Birding Bond

RichardTheBruce

Following their history in Western culture, associations with blood donation and transfusions are a natural.

WWII 1944 Scottish Blood Transfusion Poster. And more modern Irish.

RichardTheBruce

The name and image represent Pelican Books, the non-fiction division of publisher Penguin Books.





A favorite of pubs and brews.



Guinness had its Pelican ads.
(After an assortment of birds and animals, they seemed to settle on the Toucan.)



Maybe even a part in winning WWII. Or at least honored by this HMS Pelican Christmas card.

'Best Wishes for Christmas and the New Year from H.M.S. Pelican.
With acknowledgments to a famous Guinness poster.'

CommanderRoss

hahahahaha epic poster of the HMS Pelican! Well done!

RichardTheBruce

HMS Pelican (L86), Egret-class sloop, anti-submarine warfare vessel. Destroyed four U-boats in WWII.
Itself sunk by German sub U-23 off Scotland's coast.
And Crest.




USS Pelican MHC 53 insignia. Osprey-class minehunter, active 1997-2007.
She lives on: sold to Hellenic (Greek) Navy, renamed Evniki. Still in service.


Sir Francis Drake's English galleon Pelican (renamed Golden Hind mid-voyage).
Britain's first to circle the globe 1577-1580.

Appears on the halfpenny.


Replica vessel on the Thames River.



Lé Pélican, French warship, 1693. 500-ton ship, 50 guns. Victorious in New France's greatest naval battle at Hudson Bay, 1697, though run aground due to damage and weather.

The replica Lé Pélican II has a spotted history, during construction 1987 to 1991 and after, La Malbaie, Quebec, Canada. Changes in designers and design, shifts from wood bottom to metal. After display two years at Old Port of Montreal--and to avoid damage from the harsh winters--sold to a Louisiana buyer. Spent 7 years in the port of New Orleans, then Donaldsonville, Louisiana, as part of the Fort Butler Foundation. Sunk 2002, refloated. Sunk by barge collision 2004, not raised. Struck by a tugboat 2008, fuel leak closed the river to traffic. Its metal bottom made removal difficult to impossible.


Chemical Tanker Pelican State. Big, but clearly not supertanker (or Liparus) sized.
[I've done business on sister ships the Empire State and Evergreen State. Notice the naming convention.]

RichardTheBruce

Boeing Pelican ULTRA (Ultra Large TRansport Aircraft). Developmental ground effect fixed-wing.
Large-capacity, low-altitude.



Sikorsky S-61R, twin-engine transport or search and rescue helicopter.
United States Coast Guard version of the S-61: HH-3F "Pelican".


Air Forces, Navies (includes US, UK, others) use the S-61 by a different name:
CH-3C/E Sea King and the HH-3E Jolly Green Giant.

The Spy Who Loved Me, Lewis Gilbert, 1977.
Westland WS-61 Sea King HAS2A.
IMPDB: http://www.impdb.org/index.php?title=The_Spy_Who_Loved_Me#Westland_WS-61_Sea_King_HAS2A
Bond arrives to meet with the British officials in this Royal Navy helicopter.

Honorable mention: S-61 replaced by the Aérospatiale HH-65A Dolphin.

Licence to Kill, John Glen, 1989.
Aérospatiale HH-65A Dolphin.
IMPDB: http://www.impdb.org/index.php?title=Licence_to_Kill#A.C3.A9rospatiale_HH-65A_Dolphin
James Bond, Felix Leiter and a few DEA agents use this helicopter to trace then chase Sanchez. Once they catch up with him, Bond lowers himself down and hooks the Cessna onto the helicopter.

There is also a Pelican yoga pose. It’s actually pretty boring as those things go.
So posted below is Olga Kurylenko in a yoga pose. Not sure what that one’s called. I’d call it Bird of Paradise.

CommanderRoss

That Pelican keeps on giving!

Ultravia also has a Pelican:


but you can fold one yourself as well:
http://www.instructables.com/id/How-To-Make-The-Pelican-Paper-Airplane/

Thunderfinger

RichardTheBruce

Nightingale - ˈnītn·ɡāl, or ˈnīd·iNG·ɡāl/ - noun
1. a small brown bird known for its song
Old English (nihtegala, galan meaning to sing). Dutch (nachtegaal). German (Nachtigall). All: a combination of ‘night’ and ‘sing’. Latin (luscinia).

Nightingale: a type of thrush (Turdidae). Forest-dwellers, nesting on the ground in understory, eaters of insects. The males (usually single) produce a complex song at night (to attract a mate), sometimes in daytime. Also may frequent urban areas, singing louder to overcome the background noise.

Russet Nightingale-thrush (Catharus occidentalis), Ruddy-capped Nightingale-thrush (Catharus frantzii), Black-billed Nightingale-thrush (Catharus gracilirostris), Orange-billed Nightingale-thrush (Catharus aurantiirostris), Black-headed Nightingale-thrush (Catharus mexicanus), Spotted Nightingale-thrush (Catharus dryas), Slaty-backed Nightingale-thrush (Catharus fuscater).

