which even his madness had failed to touch.
Day by day, and week by week, _Laylá's_ eyes grew brighter and her
cheeks paler. Slowly she pined away, and then she died of a broken
heart. Her last words were a message to _Majnún_--a message of love
that could not die, though it must quit the beautiful, unhappy house of
clay in which it had suffered so much.
'And tell him,' she said, 'that my body shall be buried by the side
of the fountain where he first clasped me in his arms. And tell him,
too, these very words: '_Majnún_, lift thine eyes! See, yonder are the
Fields of Light, and a fountain springing in the sunshine--yonder--a
fountain of eternal waters, where lovers meet, never to part
again;--_thou shalt find me there_!' And with that she died, and
her spirit sped on her parting thought to that place of lovers'
meeting;--the immortal font of lovers' meeting.
* * * * *
Dawn was breaking on the desert when two figures came running. Each
held the other by the hand, and on the face of one was that look which
told how he had been driven mad by love. _Majnún_, outstripping Zeyd,
left him to follow, and plunged into the forest. Soon he came to the
open space in which the fountain played. Well he knew the spot where
he had first clasped _Laylá_ in his arms. There was now a newly made
grave. Exhausted, not with running, but with love, madness, and grief,
he flung himself upon it.
'_Laylá! Laylá!_' he moaned, with a heart-bursting pang. 'I will come
soon--ah, soon! Hold thy shroud of night about thee! Hide thy beauty in
the Fields of Light--_until I find thee there_!'
And, as the sun rose, Zeyd came and stood by the grave, gazing down
upon his master through tears of grief;--gazing down upon the dead
through bitter tears of grief.
THE NIGHTINGALE
AFTER A FAIRY TALE BY HANS ANDERSEN
THERE was no more beautiful thing in the world than the palace of the
emperor of China. It was built of the very finest porcelain, delicate
and fragile as an egg-shell. The people, high and low, who dwelt in
that palace moved with the utmost grace and care lest they should break
anything, and in this they had more admiration for the extreme beauty
of the place than fear of being trampled upon by the emperor for any
damage caused by clumsiness. The palace garden was so big that not even
the head gardener could tell you where it ended. It contained the most
wonderful flowers; every here and there among the glorious blooms was
one more rare than its neighbours; and, as if to attract your attention
to its splendour, each had attached to it a little silver bell which
tinkled melodiously in the hands of every passing zephyr. Miles and
miles and miles of beautiful trees and flowers, with smooth lawns and
sparkling fountains; and always, if you wished, you could turn off into
a delightful wood which skirted the garden and led down a gentle slope
to the sea, where, on the brink, the trees were so high and spreading,
and the blue water beneath so suddenly deep and still, that great ships
could shelter there in the shade. And in this wonderful wood lived a
_Nightingale_ which sang so deliciously that all who heard it stood
rooted to the spot. Never had such music been heard before in any wood
in the world. Even the poor fisherman, busy with his nets in the bay,
would pause in his work to listen. 'Heavens, how beautiful that song
is!' he would say; and, night after night, when the bird sang he would
forget his toil to murmur, 'How beautiful! how beautiful!'
From every land travellers came to see the emperor's palace and walk in
the wonderful garden, but those who heard the _Nightingale_ sing said,
'There is nothing here so entrancing as that song.' And these went away
carrying the music in their hearts and the tale of it on their lips to
tell in their own lands. Thus the wonder of the _Nightingale_ was known
afar, and learned men wrote books about it, describing at length the
beauty of the emperor's palace and garden only as a fit setting for the
crowning wonder of all--the bird whose entrancing song lifted all this
earthly splendour to heaven. Many were the poems written and sung about
the far-off _Nightingale_ which filled and thrilled the woods with
music by the deep-blue sea. The books and the poems went through the
whole world, and of course many of them reached the emperor.
Sitting in his golden chair reading, he nodded his head with a smile
of pleasure at the splendid descriptions of palace and garden and all
they contained; but, when he read that all this splendour was of minor
account compared to the glorious singing of a _Nightingale_ in the
woods by the sea, he sat up straight and said, 'A _Nightingale_? What
is this? A wonder in my own home, my own garden--a wonder that travels
afar and yet I have never heard of it till now! What strange things we
read about in books, to be sure. But I'll soon settle the matter.'
With this he summoned his gentleman-in-waiting--a very important
personage; so important, indeed, that when one of less importance dared
to address him on even a matter more important than either of them, he
would simply answer, 'Ph!'--which, as you know, means nothing at all.
