ONCE upon a time—and a good time it was—there lived a king. I do not
know exactly what his name was, or just where he lived; but it doesn’t
matter at all: his kingdom was somewhere between Ashantee and Holland,
and his name sounded a little like Samuel, and a little like Dolabella,
and a good deal like Chimborazo, and yet it was not quite any of them.
But, as I said before, it doesn’t matter. We will call him the King,
and that will be all that is necessary, as there is no other king in
the story.
This King was very fond of music; in fact, he was excessively fond of
it. He kept four bands of music playing all day long. The first was
a brass band, the second was a string band, the third was a rubber
band, and the fourth was a man who played on the jews-harp. (Some
people thought he ought not to be called a band, but he said he was all
the jews-harp band there was, and that was very true.) The four bands
played all day long on the four sides of the grand courtyard, and the
King sat on a throne in the middle and transacted affairs of state.
And when His Majesty went to bed at night, the grand chamberlain wound
up a musical-box that was in his pillow, and another one in the top
bureau-drawer, and they played “The Dog’s-meat Man” and “Pride of the
Pirate’s Heart” till daylight did appear.
One day it occurred to the King that it would be an excellent plan
for him to learn to sing. He wondered that he had never thought of it
before. “You see,” he said, “it would amuse me very much to sing while
I am out hunting. I cannot take the bands with me to the forest, for
they would frighten away the wild beasts; and I miss my music very
much on such occasions. Yes, decidedly, I will learn to sing.”
So he sent for the Chief Musician, and ordered him to teach him to
sing. The Chief Musician was delighted, and said they would begin
at once. So he sat down at the piano, and struck a note. “O King,”
he said, “please sing this note.” And the King sang, in a loud,
deep voice,[Illustration: B note] The Chief Musician was enchanted.
“Superb!” he cried. “Magnificent! Now, O King, please to sing _this_
note!” and he struck another note:[Illustration: G note] The King sang,
in a loud, deep voice,[Illustration: B note] The Chief Musician looked
grave. “O King,” he said, “you did not quite understand me. We will try
another note.” And he struck another: [Illustration: C note] The King
sang, in a loud, deep voice, [Illustration: B note] The Chief Musician
looked dejected. “I fear, O King,” he said, “that you can never learn
to sing.” “What do you mean by that, Chief Musician?” asked the King.
“It is your business to teach me to sing. Do you not know how to
teach?” “No man knows better,” replied the Chief Musician. “But Your
Majesty has no ear for music. You never can sing but one note.”
[Illustration: “‘Take this man and behead him!’ said the King.”]
At these words the King grew purple in the face. He said nothing,
for he was a man of few words; but he rang a large bell, and an
executioner appeared. “Take this man and behead him!” said the King.
“And send me the Second Musician!”
The Second Musician came, looking very grave, for he had heard the
shrieks of his unhappy superior as he was dragged off to execution,
and he had no desire to share his fate. He bowed low, and demanded His
Majesty’s pleasure. “Teach me to sing!” said His Majesty. So the Second
Musician sat down at the piano, and tried several notes, just as the
Chief Musician had done, and with the same result. Whatever note was
struck, the King still sang [Illustration: B note]
Now the Second Musician was a quick-witted fellow, and he saw in a
moment what the trouble had been with his predecessor, and saw, too,
what great peril he was in himself. So he assumed a look of grave
importance, and said solemnly, “O King, this is a very serious matter.
I cannot conceal from you that there are great obstacles in the way of
your learning to sing—” The King looked at the bell. “BUT,” said the
Second Musician, “they can be overcome.” The King looked away again.
“I beg,” said the Second Musician, “for twenty-four hours’ time for
consideration. At the end of that time I shall have decided upon the
best method of teaching; and I am bound to say this to Your Majesty,
that IF you learn to sing—” “WHAT?” said the King, looking at the
bell again. “That WHEN you learn to sing,” said the Second Musician
hastily,—“_when_ you learn to sing, your singing will be like no other
that has ever been heard.” This pleased the King, and he graciously
accorded the desired delay.