Russet Nightingale-thrush

Ruddy-capped Nightingale-thrush

Black-billed Nightingale-thrush

Orange-billed Nightingale-thrush

Black-headed Nightingale-thrush

Spotted Nightingale-thrush

Slaty-backed Nightingale-thrush

Nightingale song

RichardTheBruce

Live and Let Die, 1954, Ian Fleming.
Chapter XXIII – Passionate Leave

LIKE dangling emerald pendants the two humming-birds were making their last rounds of the hibiscus and a mocking bird had started on its evening song, sweeter than a nightingale's, from the summit of a bush of night-scented jasmine.

The jagged shadow of a man-of-war bird floated across the green Bahama grass of the lawn as it sailed on the air currents up the coast to some distant colony, and a slate-blue kingfisher chattered angrily as it saw the man sitting in the chair in the garden. It changed its flight and swerved off across the sea to the island. A brimstone butterfly flirted among the purple shadows under the palms.

The graded blue waters of the bay were quite still. The cliffs of the island were a deep rose in the light of the setting sun behind the house.

There was a smell of evening and of coolness after a hot day and a slight scent of peat-smoke that came from cassava being roasted in one of the fishermen's huts in the village away to the right.

Solitaire came out of the house and walked on naked feet across the lawn. She was carrying a tray with a cocktail shaker and two glasses. She put it down on a bamboo table beside Bond's chair.

'I hope I've made it right,' she said. 'Six to one sounds terribly strong. I've never had Vodka Martinis before.'

Moonraker, 1955, Ian Fleming.
Part One: Monday
Chapter I – Secret Paper-work

Loelia Ponsonby knew that she had almost reached the time for decision and all her instincts told her to get out. But every day the drama and romance of her Gavell-Nightingale world locked her more securely into the company of the other girls at Headquarters and every day it seemed more difficult to betray by resignation the father-figure which The Service had become.

Meanwhile she was one of the most envied girls in the building, and a member of the small company of Principal Secretaries who had access to the innermost secrets of the Service-'The Pearls and Twin-set' as they were called behind their backs by the other girls, with ironical reference to their supposedly 'County' and 'Kensington' backgrounds-and, so far as the Personnel Branch was concerned, her destiny in twenty years' time would be that single golden line right at the end of a New Year's Honours List, among the medals for officials of the Fishery Board, of the Post Office, of the Women's Institute, towards the bottom of the OBEs:

'Miss Loelia Ponsonby, Principal Secretary in the Ministry of Defence.'

She turned away from the window. She was dressed in a sugar-pink and white striped shirt and a plain dark blue skirt.

Bond smiled into her grey eyes. "I only call you Lil on Mondays," he said. "Miss Ponsonby the rest of the week. But I'll never call you Loelia. It sounds like somebody in an indecent limerick. Any messages?"

I did not locate a reference to explain the Gavell-Nightingale comment.

RichardTheBruce

You Only Live Twice, Ian Fleming, 1964.
Chapter 5 – Magic 44

...Dikko walked through the door into a totally empty room with a highly-polished wood floor. There was no sign of construction work. Dikko laughed at Bond's surprise. He gestured towards a large metal box fitted to the back of the door through which they had come. 'Tape recorder,' he said. 'Clever gimmick. Sounds just like the real thing. And this' - he pointed to the stretch of bare floor ahead - 'is what the Japanese call a "nightingale floor". Relic of the old days when people wanted to be warned of intruders. Serves the same purpose here. Imagine trying to get across here without being heard.' They set off, and immediately the cunningly sprung boards gave out penetrating squeaks and groans. In a small facing door, a spy-hole slid open and one large eye surveyed them. The door opened to reveal a stocky man in plain clothes who had been sitting at a small deal table reading a book. It was a tiny box-like room that seemed to have no other exit. The man bowed. Dikko said some phrases containing the words 'Tanaka-san'. The man bowed again. Dikko turned to Bond. 'You're on your own now. Be in it, champ! Tiger'll send you back to your hotel. See you.'

Bond said, 'Tell Mother I died game,' and walked into the little box and the door was closed behind him. There was a row of buttons by the desk and the guard pressed one of them. There came a barely perceptible whine and Bond got the impression of descent. So the room was a lift. What a box of tricks the formidable Tiger had erected as a screen for himself! The authentic Eastern nest of boxes. What next?

You Only Live Twice, Ian Fleming, 1964.
Chapter 18 – Oubliette

Bond kept his weapons in his hands and crept back to the door. This time no sound came from behind it. But the guard had bowed. Oh well! Probably out of respect for the aura of The Master. Bond quietly but firmly thrust the door open and leaped through, ready for the attacking sprint.

A totally empty, totally featureless length of passageway yawned at his dramatics. It stretched perhaps twenty feet in front of him. It was dimly lit by a central oil lamp and its floor was of the usual highly polished boards. A 'nightingale floor'? No. The guard's footsteps had uttered no warning creaks. But from behind the facing door at the end came the sound of music. It was Wagner, the 'Ride of the Valkyries', being played at medium pitch. Thank you, Blofeld! thought Bond. Most helpful cover! And he crept softly forward down the centre of the passage.

