invent a sure method of putting him to death. Water, fire and sword all having failed, they finally fixed upon smothering him in a vast cream-cake. The whole country round made contributions of flour for the tough pastry, sugar for the viscid filling, and bricks for a huge oven; and it was made and baked on a plain outside the city walls. Meanwhile the prisoner was allowed to go and bid his mother farewell, and the fifth brother secretly became his substitute. When the cake was done, a multitude of people, with oxen, horses, and ropes, dragged it to the execution ground, and within it the culprit was interred. As he was able to exist without air, he rested peacefully till the next midnight. Then he safely crawled forth, and returned to his home, where he dwelt happily for many years with his remarkable brothers.
A
poor blind Brahman and his wife were dependent on their son for their subsistence. Every day the young fellow used to go out and get what he could by begging. This continued for some time, till at last he became quite tired of such a wretched life, and determined to go and try his luck in another country. He informed his wife of his intention, and ordered her to manage somehow or other for the old people during the few months that he would be absent. He begged her to be industrious, lest his parents should be angry and curse him.
One morning he started with some food in a bundle, and walked on day after day, till he reached the chief city of the neighbouring country. Here he went and sat down by a merchant's shop and asked alms. The merchant inquired whence he had come, why he had come, and what was his caste; to which he replied that he was a Brahman, and was wandering hither and thither begging a livelihood for himself, his wife and parents. Moved with pity for the man, the merchant advised him to visit the kind and generous king of that country, and offered to accompany him to the court. Now, at that time it happened that the king was seeking for a Brahman to look after a golden temple which he had just had built. His Majesty was very glad, therefore, when he saw the Brahman and heard that he was good and honest. He at once deputed him to the charge of this temple, and ordered fifty kharwars of rice and one hundred rupees to be paid to him every year as wages.
Two months after this, the Brahman's wife, not having heard any news of her husband, left the house and went in quest of him. By a happy fate she arrived at the very place that he had reached, where she heard that every morning at the golden temple a golden rupee was given in the king's name to anybeggar who chose to go for it. Accordingly, on the following morning she went to the place and met her husband.
"Why have you come here?" he asked. "Why have you left my parents? Care you not whether they curse me and I die? Go back immediately, and await my return."
"No, no," said the woman. "I cannot go back to starve and see your old father and mother die. There is not a grain of rice left in the house."
"O Bhagawant!" exclaimed the Brahman. "Here, take this," he continued, scribbling a few lines on some paper, and then handing it to her, "and give it to the king. You will see that he will give you a lac of rupees for it." Thus saying he dismissed her, and the woman left.
On this scrap of paper were written three pieces of advice—First, If a person is travelling and reaches any strange place at night, let him be careful where he puts up, and not close his eyes in sleep, lest he close them in death. Secondly, If a man has a married sister, and visits her in great pomp, she will receive him for the sake of what she can obtain from him; but if he comes to her in poverty, she will frown on him and disown him. Thirdly, If a man has to do any work, he must do it himself, and do it with might and without fear.
On reaching her home the Brahmani told her parents of her meeting with her husband, and what a valuable piece of paper he had given her; but not liking to go before the king herself, she sent one of her relations. The king read the paper, and ordering the man to be flogged, dismissed him. The next morning the Brahmani took the paper, and while she was going along the road to the darbar reading it, the king's son met her, and asked what she was reading, whereupon she replied that she held in her hands a paper containing certain bits of advice, for which she wanted a lac of rupees. The prince asked her to show it to him, and when he had read it gave her a parwana for the amount, and rode on. The poor Brahmani was very thankful. That day she laid in a great store of provisions, sufficient to last them all for a long time.
In the evening the prince related to his father the meetingwith the woman, and the purchase of the piece of paper. He thought his father would applaud the act. But it was not so. The king was more angry than before, and banished his son from the country.
So the prince bade adieu to his mother and relations and friends, and rode off on his horse, whither he did not know. At nightfall he arrived at some place, where a man met him, and invited him to lodge at his house. The prince accepted the invitation, and was treated like a prince. Matting was spread for him to squat on, and the best provisions set before him.
"Ah!" thought he, as he lay down to rest, "here is a case for the first piece of advice that the Brahmani gave me. I will not sleep to-night."
It was well that he thus resolved, for in the middle of the night the man rose up, and taking a sword in his hand, rushed to the prince with the intention of killing him. But the prince arose and spoke.
"Do not slay me," he said. "What profit would you get from my death? If you killed me you would be sorry afterward like that man who killed his dog."
"What man? What dog?" he asked.
"I will tell you," said the prince, "if you will give me that sword."
So he gave him the sword, and the prince began his story:
"Once upon a time there lived a wealthy merchant who had a pet dog. He was suddenly reduced to poverty, and had to part with his dog. He got a loan of five thousand rupees from a brother merchant, leaving the dog as a pledge, and with the money began business again. Not long after this the other merchant's shop was broken into by thieves and completely sacked. There was hardly ten rupees' worth left in the place. The faithful dog, however, knew what was going on, and went and followed the thieves, and saw where they deposited the things, and then returned.