'They say,' said the emperor, 'ahem! they say there is a wonderful bird
here called a _Nightingale_, compared with whose delicious song my
palace and garden are of small account. Why have I not been informed of
this marvel?'
The gentleman-in-waiting protested that he knew nothing whatever of
such a thing as a _Nightingale_--at least, he was certain it had never
been presented at court.
'These books cannot all be wrong,' said the emperor; 'especially as
they all agree in their accounts of it. It appears that the whole world
knows what I am possessed of, and yet I have never known it myself till
now. I command you to bring this rare bird here this evening to sing to
me.'
The gentleman-in-waiting went off, well knowing what would happen if he
failed to produce the bird in the time appointed. But how was it to be
found? He ran up and down stairs and through all the corridors asking
rapid questions of every one he could find, but not one knew anything
about the _Nightingale_. 'Ha!' thought he, 'this thing is a myth,
invented by writers to make their books more interesting.' And he ran
back and told the emperor so.
'Nonsense!' cried the emperor. 'This book here was sent me by his
powerful majesty the emperor of Japan, so it must be true--every word
of it. I will give this bird my most gracious protection, but, as for
those who fail to find it and bring it here to-night--well, if it
is not forthcoming, I will have the whole court trampled upon after
supper!'
'Tsing-pe!' said the gentleman-in-waiting, and hurried off. Up and down
all the stairs, in and out all the corridors he ran again, and this
time half the court ran with him, for the thought of being trampled
upon got into their heels and there was no time to be wasted. Still, no
one in court knew anything about the _Nightingale_ with which all the
outside world was so familiar. But at last they came to a poor little
maid in the scullery. She knew all about it. 'Oh yes; the delightful
_Nightingale_!' she cried. 'Of course I know it. Every evening I hear
it sing in the wood by the seashore on my way home. Ah me! its music
brings tears into my eyes and makes me feel as if my mother is kissing
me.'
'Listen, little kitchen-maid!' said the gentleman-in-waiting, 'if you
will lead us to the _Nightingale_ I will give you permission to see the
emperor dining to-night.'
She clapped her hands with glee at this, and very soon they were all
following her on the way to the wood. As they ran a cow began to
bellow loudly, and they stopped. 'That's it!' cried a young courtier.
'What a magnificent voice for so small a creature!'
[Illustration: EVEN THE POOR FISHERMAN WOULD PAUSE IN HIS WORK TO
LISTEN p. 29]
'Nay, nay; that's a cow. We have not reached the place yet.' And the
little maid hurried them on.
Presently the frogs of a neighbouring marsh raised a chorus of 'Koax!
koax!'
'How beautiful!' cried the palace chaplain; 'more beautiful than the
sound of church bells. This bird----'
'Nay, nay; those are frogs; but we are coming to the _Nightingale_
soon.' And the little maid ran on. Then, suddenly, they all paused,
breathless, beneath the trees, for the _Nightingale_ had begun to sing.
'There it is! there it is!' cried the little kitchen-maid, pointing to
the little gray bird among the branches. 'Listen!'
'Ph!' said the gentleman-in-waiting; 'what a common little object! I
suppose meeting so many grand people from other lands has driven all
its colours away. But it can----'
'_Nightingale!_' called the little kitchen-maid; 'our most gracious
emperor wants you to sing to him to-night!'
'With all the pleasure in the world,' replied the bird, trilling out
the most delightful notes.
'Extraordinary!' said the gentleman-in-waiting, who had perceived
that the _Nightingale_ was thinking, very naturally, that he _was_
the emperor; and all the courtiers took up the word; for if _he_ said
'Extraordinary!' instead of 'Ph!' surely the whole world had a perfect
right to go into hysterics over such singing.
'My dear little _Nightingale_,' he said at last, 'I have the honour to
command your attendance at court to-night to sing before the emperor.'
'I think it sounds best among the trees,' replied the _Nightingale_,
'but I will do my best to please the emperor.' And it fluttered down
and perched on the little kitchen-maid's shoulder. Then away they went
to the palace.
That evening the splendid abode of the emperor was a sight to see. The
china walls and floors shone with the radiance of a thousand golden
lamps; the corridors were decked with the rarest flowers from the
garden, each with its little silver bell attached, so that when the
breeze swept their subtle perfumes along the ways of the palace they
rang a peal of joy.
In the great reception-room sat the emperor, and near by his side was
a golden rod on which was perched the _Nightingale_. Every one was
there, and all were dressed in their very best, for it was a time of
rejoicing; the wonderful bird had been found, and the whole court had
escaped being trampled upon. Even the little kitchen-maid, who had now
been raised to the position of cook, was allowed to stand behind the
door, where she could feast her wide eyes on the mighty emperor.