RichardTheBruce

Casino Royale, Ian Fleming, 1953.
Chapter 9 – The Game is Baccarat
...'The office was very jealous although they didn't know what the job was. All they knew was that I was to work with a Double O. Of course you're our heroes. I was enchanted.'

Bond frowned. 'It's not difficult to get a Double O number if you're prepared to kill people,' he said. 'That's all the meaning it has. It's nothing to be particularly proud of. I've got the corpses of a Japanese cipher expert in New York and a Norwegian double agent in Stockholm to thank for being a Double 0. Probably quite decent people. They just got caught up in the gale of the world like that Yugoslav that Tito bumped off. It's a confusing business but if it's one's profession, one does what one's told. How do you like the grated egg with your caviar?'

Chapter 27 – The Bleeding Heart
...At our first dinner together you talked about that man in Yugoslavia who was found guilty of treason. He said: 'I was carried away by the gale of the world.' That's my only excuse. That, and for love of the man whose life I tried to save.

Casino Royale, Ken Hughes, John Huston, Joseph McGrath, Robert Parrish, Richard Talmadge, 1967.
Dialogue.
Le Chiffre: You know, Mr. Bond, we aren't playing for marbles. The night is young and the rose garden is already littered with my victims.
Bond: Yes, but the beggar in marketplace are deaf to song of nightingale.
Le Chiffre: You amuse me, Mr Bond.
Bond: I'm glad you're enjoying me.

CommanderRoss

Beautiful bird



C9a Nightingale

RichardTheBruce

Yeah, @CommanderRoss, notice the alignment with Nightingale and its US Air Force global medical evacuation (medevac) mission. Modified DC-9s, twenty in use 1968-2005, carried up to 40 litter patients.



Also check out this Florence Nightingale namesake aircraft:
KLM Royal Dutch Airlines McDonnell Douglas MD-11 PH-KCD.

j_w_pepper

It was the nightingale, and not the lark,
That pierced the fearful hollow of thine ear;
Nightly she sings on yon pomegranate-tree:
Believe me, love, it was the nightingale.

(Not Fleming)

CommanderRoss

@RichardTheBruce well I didn't want to come over too nationalistic, but of course I'm proud of our national carrier and it's name-giving tradition to it's aircraft.

I think the nightingale plays a very big role in literature and folklore, allthough I can't come up with many examples (as uneducated as I am).

Agent_99

A Nightingale Sang in Berkeley Square, one of Vera Lynn's classic songs from WW2:

RichardTheBruce

Leave it to @j_w_pepper to Shake things up. Nice.


There's actually a lot to mine here, @CommanderRoss, now that the Bond references are on the table. It's of interest for how Nightingale is recognized in Western culture and associated with the developed discussion for aircraft, ships, cigarettes, and other items.


I'm partial to Big Band music and vocalists from the World War II era, @Agent_99.
That's beautiful, the Nightingale on more than one level. It really tells a story.

j_w_pepper

Another Shakespeare work involving the nightingale is Sonnet 102:

My love is strengthened, though more weak in seeming;
I love not less, though less the show appear.
That love is merchandised whose rich esteeming
The owner’s tongue doth publish everywhere.
Our love was new, and then but in the spring,
When I was wont to greet it with my lays,
As Philomel in summer’s front doth sing,
And stops his pipe in growth of riper days.
Not that the summer is less pleasant now
Than when her mournful hymns did hush the night,
But that wild music burthens every bough,
And sweets grown common lose their dear delight.
  Therefore, like her, I sometime hold my tongue,
  Because I would not dull you with my song.

"Philomel" stands for the nightingale since based on Greek mythology (or at least a Sophocles tragedy) the Athenian princess Philomela was turned into a nightingale after having been raped and her tongue cut out by her brother-in-law, the Thracian king Tereus. Interestingly, it seems that Shakespeare identified Philomel as a male bird ("And stops HIS pipe in growth of riper days"), which makes sense as only male nightingales actually sing.

Philomel (as a songbird) is also referenced in A Midsummer Night's Dream and numerous works by other poets and playwrights of the Elizabethan, Classical and Romantic periods.

RichardTheBruce

The Nightingale (Russian Соловей, or in French Le Rossignol), an opera by Igor Stravinsky, 1914.
The third of three acts (co-written with Stepan Mitussov) is sourced to Hans Christian Andersen's story
"The Nightingale", a morality play on wealth and true happiness. The bird features throughout.
The setting is ancient China. Pretty dramatic.


Not to be (or maybe meant to be) confused with The Nightingale: A New Musical, Charles Strouse, 1982.
Also sourced to the Hans Christian Andersen story. This one actually intended for children.
Complete musical score linked here.