"In the morning there was great weeping and lamentation in the merchant's house when it was known what had happened.The merchant himself nearly went mad. Meanwhile the dog kept on running to the door, and pulling at his master's shirt and pajamas, as though wishing him to go outside. At last a friend suggested that, perhaps, the dog knew something of the whereabouts of the things, and advised the merchant to follow its leadings. The merchant consented, and went after the dog right up to the very place where the thieves had hidden the goods. Here the animal scraped and barked, and showed in various ways that the things were underneath. So the merchant and his friends dug about the place, and soon came upon all the stolen property. Nothing was missing. There were all the articles just as the thieves had taken them.
"The merchant was very glad. On returning to his house, he at once sent the dog back to its old master with a letter rolled under the collar, wherein he had written about the sagacity of the beast, and begged his friend to forget the loan and to accept another five thousand rupees as a present. When this merchant saw his dog coming back again, he thought, 'Alas! my friend is wanting the money. How can I pay him? I have not had sufficient time to recover myself from my recent losses. I will slay the dog ere he reaches the threshold, and say that another must have slain it. Thus there will be an end of my debt. No dog, no loan.' Accordingly he ran out and killed the poor dog, when the letter fell out of its collar. The merchant picked it up and read it. How great was his grief and disappointment when he knew the facts of the case!
"Beware," continued the prince, "lest you do that which afterward you would give your life not to have done."
By the time the prince had concluded this story it was nearly morning, and he went away, after rewarding the man.
The prince then visited the country belonging to his brother-in-law. He disguised himself as a jogi, and sitting down by a tree near the palace, pretended to be absorbed in worship. News of the man and of his wonderful piety reached the ears of the king. He felt interested in him, as his wife was very ill; and he had sought for hakims to cure her, but in vain. He thought that, perhaps, this holy man could do something forher. So he sent to him. But the jogi refused to tread the halls of a king, saying that his dwelling was the open air, and that if his Majesty wished to see him he must come himself and bring his wife to the place. Then the king took his wife and brought her to the jogi. The holy man bade her prostrate herself before him, and when she had remained in this position for about three hours, he told her to rise and go, for she was cured.
In the evening there was great consternation in the palace, because the queen had lost her pearl rosary, and nobody knew anything about it. At length some one went to the jogi, and found it on the ground by the place where the queen had prostrated herself. When the king heard this he was very angry and ordered the jogi to be executed. This stern order, however, was not carried out, as the prince bribed the men and escaped from the country. But he knew that the second bit of advice was true.
Clad in his own clothes, the prince was walking along one day when he saw a potter crying and laughing, alternately, with his wife and children. "O fool," said he, "what is the matter? If you laugh, why do you weep? If you weep, why do you laugh?"
"Do not bother me," said the potter. "What does it matter to you?"
"Pardon me," said the prince, "but I should like to know the reason."
"The reason is this, then," said the potter. "The king of this country has a daughter whom he is obliged to marry every day, because all her husbands die the first night of their stay with her. Nearly all the young men of the place have thus perished, and our son will be called on soon. We laugh at the absurdity of the thing—a potter's son marrying a princess, and we cry at the terrible consequence of the marriage. What can we do?"
"Truly a matter for laughing and weeping. But weep no more," said the prince. "I will exchange places with your son, and will be married to the princess instead of him. Only give me suitable garments, and prepare me for the occasion."
So the potter gave him beautiful raiment and ornaments, and the prince went to the palace. At night he was conducted to the apartment of the princess. "Dread hour!" thought he; "am I to die like the scores of young men before me?" He clenched his sword with firm grip, and lay down on his bed, intending to keep awake all the night and see what would happen. In the middle of the night he saw two Shahmars come out from the nostrils of the princess. They stole over toward him, intending to kill him, like the others who had been before him; but he was ready for them. He laid hold of his sword, and when the snakes reached his bed he struck at them and killed them. In the morning the king came as usual to inquire, and was surprised to hear his daughter and the prince talking gaily together. "Surely," said he, "this man must be her husband, as he only can live with her."
"Where do you come from? Who are you?" asked the king, entering the room.
"Oh king!" replied the prince, "I am the son of a king who rules over such-and-such a country."
When he heard this the king was very glad, and bade the prince to abide in his palace, and appointed him his successor to the throne. The prince remained at the palace for more than a year, and then asked permission to visit his own country, which was granted. The king gave him elephants, horses, jewels, and abundance of money for the expenses of the way and as presents for his father, and the prince started.
On the way he had to pass through the country belonging to his brother-in-law, whom we have already mentioned. Report of his arrival reached the ears of the king, who came with rope-tied hands and haltered neck to do him homage. He most humbly begged him to stay at his palace, and to accept what little hospitality could be provided. While the prince was staying at the palace he saw his sister, who greeted him with smiles and kisses. On leaving he told her how she and her husband had treated him at his first visit, and how he escaped; and then gave them two elephants, two beautiful horses, fifteen soldiers, and ten lacs of rupees' worth of jewels.