Accordingly the Second Musician took his leave with great humility,
and spent all that night and the following day plunged in the deepest
thought. As soon as the twenty-four hours had elapsed he again appeared
before the King, who was awaiting him impatiently, sitting on the
music-stool. “Well?” said the King. “Quite well, O King, I thank you,”
replied the Second Musician, “though somewhat fatigued by my labors.”
“Pshaw!” said the King impatiently. “Have you found a way of teaching
me to sing?” “I have, O King,” replied the Second Musician solemnly;
“but it is not an easy way. Nevertheless it is the only one.” The King
assured him that money was no object, and begged him to unfold his
plan. “In order to learn to sing,” said the Second Musician, “you must
eat a pie composed of all the singing-birds in the world. In this way
only can the difficulty of your having no natural ear for music be
overcome. If a single bird is omitted, or if you do not consume the
whole pie, the charm will have no effect. I leave Your Majesty to judge
of the difficulty of the undertaking.”
Difficulty? The King would not admit that there was such a word. He
instantly summoned his Chief Huntsman, and ordered him to send other
huntsmen to every country in the world, to bring back a specimen of
every kind of singing-bird. Accordingly, as there were sixty countries
in the world at that time, sixty huntsmen started off immediately,
fully armed and equipped.
After they were gone, the King, who was very impatient, summoned his
Wise Men, and bade them look in all the books, and find out how many
kinds of singing-birds there were in the world. The Wise Men all put
their spectacles on their noses, and their noses into their books, and
after studying a long time, and adding up on their slates the number of
birds described in each book, they found that there were in all nine
thousand nine hundred and ninety-nine varieties of singing-birds.
They made their report to the King, and he was rather troubled by it;
for he remembered that the Second Musician had said he must eat every
morsel of the pie himself, or the charm would have no effect. It would
be a _very_ large pie, he thought, with nine thousand nine hundred and
ninety-nine birds in it. “The only way,” he said to himself, “will be
for me to eat as little as possible until the huntsmen come back, then
I shall be very hungry. I have never been _very_ hungry in my life, so
there is no knowing how much I could eat if I were.” So the King ate
nothing from one week’s end to another, except bread and dripping; and
by the time the huntsmen returned he was so thin that it was really
shocking.
At last, after a long time, the sixty huntsmen returned, laden down
with huge bags, the contents of which they piled up in a great heap
in the middle of the courtyard. A mountain of birds! Such a thing had
never been seen before. The mountain was so high that everybody thought
the full number of birds must be there; and the Chief Cook began to
make his preparations, and sent to borrow the garden roller from John
the gardener, as his own was not big enough to roll out such a quantity
of paste.
The King and the Wise Men next proceeded to count the birds. But alas!
what was their sorrow to find that the number fell short by one! They
counted again and again; but it was of no use: there were only nine
thousand nine hundred and ninety-eight birds in the pile.
The next thing was to find out what bird was missing. So the Wise
Men sorted all the birds, and compared them with the pictures in the
books, and studied so hard that they wore out three pairs of spectacles
apiece; and at last they discovered that the missing bird was the
“Golden-breasted Kootoo.” The chief Wise Man read aloud from the
biggest book:—
“The Golden-breasted Kootoo, the most beautiful and the most melodious
of singing birds, is found only in secluded parts of the Vale of
Coringo. Its plumage is of a brilliant golden yellow, except on the
back, where it is streaked with green. Its beak is—”
“There! there!” interrupted the King impatiently; “never mind about its
beak. Tell the Lord Chamberlain to pack my best wig and a clean shirt,
and send them after me by a courier; and, Chief Huntsman, follow me. We
start this moment for the Vale of Coringo!”
And actually, if you will believe it, the King _did_ start off in less
than an hour from the counting of the birds. He rode on horseback, and
was accompanied only by the Chief Huntsman and the jews-harp band, the
courier being obliged to wait for the King’s best wig to be curled.
