The Golden-Breasted Kootoo

Laura Richards

Laura E. Richards

The Golden-Breasted Kootoo / and Other Stories

THE GOLDEN-BREASTED KOOTOO

PART I

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,

The Chief Musician was enchanted. “Superb!” he cried. “Magnificent! Now, O King, please to sing this note!” and he struck another note:

The King sang, in a loud, deep voice,

The Chief Musician looked grave. “O King,” he said, “you did not quite understand me. We will try another note.” And he struck another:

The King sang, in a loud, deep voice,

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.”

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

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