Afterward he went to his own home, and informed his mother and father of his arrival. Alas! his parents had both become blind from weeping about the loss of their son. "Let him come in," said the king, "and put his hands upon our eyes, and we shall see again." So the prince entered, and was most affectionately greeted by his old parents; and he laid his hands on their eyes, and they saw again.
Then the prince told his father all that had happened to him, and how he had been saved several times by attending to the advice that he had purchased from the Brahmani. Whereupon the king expressed his sorrow for having sent him away, and all was joy and peace again.
C
hina, as you know, is ruled over by an Emperor, who is a Chinaman, and all his courtiers are Chinamen, too. Now, this little story that I am going to tell you happened ever so long ago, and that is why you ought to hear it now, before it is forgotten, for it is well worth hearing.
The Emperor lived in the most beautiful palace in the world and it was a very costly one, for it was made of the finest porcelain, and was so brittle that you had to be very careful if you touched it. It was surrounded by such a large garden that the gardener himself did not quite know where it ended. Lovely flowers grew in luxuriance, and, lest people should pass the most beautiful without noticing them, peals of silver bells were tied to their stems.
Truly, everything was carefully planned in the Emperor's garden. If you kept on far enough, you came to a mighty forest which stretched down so close to the margin of the sea that the poor fishermen in their boats could sail under the overhanging branches.
In one of these boughs a nightingale lived, and so beautiful was its song that the rough sailors would stop to listen on their way out to spread their nets.
"Ah, what beautiful music!" they would exclaim, and then they had to sail on, for they had their work to do. And again, when nightfall came, and the bird sang, and the boats came drifting home on the tide, they would say:
"Heavens! how gloriously that bird sings!"
Travellers came from all over the world to see the Emperor's city and his palace and garden; but when they heard the Nightingale, they would say:
"That is most beautiful of all."
And when the travellers reached their homes again, they told all their friends of the wonderful things they had seen and heard; and wise people wrote books, in which they did not forget to tell of the Nightingale, which was pronounced the loveliest among many lovely things. Even the poets wrote verses about this Nightingale that lived in the wood by the sea.
And then, one by one, the books travelled over the world, until some at last reached the hands of the Emperor, who sat in his golden chair and read them, nodding his head with pleasure; for he was charmed with the beautiful descriptions of his city and castle and garden. Then he read the words:
"The Nightingale is the most lovely thing of all!"
"What is this?" he said. "The Nightingale! I have never heard of such a bird, yet there seems to be one in my empire—and in my own garden! Imagine learning of such a thing for the first time from a book!"
Thereupon he summoned his Chamberlain, who was a very important person, and who never replied more than "Paugh!" to any inferior who dared to ask him anything. This, of course, was no answer at all.
"This book tells of a very remarkable bird called a Nightingale," said the Emperor. "They say it is the finest thing in my empire. Why has no one told me about it before?"
"I have never heard anyone mention it before, myself," replied the Chamberlain. "I don't remember that it has ever been presented at Court."
"I command it to appear at Court and sing before me to-night," said the Emperor. "All the world knows what I possess, it appears, except myself."
"I have never heard of such a thing before," answered the Chamberlain again, "but I will search until it is found."
But where was it? The Chamberlain searched up and down the palace, through corridors and up staircases, but he could not find anyone who had even heard of a nightingale. Then he hastened back to the Emperor to say that it must certainly be an invention of the man who had written the book.
"Your Imperial Majesty will scarcely credit the sort of thingsthese people will write," he said. "It is all fiction and something called Black Art."
"But the great and mighty Mikado of Japan has sent me this book!" shouted the Emperor, very much annoyed, "and, therefore, there cannot be anything that is false in it. I must and shall hear the Nightingale, and I command it to be present this evening. It has my especial Royal favour, and if it is not here, the whole Court shall be trampled upon by camels after supper."
"Tching Pe!" exclaimed the Chamberlain, very much alarmed, and raced up and down stairs and through all the corridors again, accompanied now by half the Court, who were not at all anxious to be trampled upon, even after supper. It was a great search after this wonderful Nightingale, of which all the world had heard, except the Emperor and his courtiers.
At length they came to the kitchen, where a poor little scullery-maid at once exclaimed:
"Why, yes, I know it well; and it sings beautifully! Every evening I have permission to take the kitchen scraps to my sick mother, who lives down on the sea-shore, and often, as I come back, I rest in the wood and listen to the Nightingale, Its song makes my eyes fill with tears, and I seem to be able to feel my mother's kisses."
"Little girl," the Chamberlain said, "if you will take us straight to where the Nightingale lives you shall receive a high appointment in the Royal kitchen, and be allowed to see the Emperor dine every night. His Majesty has commanded it to sing before him this evening."
So the girl led the Chamberlain and all the Court to the wood where the Nightingale sang. When they were half-way there a cow began to low.
"Hark!" said all the courtiers. "What a beautiful note, and how powerful for such a tiny creature! I have certainly heard it before."
"No," said the maid, "that is only the lowing of a cow. We have a long way to go yet."
"Oh, how exquisite!" murmured the Chinese Court-chaplain,as he heard the frogs croaking in a marsh. "Now I can hear it; why, it resembles the chime of silver bells."