[Illustration: “He rode on horseback, and was accompanied only by the
Chief Huntsman and the jews-harp band.”]
The poor Band had a hard time of it; for he had a very frisky horse,
and found it extremely difficult to manage the beast with one hand
and hold the jews-harp with the other; but the King, with much
ingenuity, fastened the head of the horse to the tail of his own steady
cob, thereby enabling the musician to give all his attention to his
instrument. The music was a trifle jerky at times; but what of that? It
was music, and the King was satisfied.
They rode night and day, and at length arrived at the Vale of Coringo,
and took lodgings at the principal hotel. The King was very weary, as
he had been riding for a week without stopping. So he went to bed at
once, and slept for two whole days.
On the morning of the third day he was roused from a wonderful dream
(in which he was singing a duet with the Golden-breasted Kootoo, to a
jews-harp accompaniment) by the sound of music. The King sat up in bed,
and listened. It was a bird’s song that he heard, and it seemed to come
from the vines outside his window. But what a song it was! And what a
bird it must be that could utter such wondrous sounds! He listened, too
enchanted to move, while the magical song swelled louder and clearer,
filling the air with melody. At last he rose, and crept softly to the
window. There, on a swinging vine, sat a beautiful bird, all golden
yellow, with streaks of green on its back.
[Illustration: “Seizing his gun, he hastily descended the stairs.”]
It was the Golden-breasted Kootoo! There could be no doubt about it,
even if its marvellous song had not announced it as the sweetest singer
of the whole world. Very quietly, but trembling with excitement, the
King put on his slippers and his flowered dressing-gown, and seizing
his gun, he hastily descended the stairs.
It was early dawn, and nobody was awake in the hotel except the Boots,
who was blacking his namesakes in the back hall. He saw the King come
down, and thought he had come to get his boots; but the monarch paid
no attention to him, quietly unbolted the front door, and slipped
out into the garden. Was he too late? Had the bird flown? No, the
magic song still rose from the vines outside his chamber-window. But
even now, as the King approached, a fluttering was heard, and the
Golden-breasted Kootoo, spreading its wings, flew slowly away over the
garden wall, and away towards the mountain which rose just behind the
hotel. The King followed, clambering painfully over the high wall, and
leaving fragments of his brocade dressing-gown on the sharp spikes
which garnished it. Once over, he made all speed, and found that he
could well keep the bird in sight, for it was flying very slowly.
A provoking bird it was, to be sure! It would fly a little way, and
then, alighting on a bush or hanging spray, would pour forth a flood
of melody, as if inviting its pursuer to come nearer; but before the
unhappy King could get within gunshot, it would flutter slowly onward,
keeping just out of reach, and uttering a series of mocking notes,
which seemed to laugh at his efforts. On and on flew the bird, up the
steep mountain; on and on went the King in pursuit. It is all very well
to _fly_ up a mountain; but to crawl and climb up, with a heavy gun in
one’s hand, and one’s dressing-gown catching on every sharp point of
rock, and the tassel of one’s nightcap bobbing into one’s eyes, is a
very different matter, I can tell you. But the King never thought of
stopping for an instant; not he! He lost first one slipper, and then
the other; the cord and tassels of his dressing-gown tripped him up,
so that he fell and almost broke his nose; and finally his gun slipped
from his hold and went crashing down over a precipice; but still the
King climbed on and on, breathless but undaunted.
At length, at the very top of the mountain, as it seemed, the bird made
a longer pause than usual. It lighted on a point of rock, and folding
its wings, seemed really to wait for the King, singing, meanwhile,
a song of the most inviting and encouraging description. Nearer and
nearer crept the King, and still the bird did not move. He was within
arm’s length, and was just stretching out his arm to seize the prize,
when it fluttered off the rock. Frantic with excitement, the King made
a desperate clutch after it, and—