Agent_99

Speaking of opera, here's Bianca Castafiore, the Milanese Nightingale, best known for her rendition of the Jewel Song from Faust:

RichardTheBruce

The Nightingale (Nattergalen in his native Danish), Hans Christian Andersen, 1914.
https://americanliterature.com/author/hans-christian-andersen/short-story/the-nightingale

IN China, you know, the emperor is a Chinese, and all those about him are Chinamen also. The story I am going to tell you happened a great many years ago, so it is well to hear it now before it is forgotten. The emperor’s palace was the most beautiful in the world. It was built entirely of porcelain, and very costly, but so delicate and brittle that whoever touched it was obliged to be careful. In the garden could be seen the most singular flowers, with pretty silver bells tied to them, which tinkled so that every one who passed could not help noticing the flowers. Indeed, everything in the emperor’s garden was remarkable, and it extended so far that the gardener himself did not know where it ended. Those who travelled beyond its limits knew that there was a noble forest, with lofty trees, sloping down to the deep blue sea, and the great ships sailed under the shadow of its branches. In one of these trees lived a nightingale, who sang so beautifully that even the poor fishermen, who had so many other things to do, would stop and listen. Sometimes, when they went at night to spread their nets, they would hear her sing, and say, “Oh, is not that beautiful?” But when they returned to their fishing, they forgot the bird until the next night. Then they would hear it again, and exclaim “Oh, how beautiful is the nightingale’s song!”

Travellers from every country in the world came to the city of the emperor, which they admired very much, as well as the palace and gardens; but when they heard the nightingale, they all declared it to be the best of all. And the travellers, on their return home, related what they had seen; and learned men wrote books, containing descriptions of the town, the palace, and the gardens; but they did not forget the nightingale, which was really the greatest wonder. And those who could write poetry composed beautiful verses about the nightingale, who lived in a forest near the deep sea. The books travelled all over the world, and some of them came into the hands of the emperor; and he sat in his golden chair, and, as he read, he nodded his approval every moment, for it pleased him to find such a beautiful description of his city, his palace, and his gardens. But when he came to the words, “the nightingale is the most beautiful of all,” he exclaimed, “What is this? I know nothing of any nightingale. Is there such a bird in my empire? and even in my garden? I have never heard of it. Something, it appears, may be learnt from books.”

Then he called one of his lords-in-waiting, who was so high-bred, that when any in an inferior rank to himself spoke to him, or asked him a question, he would answer, “Pooh,” which means nothing.

“There is a very wonderful bird mentioned here, called a nightingale,” said the emperor; “they say it is the best thing in my large kingdom. Why have I not been told of it?”

“I have never heard the name,” replied the cavalier; “she has not been presented at court.”

“It is my pleasure that she shall appear this evening.” said the emperor; “the whole world knows what I possess better than I do myself.”

[Access the remaining story here.]

“I have never heard of her,” said the cavalier; “yet I will endeavor to find her.”

But where was the nightingale to be found? The nobleman went up stairs and down, through halls and passages; yet none of those whom he met had heard of the bird. So he returned to the emperor, and said that it must be a fable, invented by those who had written the book. “Your imperial majesty,” said he, “cannot believe everything contained in books; sometimes they are only fiction, or what is called the black art.”

“But the book in which I have read this account,” said the emperor, “was sent to me by the great and mighty emperor of Japan, and therefore it cannot contain a falsehood. I will hear the nightingale, she must be here this evening; she has my highest favor; and if she does not come, the whole court shall be trampled upon after supper is ended.”

“Tsing-pe!” cried the lord-in-waiting, and again he ran up and down stairs, through all the halls and corridors; and half the court ran with him, for they did not like the idea of being trampled upon. There was a great inquiry about this wonderful nightingale, whom all the world knew, but who was unknown to the court.

At last they met with a poor little girl in the kitchen, who said, “Oh, yes, I know the nightingale quite well; indeed, she can sing. Every evening I have permission to take home to my poor sick mother the scraps from the table; she lives down by the sea-shore, and as I come back I feel tired, and I sit down in the wood to rest, and listen to the nightingale’s song. Then the tears come into my eyes, and it is just as if my mother kissed me.”

“Little maiden,” said the lord-in-waiting, “I will obtain for you constant employment in the kitchen, and you shall have permission to see the emperor dine, if you will lead us to the nightingale; for she is invited for this evening to the palace.” So she went into the wood where the nightingale sang, and half the court followed her. As they went along, a cow began lowing.

“Oh,” said a young courtier, “now we have found her; what wonderful power for such a small creature; I have certainly heard it before.”

“No, that is only a cow lowing,” said the little girl; “we are a long way from the place yet.”

Then some frogs began to croak in the marsh.

“Beautiful,” said the young courtier again. “Now I hear it, tinkling like little church bells.”

“No, those are frogs,” said the little maiden; “but I think we shall soon hear her now:” and presently the nightingale began to sing.

“Hark, hark! there she is,” said the girl, “and there she sits,” she added, pointing to a little gray bird who was perched on a bough.

“Is it possible?” said the lord-in-waiting, “I never imagined it would be a little, plain, simple thing like that. She has certainly changed color at seeing so many grand people around her.”

“Little nightingale,” cried the girl, raising her voice, “our most gracious emperor wishes you to sing before him.”

“With the greatest pleasure,” said the nightingale, and began to sing most delightfully.

“It sounds like tiny glass bells,” said the lord-in-waiting, “and see how her little throat works. It is surprising that we have never heard this before; she will be a great success at court.”

“Shall I sing once more before the emperor?” asked the nightingale, who thought he was present.

“My excellent little nightingale,” said the courtier, “I have the great pleasure of inviting you to a court festival this evening, where you will gain imperial favor by your charming song.”