"No, those are only the marsh frogs," said the little maid. "But we shall soon be able to hear it now." And then, just as she spoke, the Nightingale commenced to sing.
"Ah, now!" said the girl. "Listen, listen! There it sits up in the branches," and she pointed to a tiny gray bird clinging to a spray of thorn.
"I should never have believed it would look like that," exclaimed the Chamberlain. "It looks so simple and so pale; it must be frightened at the sight of so many grand people."
"Dear Nightingale," called the little girl, "our most noble Emperor desires you to sing to him."
"Oh, certainly, with pleasure," replied the Nightingale; and it sang so beautifully it was a treat to hear it.
"It is like the sound of running water; and see how its tiny throat quivers, too," the Chamberlain said. "How strange that we have never heard it talked about before! It will be an immense success at Court."
"Would the Emperor like to hear another song?" asked the bird, for it thought the Emperor had been listening all the time.
"Most worthy Nightingale," the Chamberlain replied, "it is with great pleasure I command you to appear before his Majesty at a Court reception to-night, when you will charm his Majesty with your delightful singing."
"It sounds so much more beautiful out in the wood," said the bird; but still it promised willingly when it heard it was the Emperor's royal desire.
The palace was very elegant in its decorations. The porcelain walls and floors glittered and shone with the reflection from many lamps. Beautiful flowers, shaking their silvery bells, were banked in rich profusion on each side of the great staircase. Indeed, what with the passing of many feet and the great draught, the bells tinkled so loudly you could hardly hear yourself speak.
The Emperor sat on a jewelled throne in the centre of the great hall, and close beside him stood a golden perch for the Nightingale. All the courtiers were assembled, and the little scullery-maid, now raised to the rank of a real Court cook, had received permission to listen behind the door. Everyone stood dressed in his very best and gazed on the little gray bird, to whom the mighty Emperor had just nodded his head.
Then the Nightingale began to sing, and sang so gloriously that the Emperor's eyes so filled with tears that they overflowed and ran down his cheeks. And the bird sang on and on, till it reached one's very heart. The Emperor was so delighted that he said the Nightingale should wear his own golden slipper around its neck. But the Nightingale thanked him very politely and said it had already received sufficient reward.
"For," it said, "I have caused the Emperor's eyes to fill with tears, and an Emperor's tears have a mighty power. Heaven knows I have been sufficiently repaid." And again it burst into its beautiful song.
"Oh, what charming coquetry!" said the Court ladies, and each tried to keep their mouths full of water so that they might gurgle like the Nightingale when they spoke to anyone. Even the footmen and the ladies' maids expressed their perfect satisfaction, and that was a great deal, for they are generally the hardest to please. In short, the Nightingale had scored a great success.
It was so arranged that in future it should live at Court, in its own cage, with permission to fly out twice a day, and once during the night.
On these trips it was accompanied by twelve servants, each of whom held a silken cord attached to its leg, so that really there could not be the slightest pleasure for it in such a flight. As for the city, wherever you went, you met people talking of the wonderful bird. One had only to say the word "Nightin" when the other would answer "gale," and each would give a sigh and feel they perfectly understood each other. Eleven babies belonging to poor people were christened after the bird, and yet not one of them could sing a note.
One day a parcel arrived at the palace, addressed to the Emperor, with the words, "The Nightingale," written on the outside.
"Oh, this must be a fresh book about our famous bird," said the Emperor.
But it was not a book. A wonderful work of art lay within a casket, a clockwork nightingale, encrusted in diamonds and rubies and pearls, and fashioned in the shape of a real bird. When it had been wound up it sang one of the same songs that the real nightingale sang, and its glittering tail moved up and down in time to the notes. A ribbon hung around its neck, and on it these words were written: "The Emperor of Japan's Nightingale is nothing compared to that of the Emperor of China."
"How perfect!" everyone cried, and the Emperor immediately bestowed the title of the King's-Imperial-Nightingale-Bringer on the courier who had brought the bird.
"Now we must hear them sing a duet together. How beautiful it will sound!" they all said. But it did not sound so well as they had expected, for the real bird sang in a natural way, and just whatever came into its little throat, and the artificial bird could only sing waltzes.
"The new one sings quite correctly," said the chief Court musician. "It keeps perfect time, and understands my own method, I can hear." So then the new one had to sing by itself and obtained quite as much applause as the real one had done. Besides, it looked so much handsomer; glittering and glistening like bracelets and breast-pins.
Over and over again, for quite thirty-three times, it sang the same tune and yet was not tired. The courtiers would have liked to hear it again even, only the Emperor said "No, it's the real bird's turn now, let us ask it to sing."
But where was the Nightingale? Not a soul had seen it fly out of the open window back to its own green woods.
"Well, well! whatever has become of it?" exclaimed the Emperor. And all the courtiers united in saying it was a most ungrateful creature.
"After all," they said, "we still have the better bird," and with that the new one had to sing his song for the thirty-fourth time, and even then the courtiers had not caught the tune quite correctly, for it was very difficult and tricky. The Court musician, especially, praised the bird, and said, not only was its plumage much more handsome, but its inside was better made, too.
