There was once a king who had so many riches he soon grew quite bored with his immense store of wealth. Calling upon the Royal Toymaker, His Majesty motioned the little man to a room filled with countless jewels, rolls of silk and gleaming nuggets of pure silver and gold.

The Royal Toymaker drew in a deep breath when he heard the king’s request: to create a bird so great, so glorious, that people from all nations would come to see the work of art and proclaim the king’s ingenuity.

Settling down to the task the Royal Toymaker went into a semi-hermitage, stopping only to eat and drink and sleep. Late at night, one could hear the pounding and scraping of the Toymaker’s trade, as it was put to perhaps its most demanding test.

The days passed. And the weeks. And the months. Each day, like an impatient child, the king would storm down the corridor to the bolted oak door, raging to see the finished masterpiece. The little man within would shake his gray head patiently and murmur, “Not today, Sire. Not today.”

Finally, after what seemed ages (particularly to the king), the Royal Toymaker let out a long-waited sight, for the greatest work of his life was completed. However, the king was not the only one filled with restless anticipation for, so certain of the Toymaker’s expertise was His Majesty that a proclamation had been issued far and wide. Kings of countries from across the sea were awaiting news of the completed Masterpiece. The entire world, it seemed, was waiting with baited breath.

The king was slumped lazily over his throne when he heard the familiar, quick-paced footsteps of the Royal Toymaker. His Majesty bolted upright, eyes afire after the long, listless months (the guards too, quickly opened their eyes and stood at attention, for their holiday was over). “Your masterpiece, Sire, is fully completed.” And with a lengthy yawn, the Royal Toymaker plodded home to his first uninterrupted nap in nearly a year.

The king, followed by his eager courtiers, hastened to the chamber that held his treasure. In the midst of gold scrapings and chunks of unused jewels, there stood a tall object over which was draped a sheet of violet silk. With an impatient sweep of his royal arm, the king discarded the sheet and drew in his breath at the imperious vision before him.

On a carved pedestal of highly polished gold, sides encrusted with rubies and feet carved from the finest ivory, stood an object of most intense, almost unbearable beauty. A great Beautiful Bird. How could one begin to describe the luxurious creature, which perched on claws of twisted gold and silver filigree? Whose body was sculpted from the finest gold ever to have been mined and covered with feathers from every bird throughout the land, from ordinary sparrow to mythical phoenix, whose tail was an intricate curl of crushed opals and amethysts and whose beak blazed with the most minuscule, glistening rubies?

Most noticeable however, were the eyes of the Beautiful Bird, molded into the spectacular golden head, eyelashes consisting of the finest silk shavings. Embedded in the center of each eye were the king’s most prized possessions, his twin emeralds, so perfectly centered, one couldn’t help staring at them in sheer admiration.

Awestruck and (needless to say) well pleased with his Toymaker’s skill, the king circled his prize remarking, half to himself, “Yes indeed, I shall be the most famous king who ever walked the earth, sought-after for having conceived of this marvel.”

When the news was released, a multitude—kings, courtiers, doctors, poets, judges, dreamers and commoners alike—came from miles and oceans away to descend upon the palace and feast their eyes on the Eighth Wonder. Nobody was disappointed at the end of their journey, for the merest glimpse of the Beautiful Bird was enough to heal the saddest eyes and the sorest feet.

Throughout it all, the king loafed contentedly on his throne, lapping up the compliments and words of praise showered upon the bird and of course, himself.

“What beauty—no craftsman alive could repeat such perfection!”

“Look at those splendid feathers—one couldn’t begin to count them all!”

“If only my toymaker was so gifted!”

One day, the remark of a small peasant girl caused the king some consternation. “If only that Beautiful Bird was alive,” she cried, “I wonder what he would say?”

The king began to think of death, as most kings his age are wont to do. He stared and stared at his Beautiful Bird and sighed, “I will never be able to see my Bird once I have left this world. If only immortality were possible. If it were—” He stopped. “Why I would become that bird!”

The thought of immortality possessed the king to such an overwhelming degree he confided his wish to his courtiers. Courtiers (at least, those who belonged to this king’s court) tend to seek after gossip, especially royal gossip, like crows after a plush cornfield. It wasn’t long before the king’s secret wish became known far and wide. Now, when people would come to see the Beautiful Bird, they would steal furtive glances at the king, knowing the innermost thought that stirred behind his forlorn expression.

One afternoon when the curious crowds had diminished and the violet shroud was placed back over the Beautiful Bird (for it was the king’s favourite custom to pull back the shroud each morning, fully dramatizing the public’s first glimpse of Bird), an important Visitor was announced. The king had never before heard of this Visitor, who claimed to have the powers of a wizard.

“I have heard of Your Majesty’s fervent desire,” spoke the would-be wizard, whose hooded robe half-shaded a solemn countenance, “and I have a plan that would enable Your Majesty to live forever in the form of your most prized possession, the Beautiful Bird.”

The king (being an extremely private person when it came to certain matters) was about to haughtily deny that he had any such desires. Wait, a little voice at the back of his head stopped him. What if this “wizard” knows of a magic that could bring you the immortality you seek? “Well,” he uttered aloud, “follow me to my private chamber.” And he swept down the corridor leading to a small, comfortable sitting room draped with magnificent tapestries and presided over by two burly sentries.

Once settled back on two oversized satin cushions, a crystal flagon of ale and two crystal goblets between them, the two men faced one another and the wizard spoke: “Yes, I can give you the immortality you seek. For a price.”

“What sort of price?” The king was understandably suspicious.

“With no disrespect intended, Sire, I should very much like to have your crown.”

The king was incredulous. “Men have been put to death for even the thought of coveting the Royal Crown.”

“I do not in any way covet your kingdom, Sire. Your son will take his rightful place when the time comes. No, I have my own experiments to conduct and a crown of jewels once worn by a king would be the perfect object for one experiment in particular.”

The king pondered this proposition for a few moments. The Royal Crown? And yet, immortality and the Beautiful Bird were worth far more to him than even his entire kingdom. “Just how would this immortality be achieved?” he whispered.

The wizard smiled. “After your death your heart, under my supervision, would be placed in that area which would normally contain the bird’s heart. If it were to have a heart,” he added. “There are a number of tonics and spells involved, that only I have the knowledge to concoct and perform.”

After much mulling and many crystal goblets of ale, the king agreed to the wizard’s plan and price, and when he died he was buried without his heart, which the wizard took and placed within the chest cavity of the Beautiful Bird. And so the king’s wish for immortality was fully granted. Every day, people would come and pay homage to their beloved ruler, who had become the Beautiful Bird. The emerald eyes seemed to glitter with pride with every utterance of praise. It was a cold and proud body which held the king’s once-living heart and despite the praise, there were times when the king’s spirit felt so detached, so disconnected from the living beings who so admired the jeweled Bird. When a peasant would gaze wistfully at the Bird and wish that he too could be so grandly immortalized, the king would scream silently. But you are alive. You can see and feel! You are not a prisoner in a gilt body!

The king’s son enjoyed a festive coronation and shortly after ascending the throne, he ordered that the Beautiful Bird be removed from public view and returned to the very room in which the long-dead little Toymaker had crafted it. So much fuss had been made over the work of art and for so many years, the new king decided that it was time to end the reign of the Beautiful Bird. The people still came to admire the great treasure but after a while, the crowds dwindled to nothing and the Beautiful Bird was ignored, except by the lonely spirit lodged within its spectacular body.

~

© 1980 Sonja A. Skarstedt
[Appeared in The McGill Observer]

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