“My song sounds best in the green wood,” said the bird; but still she came willingly when she heard the emperor’s wish.

The palace was elegantly decorated for the occasion. The walls and floors of porcelain glittered in the light of a thousand lamps. Beautiful flowers, round which little bells were tied, stood in the corridors: what with the running to and fro and the draught, these bells tinkled so loudly that no one could speak to be heard. In the centre of the great hall, a golden perch had been fixed for the nightingale to sit on. The whole court was present, and the little kitchen-maid had received permission to stand by the door. She was not installed as a real court cook. All were in full dress, and every eye was turned to the little gray bird when the emperor nodded to her to begin. The nightingale sang so sweetly that the tears came into the emperor’s eyes, and then rolled down his cheeks, as her song became still more touching and went to every one’s heart. The emperor was so delighted that he declared the nightingale should have his gold slipper to wear round her neck, but she declined the honor with thanks: she had been sufficiently rewarded already. “I have seen tears in an emperor’s eyes,” she said, “that is my richest reward. An emperor’s tears have wonderful power, and are quite sufficient honor for me;” and then she sang again more enchantingly than ever.

“That singing is a lovely gift;” said the ladies of the court to each other; and then they took water in their mouths to make them utter the gurgling sounds of the nightingale when they spoke to any one, so thay they might fancy themselves nightingales. And the footmen and chambermaids also expressed their satisfaction, which is saying a great deal, for they are very difficult to please. In fact the nightingale’s visit was most successful. She was now to remain at court, to have her own cage, with liberty to go out twice a day, and once during the night. Twelve servants were appointed to attend her on these occasions, who each held her by a silken string fastened to her leg. There was certainly not much pleasure in this kind of flying.

The whole city spoke of the wonderful bird, and when two people met, one said “nightin,” and the other said “gale,” and they understood what was meant, for nothing else was talked of. Eleven peddlers’ children were named after her, but not of them could sing a note.

One day the emperor received a large packet on which was written “The nightingale.” “Here is no doubt a new book about our celebrated bird,” said the emperor. But instead of a book, it was a work of art contained in a casket, an artificial nightingale made to look like a living one, and covered all over with diamonds, rubies, and sapphires. As soon as the artificial bird was wound up, it could sing like the real one, and could move its tail up and down, which sparkled with silver and gold. Round its neck hung a piece of ribbon, on which was written “The Emperor of Japan’s nightingale is poor compared with that of the Emperor of China’s.”



“This is very beautiful,” exclaimed all who saw it, and he who had brought the artificial bird received the title of “Imperial nightingale-bringer-in-chief.”

“Now they must sing together,” said the court, “and what a duet it will be.” But they did not get on well, for the real nightingale sang in its own natural way, but the artificial bird sang only waltzes.

“That is not a fault,” said the music-master, “it is quite perfect to my taste,” so then it had to sing alone, and was as successful as the real bird; besides, it was so much prettier to look at, for it sparkled like bracelets and breast-pins. Three and thirty times did it sing the same tunes without being tired; the people would gladly have heard it again, but the emperor said the living nightingale ought to sing something. But where was she? No one had noticed her when she flew out at the open window, back to her own green woods.

“What strange conduct,” said the emperor, when her flight had been discovered; and all the courtiers blamed her, and said she was a very ungrateful creature.

“But we have the best bird after all,” said one, and then they would have the bird sing again, although it was the thirty-fourth time they had listened to the same piece, and even then they had not learnt it, for it was rather difficult. But the music-master praised the bird in the highest degree, and even asserted that it was better than a real nightingale, not only in its dress and the beautiful diamonds, but also in its musical power. “For you must perceive, my chief lord and emperor, that with a real nightingale we can never tell what is going to be sung, but with this bird everything is settled. It can be opened and explained, so that people may understand how the waltzes are formed, and why one note follows upon another.”

“This is exactly what we think,” they all replied, and then the music-master received permission to exhibit the bird to the people on the following Sunday, and the emperor commanded that they should be present to hear it sing. When they heard it they were like people intoxicated; however it must have been with drinking tea, which is quite a Chinese custom. They all said “Oh!” and held up their forefingers and nodded, but a poor fisherman, who had heard the real nightingale, said, “it sounds prettily enough, and the melodies are all alike; yet there seems something wanting, I cannot exactly tell what.”

And after this the real nightingale was banished from the empire, and the artificial bird placed on a silk cushion close to the emperor’s bed. The presents of gold and precious stones which had been received with it were round the bird, and it was now advanced to the title of “Little Imperial Toilet Singer,” and to the rank of No. 1 on the left hand; for the emperor considered the left side, on which the heart lies, as the most noble, and the heart of an emperor is in the same place as that of other people.

The music-master wrote a work, in twenty-five volumes, about the artificial bird, which was very learned and very long, and full of the most difficult Chinese words; yet all the people said they had read it, and understood it, for fear of being thought stupid and having their bodies trampled upon.

So a year passed, and the emperor, the court, and all the other Chinese knew every little turn in the artificial bird’s song; and for that same reason it pleased them better. They could sing with the bird, which they often did. The street-boys sang, “Zi-zi-zi, cluck, cluck, cluck,” and the emperor himself could sing it also. It was really most amusing.