"For your Imperial Highness, and you, my noble lords and ladies, must see," he went on, "that with a real Nightingale you can never tell what is coming next, but with an imitation one everything is settled. One can open it and see exactly how it works, where the waltz comes from, and why the notes follow one after the other."
The courtiers all agreed with the Court musician, and the Emperor commanded him to show it to the people on the following Saturday, and let them hear it sing. This he did, and the Chinese people felt so pleased and happy they all nodded their heads and shook their forefingers and said "Ah!" Only the fishermen, who had heard the real bird sing, shook their heads and said it all sounded very nice, and very much alike, too; but somehow—they didn't quite know how—something seemed lacking.
And so the real Nightingale was sent into exile, and the imitation one slept on a satin cushion close to the Emperor's bed. All the jewels and precious stones that had been showered on it as presents were arranged around the edge of the cushion, and it was given the title of the Emperor's Own Court Singer and advanced to the very highest rank, that of First on the Left; for the left was thought to be the highest station, as the Emperor wore his heart on that side, just like ordinary people.
The Court musician wrote twenty-five volumes on the imitation bird. The work was very tedious and dull, and full of the longest Chinese words you can imagine; and people always said they had read it and pretended to have enjoyed it, or else they would have been thought stupid and have had their bodies trampled upon.
A whole year passed by in this fashion, and at last the Emperor and his Court and all the Chinese people knew every turn and trill of the Nightingale's song by heart, and this pleased them more than ever. They often sang with it, and the street-urchins,even, could sing "Tchoochoohuh juggjugg jugg," and the Emperor just the same. It was really delightful.
One evening the Emperor lay in his bed listening to the bird which was singing its very best. Suddenly it stopped with a jerk, and bang! something had snapped in its inside, and all its wheels ran down with a whirr, and then there was a dead silence.
The Emperor sprang out of bed and sent for the Court physician, but he could do nothing. Then a watchmaker was fetched in, and after he had talked a lot, and poked and examined the inside a great deal, he managed to put it in something like working order again.
"You must not use it too much," he said, "it is nearly worn out, and one can never put in fresh works again and be sure of the music being as good as before."
At this there was great mourning all over the country, for the imitation bird must only be allowed to sing once a year in future, and even that might prove too much for it.
And when these performances were given the Court musician made a short speech, full of very long words, proving that it sang as beautifully as ever, and so the Court thought it did and were very well content.
After five years had passed the Emperor fell very ill. All the people felt sad, for they were really extremely fond of him, and now it was said he could not possibly live. Already the new Emperor was selected, and the people stood about in the streets and begged to know from the Chamberlain how the old Emperor was.
But "Paugh!" was all he would say as he nodded his head.
White and cold the old Emperor lay in his great tall bed, and all the courtiers thought he was dead, and ran away to greet their new King. In the antechamber the pages gossiped with the maids-in-waiting as they ate a splendid tea. The palace was wrapped in silence, for carpets had been laid down in the hall and corridor, so that the noise of footsteps might be deadened. It was very, very still and solemn. And the Emperor, still alive, lay all cold and pale on the magnificent bed, with its heavy velvetdraperies and gorgeous golden tassels. High up, through the open window, the moon shone in upon him and the imitation nightingale lying in its casket by the bed.
The poor old Emperor lay panting for breath; a terrible weight seemed pressing on his chest, and he opened his eyes at last to see Death sitting there, with the Emperor's crown upon his head and his sword and jewelled sceptre in his hands.
The Emperor's gaze travelled round, and he saw faces—some ugly and some smiling and gentle—peeping at him from among the velvet folds of the curtains; these were the Emperor's good and bad deeds looking down at him as Death pressed on his heart.
"Don't you remember this?" and "Can you recall that?" they all seemed to be whispering. And the cold sweat broke out on the Emperor's brow, at the recollections they brought to his mind.
"I do not remember—I cannot!" gasped the Emperor, then cried, "Music! music! Bring the great Chinese drum, that I may not hear what they say."
But still they whispered together, and Death nodded his head, like a Chinese mandarin, at all they said.
"Music, music, I say!" shrieked the old Emperor. "Oh precious jewelled bird, sing! I heaped upon you gold and precious stones, and even hung my golden slippers around your neck. Ah, heavens! sing! I say, sing!"
But the imitation bird was still and silent, for until someone wound it up, it could not sing, and there was no one by to do it. And Death still sat gazing at him with hollow, hungry eyes, and all around was terribly still.
Suddenly a silvery note floated in at the open window. It was the voice of the real Nightingale as it sat upon a bough outside. It had heard the Emperor was ill, and had come back to comfort him and fill him with hope.
And as its song gained strength and rose and fell in delicious trills, the ghostly faces faded away and the warm life blood began to flow anew in the Emperor's veins. Even Death raised his head and said, "Go on, go on, little Nightingale."
"Ah, but you will give me the Emperor's royal crown and his sword and jewelled sceptre, if I do?" asked the bird.