There was silence. Then the little gray bird began to sing. The emperor
nodded approvingly; then, as a burst of glorious song came in liquid
notes from the _Nightingale_ and welled out into the palace, the
emperor's eyes slowly filled with tears, which soon rolled down over
his cheeks. Seeing this the bird sang more divinely still, so that
all hearts were touched. The emperor wrung his hands with delight;
he was so charmed that he said he would decorate the _Nightingale_:
it should have his gold slipper to wear round its neck. But this the
_Nightingale_ declined gracefully, with thanks.
'I have seen tears in the eyes of the emperor,' it said, 'and that is
sufficient reward.' Then it burst again into its sweet, melodious song.
The _Nightingale_ soon became the one absorbing fashion. The ladies,
when any one spoke to them, took water in their mouths, raised their
heads and gurgled, thinking to imitate its song. The lackeys and
chamber-maids, who are always the most difficult people to please,
freely admitted they had nothing whatever against the bird; while the
people of the town could think of nothing else but this new wonder of
the palace. So great was their feeling on the matter that when two met
in the street one would say, 'Night,' to which the other replied,
'Gale'; then they would sigh and pass on, perfectly understanding each
other. Eleven different cheesemongers' children, who had the good luck
to be born during this time, were named after the bird, but not one of
these cheese-mites ever developed the semblance of a voice.
As for the _Nightingale_ itself, it had indeed made a great sensation,
and was accorded every honour. Living at court, it was assigned a
special cage, with full liberty to walk out twice a day and once in the
night. On these outings it was attended by twelve footmen, each holding
a separate ribbon attached to its leg. You can imagine how the poor
bird sang for joy when it got back to its cage again.
One day the emperor was sitting in his golden chair when a large parcel
was brought to him bearing on the outside the word '_Nightingale_.'
Thinking it was another book on the subject he put it aside, but, when
he came to open it later, he was astonished to find that it was no
book, but an exquisite little work of art--an artificial _Nightingale_,
just like the real one, but in place of gray feathers there were
wonderful diamonds, and rubies, and sapphires. Round its neck was a
ribbon on which was written, 'The emperor of Japan's _Nightingale_ is a
poor bird compared with the emperor of China's.'
On examination it was found that this splendid toy was meant to go. So
it was wound up, and immediately it sang that extremely lovely thing
which the real _Nightingale_ had first sung to the emperor.
'How delightful!' cried everybody, and immediately the emperor summoned
the messenger who had delivered the parcel, and there and then created
him Imperial Nightingale-Carrier in Chief.
'Now,' said the emperor, as the I.N.-C.C. withdrew, 'the two birds must
sing together. What a duet we shall have!'
But the duet was not a great success, for the real _Nightingale_
sang with its soul in its throat, while the other merely sang with
the machinery it was stuffed with. They did not get on at all well
together. But the music master explained all this quite easily, saying
that their voices, though of equal merit, were of widely different
quality, and each could be heard to best advantage alone. As to time
and tune and dramatic attack, he said, there was nothing to choose
between them.
So the toy bird had to sing alone, and everybody said the music master
was right; there was nothing to choose between the two, unless it was
that the toy bird's coat was a blaze of dazzling jewels, while that of
the other was a gray drab--common in the extreme. The toy bird sang
just as well, and, besides, it was much prettier to look at.
When the new _Nightingale_ had sung the same tune thirty-three times
and the courtiers wanted still to hear the tune again, the emperor
said, 'No; the real bird must have its turn now.' But the real bird was
nowhere to be found: it had flown out at the open window, back to its
own woods by the side of the deep-blue sea.
'What does this mean?' cried the emperor.
The gentleman-in-waiting stepped forward.
'It means, your Majesty,' he said, 'it means, I'm afraid, that it
was an ungrateful bird, but still clever enough to give place to its
betters.'
And then, when all were agreed that they had got the better bird, the
toy _Nightingale_ sang the same tune again, for the thirty-fourth
time, because, though they had heard it so often, they did not know it
thoroughly even yet: it was so very difficult.
The music master was loud in his praises of the bird. He extolled
it inside as well as out, saying that it was not only beautiful and
valuable, but that its works were perfect. The real bird sang what it
liked, but here one could choose a given tune and hear it sung. The
whole thing was far more perfect than the real. The court agreed with
him, and the emperor was prevailed upon to let the people hear the toy
bird sing on the following Sunday.
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?'