One evening, when the artificial bird was singing its best, and the emperor lay in bed listening to it, something inside the bird sounded “whizz.” Then a spring cracked. “Whir-r-r-r” went all the wheels, running round, and then the music stopped. The emperor immediately sprang out of bed, and called for his physician; but what could he do? Then they sent for a watchmaker; and, after a great deal of talking and examination, the bird was put into something like order; but he said that it must be used very carefully, as the barrels were worn, and it would be impossible to put in new ones without injuring the music. Now there was great sorrow, as the bird could only be allowed to play once a year; and even that was dangerous for the works inside it. Then the music-master made a little speech, full of hard words, and declared that the bird was as good as ever; and, of course no one contradicted him.

Five years passed, and then a real grief came upon the land. The Chinese really were fond of their emperor, and he now lay so ill that he was not expected to live. Already a new emperor had been chosen and the people who stood in the street asked the lord-in-waiting how the old emperor was; but he only said, “Pooh!” and shook his head.

Cold and pale lay the emperor in his royal bed; the whole court thought he was dead, and every one ran away to pay homage to his successor. The chamberlains went out to have a talk on the matter, and the ladies’-maids invited company to take coffee. Cloth had been laid down on the halls and passages, so that not a footstep should be heard, and all was silent and still. But the emperor was not yet dead, although he lay white and stiff on his gorgeous bed, with the long velvet curtains and heavy gold tassels. A window stood open, and the moon shone in upon the emperor and the artificial bird. The poor emperor, finding he could scarcely breathe with a strange weight on his chest, opened his eyes, and saw Death sitting there. He had put on the emperor’s golden crown, and held in one hand his sword of state, and in the other his beautiful banner. All around the bed and peeping through the long velvet curtains, were a number of strange heads, some very ugly, and others lovely and gentle-looking. These were the emperor’s good and bad deeds, which stared him in the face now Death sat at his heart.

“Do you remember this?” “Do you recollect that?” they asked one after another, thus bringing to his remembrance circumstances that made the perspiration stand on his brow.

“I know nothing about it,” said the emperor. “Music! music!” he cried; “the large Chinese drum! that I may not hear what they say.” But they still went on, and Death nodded like a Chinaman to all they said. “Music! music!” shouted the emperor. “You little precious golden bird, sing, pray sing! I have given you gold and costly presents; I have even hung my golden slipper round your neck. Sing! sing!” But the bird remained silent. There was no one to wind it up, and therefore it could not sing a note.

Death continued to stare at the emperor with his cold, hollow eyes, and the room was fearfully still. Suddenly there came through the open window the sound of sweet music. Outside, on the bough of a tree, sat the living nightingale. She had heard of the emperor’s illness, and was therefore come to sing to him of hope and trust. And as she sung, the shadows grew paler and paler; the blood in the emperor’s veins flowed more rapidly, and gave life to his weak limbs; and even Death himself listened, and said, “Go on, little nightingale, go on.”

“Then will you give me the beautiful golden sword and that rich banner? and will you give me the emperor’s crown?” said the bird.

So Death gave up each of these treasures for a song; and the nightingale continued her singing. She sung of the quiet churchyard, where the white roses grow, where the elder-tree wafts its perfume on the breeze, and the fresh, sweet grass is moistened by the mourners’ tears. Then Death longed to go and see his garden, and floated out through the window in the form of a cold, white mist.

“Thanks, thanks, you heavenly little bird. I know you well. I banished you from my kingdom once, and yet you have charmed away the evil faces from my bed, and banished Death from my heart, with your sweet song. How can I reward you?”

“You have already rewarded me,” said the nightingale. “I shall never forget that I drew tears from your eyes the first time I sang to you. These are the jewels that rejoice a singer’s heart. But now sleep, and grow strong and well again. I will sing to you again.”

And as she sung, the emperor fell into a sweet sleep; and how mild and refreshing that slumber was! When he awoke, strengthened and restored, the sun shone brightly through the window; but not one of his servants had returned—they all believed he was dead; only the nightingale still sat beside him, and sang.

“You must always remain with me,” said the emperor. “You shall sing only when it pleases you; and I will break the artificial bird into a thousand pieces.”

“No; do not do that,” replied the nightingale; “the bird did very well as long as it could. Keep it here still. I cannot live in the palace, and build my nest; but let me come when I like. I will sit on a bough outside your window, in the evening, and sing to you, so that you may be happy, and have thoughts full of joy. I will sing to you of those who are happy, and those who suffer; of the good and the evil, who are hidden around you. The little singing bird flies far from you and your court to the home of the fisherman and the peasant’s cot. I love your heart better than your crown; and yet something holy lingers round that also. I will come, I will sing to you; but you must promise me one thing.”

“Everything,” said the emperor, who, having dressed himself in his imperial robes, stood with the hand that held the heavy golden sword pressed to his heart.

“I only ask one thing,” she replied; “let no one know that you have a little bird who tells you everything.
It will be best to conceal it.” So saying, the nightingale flew away.

The servants now came in to look after the dead emperor;
when, lo! there he stood, and, to their astonishment, said, “Good morning.”