And Death exchanged each of these treasures for a song, and the Nightingale went on singing—of a peaceful churchyard, heavy with the scent of roses and elder blossom, where the grass lay thick with the dew of many tears shed by mortals over dear ones lying sleeping there. Then Death was filled with a yearning to be in his own garden, and passed like a gray mist out of the open window.
"Deep, deep thanks I give you," said the Emperor. "Merciful little bird! I know you again. It was you I banished from my presence and my kingdom. And yet, you have charmed the evil spectres from my bed and Death from my heart. How can I ever repay you?"
"I am already rewarded in that I drew tears from your eyes when first I sang to you. Those tears were jewels to crown the heart of any singer, and I shall never forget them. I will sing you to sleep now, a sleep from which you will awake fresh and strong again."
And the Emperor fell into a sweet, refreshing slumber, so deep and peaceful that he awoke strong and well in the warm sunlight. None of the courtiers were by him, for all believed he was dead, only the Nightingale was still singing a gentle, sweet song.
"You must never leave me," the Emperor said; "you shall only sing when you desire, and I will break the artificial bird into a million pieces."
"No, spare it," said the Nightingale. "It did its best as long as it was able, so keep it as before. I cannot build my nest within the castle, but I will often come to you at evening and sing, on the bough outside the window, songs that will make you glad, and at the same time sweetly melancholy. I will sing of happiness and sorrow, of the goodness and wickedness that lie close around you. The singing bird loves the fisherman's hut, the peasant's cot, and all that is far removed from palace and court. But I love your soul more than your crown. I will fly to you and sing my songs, but you must promise me one thing."
The Emperor stood in his royal robes, which he had put on with his own hands, and he pressed his sword-hilt to his breast as he said:
"Anything that I can, I will grant."
"I only ask of you this one thing. Do not let anyone know that you have a little bird that tells you all; it will be for the best."
So saying the Nightingale flew away.
Then the servants entered to attend to their dead Emperor, and when they saw him standing there strong and well, they started back aghast.
But the Emperor only said:
"Good morning!"
O
nce on a time there was a King and Queen in Ireland, and they had one son named Jack, and when Jack grew up to be man big, he rose up one day and said to his father and mother that he would go off and push his fortune.
All his father and mother could say to Jack, they could not keep him from going. So with his staff in his hand and his father's and mother's blessing on his head, off he started, and he travelled away far, farther than I could tell you, and twice as far as you could tell me. At length one day, coming up to a big wood, he met a gray-haired old man. The old man asked him, "Jack, where are you going?"
He says, "I am going to push my fortune."
"Well," says the old man, says he, "If 't is looking for service you are, there is a Giant who lives at the other side of that wood that they call the Giant of the Hundred Hills, and I believe he wants a fine strong, able, clever young fellow like you."
"Very well," says Jack, "I will push on to him."
Push on Jack did, away through the wood, until he got to the other side, and then he saw a big castle, and going up he knocked at the door, and a big Giant came out.
"Welcome, Jack," says he, "the King of Ireland's Son! Where are you going and what do you want?"
"I come," says Jack, "to push my fortune, and am looking for honest service. I have been told," he says to the Giant of the Hundred Hills, "that you wanted a clean, clever boy like me."
"Well," says the Giant, "I am the Giant of the Hundred Hills, and do want such a fine fellow as you. I have to go away every day," he says, "to battle with another giant at the other end of the world, and when I am away I want somebodyto look after my house and place. If you will be of good, faithful service to me, and do everything I tell you, I will give you a bag of gold at the end of the time." Jack promised he would do all that. The Giant then gave him a hearty supper and a good bed, and well he slept that night. In the morning the Giant had him called up before the first lark was in the sky.
"Jack, my brave boy," says he, "I have got to be off to the other end of the world to-day to fight the Giant of the Four Winds, and it is time you were up and looking after your business. You have got to put this house in order, and look after everything in it until I come back to-night. To every room in the house and to every place about the house you can go, except the stable. My stable door is closed, and on the peril of your life, don't open it or go into the stable. Keep that in mind."
Jack said he certainly would. Then the Giant visited the stable, and started off; and as soon as he was gone, Jack went fixing and arranging the house and setting everything in order. And a wonderful house it was to Jack, so big and so great; and after that he went to the castle yard and into every house and building there, except the stable: and when he had visited all the rest of them, he stood before the stable and looked at it a long time. "And I wonder," says Jack, says he, "I wonder what can be in there, and what is the reason he wants me on the peril of my life not to go into it? I would like to go and peep in, and there certainly would be no harm."
Every door in and about the Giant's place was opened by a little ring turning on a pivot in the middle of the door. Forward to the stable door Jack then steps, turns the little ring, and the door flew open. Inside what does Jack see but a mare and a bear standing by the manger, and neither of them eating. There was hay before the bear and meat before the mare.
"Well," says Jack, "it is no wonder, poor creatures, you are not eatin'. That was a nice blunder of the Giant," and he stepped in and changed their food, putting hay before the mare and meat before the bear, and at once both of them fell to it and Jack went out and closed the stable door. As he did so hisfinger stuck in the ring, and he pulled and struggled to get it away, but he could not.
