  It was April, and the year 1805, when two little fellows, out for the day from Charterhouse School, stood at the bow window of a large house on Ludgate Hill, London, waiting for the return of their uncle from his country house. 'Here he comes!' said the lads, as a portly figure came round the corner, and the next minute he was in the room, exclaiming, in his cheery way, 'Well, lads, glad to see you! What must we do this afternoon? Is it to be the Tower of London, or the river, or the Monument? Anything you choose will suit me.' 'Then, sir,' said the elder boy, eagerly, 'do let us go and see the performing birds. All our fellows are talking about them.' 'To be sure we will! I, too, have heard about this Signor Rossignol, as he calls himself, and we will have a bit of dinner, and start off at once to Charing Cross.' The 'bit of dinner' proved to be a very ample meal, to which our schoolboys did full justice, for school meals a hundred years ago were far from satisfying, and a dinner like this one was not a thing to be hurried over. However, there must come a time when even hungry schoolboys can eat no more, and at last, when even another fig seemed an impossibility, a start was made for the birds. They arrived at the Hall in good time, and had excellent seats, just facing the stage. When the curtain drew up, it disclosed a long table, on which were placed a dozen cages, each containing a little bird. Their 'tutor,' as Signor Rossignol styled himself, stood at the head of the table, and, after a low bow to the audience, he began: 'Behold my little family of birds! They have all the true military instinct, and are ready, as you will see, to do all in their power to defend this land of freedom.' Loud and prolonged cheers greeted this speech, for the Battle of Trafalgar had not yet taken place, and the dread of a sudden landing of the French 'tyrant' was never long out of the thoughts of any Briton. When the cheering had ceased, Rossignol opened the cages one after another, and each bird hopped out in a sedate way, and placed itself on the table, waiting for orders. 'Fall in!' shouted Rossignol, in a loud military voice, and at once the birds formed themselves into two ranks. Then their tutor fitted a little paper helmet on to each bird's head, and fixed tiny wooden muskets under their left wings. Thus equipped, the birds, at the word of command from their tutor, went through the usual exercises of soldiers amidst the applause of the audience. Then another bird, not previously exercised, was brought forward. 'Death of a deserter,' explained the tutor, as six birds placed themselves three on each side of the new arrival, and solemnly conducted him from the top to the bottom of the table, where there was a small brass cannon, charged with a little gunpowder. The unfortunate deserter was placed in front of this cannon, his guards retired in an orderly way, and he was left alone to meet his fate. A lighted match was now put into the claws of another bird, who hopped slowly up to the cannon and discharged it. At the sound of the explosion the deserter fell down on to the table, and lay there as if rigid in death. 'Oh, I say! That is too bad!' said the younger boy. 'I don't think poor birds ought to be blown from the gun like that. It's cruel, is it not, sir?' Before the uncle could reply came the sharp order, 'Stand!' and, behold, the dead deserter came to life again, and hopped away to join his friends! The birds were now replaced in their cages, and it was the signor's turn to occupy the stage. First of all he gave a clever imitation of the notes of all birds, ending up with the prolonged 'jug-jug' of the nightingale, which he did to such perfection that you could hardly believe there was not a grove full of those birds on the stage. 'He may well call himself "Rossignol"' (the French for nightingale), said the boys' uncle as he gave a hearty clap to the clever performer, 'for he seems as real a nightingale as I ever listened to.' Next Rossignol produced a fiddle without any strings to it, and going through all the airs and graces of a real violinist, he sawed the air with an imaginary bow, making the notes with his voice so well that you could not imagine it was not a real violin playing. This delighted the audience most of all, and he was encored again and again, and when the entertainment was finished, the two boys said 'they wished they could have it all over again!' For many months Rossignol continued to draw large audiences to hear his imitation of birds, &c., but one fatal day it was discovered that the sounds were produced by an instrument—probably a pierced peach-stone—which he concealed in his mouth, and after that no one cared to hear him, and he died in great poverty a few years later. S. Clarendon. |
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