RichardTheBruce

In reaction to the audience, thanks, @Birdleson. Taken some nice directions I didn't expect.

j_w_pepper

As a curiosity, perhaps:

In its German translation, the famous American novel (and movie) To Kill a Mockingbird is called Wer die Nachtigall stört (roughly, "To Disturb [or Interrupt, Interfere with] the Nightingale"). It is assumed that the German title was chosen because people over here wouldn't know what a "Spottdrossel" (the German name for the purely American mockingbird) was, and why killing it should be a particular sin worth mentioning if intentionally killing songbirds is a crime anyway. Interrupting the song of a nightingale is bad enough.

j_w_pepper

Oh, and to revert more closely to connections between Bond and nightingales, the skis used in TSWLM were supplied by Rossignol (cf. https://yellowgentian.com/snow-articles/james-bond-on-skis).

Agent_99

RichardTheBruce wrote: »

Leave it to @j_w_pepper to Shake things up.]

...Just got it.

A slow burner.

j_w_pepper

Agent_99 wrote: »

RichardTheBruce wrote: »

Leave it to @j_w_pepper to Shake things up.]

...Just got it.

A slow burner.

Now that you bring it up again...I'm not sure I got it.

CommanderRoss

Thank's for that Andersen's story @RichardTheBruce , perhaps people who complain about Barbara Broccoli should read it as well ;-) This thread sure is a fascinating read!

RichardTheBruce

What morality tales are all about, @CommanderRoss.
W. Heath Robinson.

You don't miss a thing, @Agent_99. And @j_w_pepper.

j_w_pepper wrote: »

Oh, and to revert more closely to connections between Bond and nightingales, the skis used in TSWLM were supplied by Rossignol (cf. https://yellowgentian.com/snow-articles/james-bond-on-skis).

A fine connection, I'll add that.

RichardTheBruce

This wine logo might not be so self-intuitive.



But there is some sense to it after all. It recalls a still famous 13th century poem The Owl and the Nightingale.
Its lengthy prose (almost 1800 lines) is an entertaining back and forth between the two,
a very early example of a verse contest.

[Opening and closing passages are posted below as text. See a link to the entire poem between the two.]

The Owl and the Nightingale, Author Unknown, originally in Middle English, translated by Brian Stone.



It happened in the summery heart
Of a secret vale's most hidden part,
I heard an Owl and Nightingale
Disputing on a mighty scale;
Most keen and strenuous the debate, 5
Now gentle, now in furious spate.
And each against the other swelled,
Each her spleen and ire expelled,
Saying the worst of every feature
That she could mock in the other creature; 10
Contention was especially strong
When each abused the other's song.

The first to speak, the Nightingale,
In a corner of the vale
Was perched upon a pretty twig 15
Where blossom showed on every sprig
And, fast entwined with reeds and sedge,
There grew a thick and lovely hedge.
She sang her varying tuneful lay,
Delighting in that flowering spray. 20
It seemed the melody she made
Was on a pipe or harpstring played,
That pipe or harp, not living throat,
Was shooting forth each pleasant note.
Nearby there stood a stump alone, 25
Decayed, with ivy overgrown,
And here the Owl had made her den,
And here sang out her 'hours' to men.

The Nightingale surveyed the Owl,
And reckoned her opponent foul; 30
Indeed all men declare with right
That she's a hideous, loathsome sight.
'Monster!' she cried, 'Away! Fly off!
Simply to see you's quite enough
To make me lose the urge to sing, 35
You're such an ugly, evil thing.
When you thrust out before my eyes,
My tongue is tied, my spirit dies,
Because your filthy clamouring
Makes me rather spit than sing.' 40

The Owl held back till evening fell:
Then, as her heart began to swell,
Her breath to catch, her rage to grate,
She felt she could no longer wait,
And straight away exploded, 'How 45
Does this my singing strike you now?
D'you think I have no singing skill
Merely because I cannot trill?
You're always loading me with blame,
Girding at me with mock and shame. 50
If you were off that twig of yours,
And I could get you in my claws
(And would I could is all my boon),
You'd sing a different kind of tune.'