That was a fix for poor Jack, "And by this and by that," says he, "the Giant will be back and find me stuck here;" so he whips out his knife, and cuts off his finger, and leaves it there.
And when the Giant came home that night, says he to Jack, "Well, Jack, what sort of a day have you had this day, and how did you get along?"
"I had a fine day," says Jack, "and got along very well indeed."
"Jack," says he, "show me your two hands;" and when Jack held out his two hands, the Giant saw one of his fingers gone. He got black in the face with rage when he saw this, and he said, "Jack, did I not warn you on the peril of your life not to go into that stable?"
Poor Jack pleaded all he could, and said he did not mean to, but curiosity got the best of him, and he thought he would open the door and peep in.
Says the Giant, "No man before ever opened that stable door and lived to tell it, and you, too, would be a dead man this minute only for one thing. Your father's father did my father a great service once. I am the man who never forgets a good thing, and for that service," says he, "I give you your life and pardon this time; but if you ever do the like again, you won't live."
Jack, he promised that surely and surely he would never do the like again. His supper he got that night, and to bed. And at early morning again the Giant had him up, and, "Jack," says he, "I must be off to the other end of the world again and fight the Giant of the Four Winds. You know your duty is to look after this house and place and set everything in order about it, and go everywhere you like, only don't open the stable door or go into the stable, on the peril of your life."
"I will mind all that," says Jack.
Then that morning again the Giant visited the stable before he went away. And after he had gone, to his work went Jack, wandering through the house, cleaning and setting everything in order about it, and out into the yard he went, and fixed and arranged everything out there, except the stable. He stood before the stable door a good while this day, and says he to himself, "I wonder how the bear and the mare are doing, and what the Giant did when he went in to see them? I would give a great deal to know," says he. "I will take a peep in."
Into the ring of the door he put his finger, and turned it, and looked in, and there he saw the mare and the bear standing as on the day before and neither of them eating. In Jack steps. "And no wonder, poor creatures," says he, "you don't eat, when that is the way the Giant blundered," he says, after he saw the meat before the mare and the hay before the bear this time also.
Jack then changed the food, putting the hay before the mare and the meat before the bear, as it should be, and very soon both the mare and the bear were eating heartily; and then Jack went out. He closed the door, and when he did so, his finger stuck in the ring; and pull and struggle though Jack did, he could not get it out.
"Och, och, och," says Jack, says he, "I am a dead man to-day surely."
He whips out his knife, and cuts off his finger, and leaves it there, and 't was there when the Giant came home that night.
"Well, Jack, my fine boy," says he, "how have you got on to-day?"
"Oh, finely, finely," says Jack, says he, holding his hands behind his back all the same.
"Show me your hands, Jack," says the Giant, "till I see if you wash them and keep them clean always." And when Jack showed his hands, the Giant got black in the face with rage, and says he, "Didn't I forgive you your life yesterday for going into that stable, and you promised never to do it again, and here I find you out, once more?"
The Giant ranted and raged for a long time, and then says he, "Because your father's father did my father such a good turn, I suppose I will have to spare your life this second time; but, Jack," says he, "if you should live for a hundred years,and spend them all in my service, and if you should then again open that door and put your foot into my stable that day," says he, "you will be a dead man as sure as there is a head on you. Mind that!"
Jack, he thanked the Giant very much for sparing his life, and promised that he never, never would again disobey him.
The next morning the Giant had Jack up early, and told him he was going off this day to fight the Giant at the other end of the world, and gave Jack his directions, and warned him just as on the other days. Then he went into the stable before he went away. And when he was gone, Jack went through all the house, and through the whole yard, setting everything in order, and when everything was done, he stood before the stable door.
"I wonder," says Jack, "how the poor mare and the poor bear are getting along and what the Giant of the Hundred Hills was doing here to-day? I should very much like," says he, "to take one wee, wee peep in," and he opened the door.
Jack peeped in, and there the mare and the bear stood looking at each other again, and neither of them taking a morsel. And there was the meat before the mare and the hay before the bear, just as on the other days.
"Poor creatures," says Jack, "it is no wonder you are not eating, and hungry and hungry you must be." And forward he steps, and changes the food, putting it as it should be, the hay before the mare and the meat before the bear, and to it both of them fell.
And when he had done this, up speaks the mare, and "Poor Jack," says she, "I am sorry for you. This night you will be killed surely; and sorry for us, too, I am, for we will be killed as well as you."
"Oh, oh, oh!" says Jack, says he, "that is terrible. Is there nothing we can do?"
"Only one thing," says the mare.
"What is that?" says Jack.
"It's this," says the mare; "put that saddle and bridle on me, and let us start off and be away, far, far from this country,when the Giant comes back." And soon Jack had the saddle and bridle on the mare, and on her back he got to start off.
"Oh!" says the bear, speaking up, "both of you are going away to leave me in for all the trouble."
"No," says the mare, "we will not do that. Jack," says she, "take the chains and tie me to the bear."