To this the Nightingale replied, 55
'So long as I can safely hide
And shield myself against the cold
In quiet within this hedge's fold,
I neither attend to what you say,
Nor hear your threatenings with dismay. 60
I know how cruelly you attack
Small birds who cannot fight you back;
At every opportunity
You peck and tear them wantonly.
And that is why all birds detest you, 65
Why when they find you they molest you,
Screeching and crying as they chase
And mob you till you leave the place.
Even the tiniest of the tits
Would gladly tear you into bits! 70
For you are loathsome through and through
And wholly hateful to the view:
Your neck is thin, your body squat,
Your head much bigger than the lot.
Your eyes are black as coal, and broad, 75
As if they had been daubed with woad.
You glare as if you'd gorge on such
As come within your talons' clutch.
Your beak is hooked and sharp and strong,
A buckled awl, its shape gone wrong. 80
With it you gabble loud and long,
And that is what you call your song.
Then, with your claws you threaten to slash
And pound my body to a mash.
The frog that sits by the millhouse wheel 85
Would make a far more natural meal,
And snails and mice and such foul brood
Appear to be your proper food.
You perch by day and fly by night,
And that's not natural or right. 90
Most foul you are and most unclean:
Your nest shows clearly what I mean,
For there you rear your noisome brood
On dirty putrefying food;
And you know what they do with it: 95
They foul themselves chindeep and sit
Amid the muck as if quite blind,
Which brings this pithy saying to mind:
"Ill fortune take that thing unblest,
The bird who fouls his own nest." 100
A falcon once, the eggs being laid,
Neglected them, and was betrayed,
For there one day by stealth you flew
And laid your filthy egg there too.
In course of time, the hatching done, 105
The nestlings came out one by one,
And soon the falcon brought them meat.
He guarded them and watched them eat,
And saw the outside of the nest
At one point had been foully messed. 110
Then sternly chiding was his mood:
He screamed in fury at his brood,
"Which of you have done this deed
Unnatural to our kind of breed?
Some foulness has been done to you: 115
Let him who knows it tell me true!"
At last one said, and then another,
"I think in truth it was our brother,
That fellow with the outsize head.
(If it were off, then he'd be dead!) 120
Lees throw him out with all our scraps,
So that his rotten neck-bone snaps!"
The falcon took them at their word
And seizing the repulsive bird,
Flung him from the treetop nest, 125
And crow and magpie did the rest.
From this men make a parable
Not lengthy, but of meaning full:
So fares the man of evil fame
Whose family bears no good name; 130
He may among the lordly go
But whence he came will always show --
That addle egg from which he fell,
Though in a noble nest he dwell.
The apple rolls from the parent tree 135
It shared with others of its degree;
But though it roll and trundle far,
It must show what its origins are.'

[Complete text linked here: http://www.unc.edu/~jwittig/51/o&nprt.htm]

Thus boldly spoke the Owl, for though 1705
She did not mean to visit woe
On them by calling up her host,
Yet all the same it pleased her most
To threaten thus the Nightingale,
For many a man of no avail 1710
With point of spear and thrust of shield,
Who's feeble on the battlefield,
Can make his foeman sweat with fear
With valiant words and looks severe.
Soon after in the morning then, 1715
Because she sang so well, the Wren
Arrived to help the Nightingale,
For though her form and voice were frail,
She sang out shrill in perfect measure,
And with her song gave men much pleasure. 1720
She was considered wise, the Wren,
Having been reared in realms of men.
From them she'd got her canny head:
She was not in the woodlands bred.
And she would speak out, I declare, 1725
Before the king, or anywhere.

'Listen!' she said, 'and mark my speech!
The king will know if it you breach
His peace and bring his realm to shame,
For he is neither dead nor lame. 1730
You two shall suffer harm and stain
If you break peace in his domain.
So be less hostile, I entreat,
And let us to the judgement seat;
And there the verdict shall indeed 1735
End all debate, as was agreed.'

'I'm willing,' said the Nightingale,
'But not because your words prevail.
No. Wren, my sense of law it is
That makes me hope injustices 1740
Will never win. My fearless trust
I place in verdicts that are just.
I still maintain my solemn gage
That Master Nicholas, our sage,
Shall judge the case between us two, 1745
And that is what I hope he'll do.
Where shall we find the wise man then?'

'What! Don't you know?' exclaimed the Wren
From where she sat on a sprig of lime,
'At Portisham this present time. 1750
Upon an outlet, near the sea,
In Dorsetshire: there sojourns he.
And there he gives his judgements out,
His writings and his sayings devout.
And from the wisdom he transmits, 1755
Even Scotland benefits.
To find him is most easily done:
His living is a single one,
And to the bishops that's a shame,
-- As well as to all who know his name, 1760
His wisdom, calling and career.
If they would use him, it is clear
His presence, with his wise advice
Would benefit them -- and the price?
A spread of livings so that he 1765
Could often at their service be.'

'Yes,' said the Owl, 'I think the same.
And these great men are much to blame
Ignoring one of such good sense,
Such power of mind and excellence. 1770
They give out livings in a stream,
But he is held in low esteem.
They're kinder to their families.--
Their babies get incumbencies.
Their sense should tell them they were wrong, 1775
Neglecting Nicholas so long.
Our pros and cons all being trim,
It's time we took our case to him.'

'Agreed!' the Nightingale replied,
'But who shall be our legal guide, 1780
And plead before the judgement seat!'
'This difficulty I can meet.'
The Owl replied. 'For I can say
Every word you've heard today,
And if you think that I go wrong, 1785
Object, and make your protest strong.

And having thus both said their say,
Without their troops they took their way
To Portisham. But how they fared
In judgement when their case was aired 1790
I cannot tell: it all depends.
For this is where my story ends.

RichardTheBruce

"Oh, Sing Sweet Nightingale"
Oh, sing sweet Nightingale
Sing sweet Nightingale
High above me
Oh, sing sweet Nightingale
Sing sweet Nightingale
High above

Oh, sing sweet Nightingale
Sing sweet Nightingale, high
Oh, sing sweet Nightingale
Sing sweet Nightingale
Oh, sing sweet Nightingale

That's magic, @Birdleson.