Jack tied the mare to the bear with chains that were hanging by, and then the three of them, the mare and the bear and Jack, started, and on and on they went, as fast as they could gallop.
After a long time, says the mare: "Jack, look behind you, and see what you can see."
Jack looked behind him, and "Oh!" says he, "I see the Giant of the Hundred Hills coming like a raging storm. Very soon he will be on us, and we will all three be murdered."
Says the mare, says she, "We have a chance yet. Look in my left ear, and see what you can see;" and in her left ear Jack looked, and saw a little chestnut.
"Throw it over your left shoulder," says the mare.
Jack threw it over his left shoulder, and that minute there arose behind them a chestnut wood ten miles wide. On and on they went that day and that night; and till the middle of the next day, "Jack," says the mare, "look behind you, and see what you can see."
Jack looked behind him, and "Oh!" says he, "I see the Giant of the Hundred Hills coming tearing after us like a harvest hurricane."
"Do you see anything strange about him, Jack?" says the mare.
"Yes," says Jack, says he, "there are as many bushes on the top of his head, and as much fowl stuck about his feet and legs as will keep him in firewood and flesh for years to come. We are done for this time, entirely," says poor Jack.
"Not yet," says the mare; "there is another chance. Look into my right ear, and see what you can see."
In the mare's right ear Jack looked, and found a drop of water.
"Throw it over your left shoulder, Jack," says the mare, "and see what will happen."
Over his left shoulder Jack threw it, and all at once a lough sprung up between them and the Giant that was one hundred miles wide every way and one hundred miles deep.
"Now," says the mare, "he cannot reach us until he drinks his way through the lough, and very likely he will drink until he bursts, and then we shall be rid of him altogether."
Jack thanked God, and on he went. It was not long now until he reached the borders of Scotland, and there he saw a great wood.
"Now," says the mare and the bear, "this wood must be our hiding-place."
"And what about me?" says Jack.
"For you, Jack," says the mare, "you must push on and look for employment. The castle of the King of Scotland is near by, and I think you will be likely to get employment there; but first I must change you into an ugly little hookedy-crookedy fellow, because the King of Scotland has three beautiful daughters, and he won't take into his service a handsome fellow like you, for fear his daughters would fall in love with you."
Then the mare put her nostrils to Jack's breast and blew her breath over him, and Jack was turned into an ugly little hookedy-crookedy fellow.
"Jack," says the mare, "before you go, look into my left ear, and take what you see there."
Out of the mare's left ear Jack took a little cap.
"Jack," says she, "that is a wishing-cap, and every time you put it on and wish to have anything done, it will be done. Whenever you are in any trouble," the mare says, "come back to me, and I will do what I can for you, and now good-bye."
So Jack said good-bye to the mare and to the bear, and set off. When he got out of the wood, he soon saw a castle, and walked up to it and went in by the kitchen. A servant was busy scouring knives. He told her he wanted employment. She said the King of Scotland would employ no man in his house, so he might as well push on. But Jack insisted that the King would give him work, and at length the girl consented to go and let the King know.
When the girl had gone away, Jack put on his wishing-cap and wished the knives and forks scoured, and all at once the knives and forks, that were piled in a stack ten yards high, were scoured as brightly as new pins; and though the King of Scotland did not want to employ him, when he found how quickly Jack had scoured all the big stack of knives and forks, he agreed to keep him. But first he brought down his three daughters to see Jack, so that he could observe what impression Jack made upon them. When they came into the kitchen and saw the ugly little fellow, every one of the three fainted and had to be carried out.
"It is all right," says the King; "we will surely keep you," and Jack was employed, and sent out into the garden to work there.
Now at this time the King of the East declared war on the King of Scotland. The King of the East had a mighty army entirely, and he threatened to wipe the King of Scotland off the face of the earth.
The King of Scotland was very much troubled, and he consulted with his Grand Adviser what was best to be done, and his Grand Adviser counselled that he should at once give his three daughters in marriage to sons of kings, and in that way get great help for the war. The King said this was a grand idea.
So he sent out messengers to all parts of the world to say that his three beautiful daughters were ready for marriage. In a very short time the son of the King of Spain came and married the eldest daughter, and the son of the King of France came and married the second, and a whole lot of princes came looking for the youngest, who was the most beautiful of the three and whose name was Yellow Rose; but she would not take one of them, and for this the King ordered her never to come into his sight, nor into company, again.
Yellow Rose got very downhearted, and spent almost all her time now wandering in the garden, where the Hookedy-Crookedy lad was looking after the flowers, and she used to come around again and again, chatting to Hookedy-Crookedy. And so it was not long until he saw that the Yellow Rose wasin love with him, and he got just as deeply in love with her, for she was a beautiful and charming girl.
The next thing the Grand Adviser counselled the King was that he should send his two new sons-in-law, the Prince of Spain and the Prince of France, to the Well of the World's End for bottles of Ioca[2]to take to battle with them, that they might cure the wounded and dead men. So the King ordered his sons-in-law to go to the Well of the World's End and bring him back two bottles of Ioca.