Attractive Qualities.—The first good quality of a nightingale is undoubtedly its fine voice, and notes which I shall endeavour to describe. The nightingale expresses his different emotions by suitable and particular tones. The most unmeaning cry when he is alone appears to be a simple whistle fitt, but if the syllable crr is added, it is then the call of the male to the female. The sign of displeasure or fear is fitt repeated rapidly and loudly before adding the terminating crr; whilst that of satisfaction and pleasure such, for example, as conjugal endearments, or on the occasion of finding a delicate morsel, is a deep tack, which may be imitated by smacking the tongue.
In anger, jealousy, rivalry, or any extraordinary event, he utters hoarse disagreeable sounds, somewhat like a jay or a cat. Lastly, in the season of pairing, when the male and female entice and pursue each other, from the top of a tree to its base, and thence again to the top, a gentle subdued warbling is all that is heard.
Nature has granted these tones to both sexes; but the male is particularly endowed with so very striking a musical talent, that in this respect he surpasses all birds, and has acquired the name of the king of songsters. The strength of his vocal organ is indeed wonderful; and it has been found that the muscles of his larynx are much more powerful than those of any other bird. But it is less the strength than the compass, flexibility, prodigious variety, and harmony of his voice which make it so admired by all lovers of the beautiful. Sometimes dwelling for minutes on a strain composed of only two or three melancholy tones, he begins in an under voice, and swelling it gradually by the most superb crescendo to the highest point of strength, he ends it by a dying cadence; or it consists of a rapid succession of more brilliant sounds, terminated, like many other strains of his song, by some detached ascending notes. Twenty-four different strains or couplets may be reckoned in the song of a fine nightingale, without including its delicate little variations; for among these, as among other musicians, there are some great performers and many middling ones. This song is so articulate, so speaking, that it may be very well written. The following is a trial which I have made on that of a nightingale in my neighbourhood, which passes for a very capital singer[77]:—
Tioû, tioû, tioû, tioû.
Spe, tiou, squa.
Tiô, tiô, tiô, tiô, tio, tio, tio, tix.
Coutio, coutio, coutio, coutio.
Squô, squô, squô, squô.
Tzu, tzu, tzu, tzu, tzu, tzu, tzu, tzu, tzu, tzi.
Corror, tiou, squa, pipiqui.
Zozozozozozozozozozozozo, zirrhading!
Tsissisi, tsissisisisisisisis.
Dzorre, dzorre, dzorre, dzorre, hi.
Tzatu, tzatu, tzatu, tzatu, tzatu, tzatu, tzatu, dzi.
Dlo, dlo, dlo, dlo, dlo, dlo, dlo, dlo, dlo.
Quio, tr rrrrrrrr itz.
Lu, lu, lu, lu, ly, ly, ly, ly, liê, liê, liê, liê[78].
Quio, didl li lulylie.
Hagurr, gurr quipio!
Coui, coui, coui, coui, qui, qui, qui, qui, gai, gui, gui, gui[79]
Goll goll goll goll guia hadadoi.
Couigui, horr, ha diadia dill si!
Hezezezezezezezezezezezezezezezeze couar ho dze hoi.
Quia, quia, quia, quia, quia, quia, quia, quia, ti.
Ki, ki, ki, ïo, ïo, ïo, ioioioio ki.
Lu ly li le lai la leu lo, didl ïo quia.
Kigaigaigaigaigaigaigai guiagaigaigai couior dzio dzio pi.[80]
If we could understand the sense of these words, we should doubtless discover the expression of the sensations of this delightful songster. It is true that the nightingales of all countries, the south as well as the north, appear to sing in the same manner; there is, however, as has been already observed, so great a difference in the degree of perfection, that we cannot help acknowledging that one has a great superiority over another. On points of beauty, however, where the senses are the judges, each has his peculiar taste. If one nightingale has the talent of dwelling agreeably on his notes, another utters his with peculiar brilliancy, a third lengthens out his strain in a particular manner, and a fourth excels in the silveriness of his voice. All four may excel in their style, and each will find his admirer; and, truly, it is very difficult to decide which merits the palm of victory. There are, however, individuals so very superior as to unite all the beauties of power and melody; these are generally birds of the first breed, which, having been hatched with the necessary powers, in a district well peopled with nightingales, appropriate what is most striking in the song of each, whence results this perfect compound, so worthy of our admiration. As the return of the males in spring always precedes that of the females by seven or eight days, they are constantly heard to sing before and after midnight, in order to attract their companions on their journey during the fine nights. If their wishes are accomplished they then keep silence during the night, and salute the dawn with their first accents, which are continued through the day. Some persist in their first season in singing before and after midnight, whence they have obtained the name of nocturnal nightingales; but they cannot be distinguished till after some time, when they are established in their district, and have the society of their females. After repeated experiments for many successive years, I think I am authorised in affirming that the nocturnal and diurnal nightingales form distinct varieties, which propagate regularly: for if a young bird is taken from the nest of a night singer, he, in his turn, will sing at the same hours as his father, not the first year, but certainly in the following[81]; while, on the other hand, the young of a day nightingale will never sing in the night, even when it is surrounded by nocturnal nightingales. I have also remarked that the night singers prefer mountainous countries, and even mountains themselves, whilst the others prefer plains, valleys, and the neighbourhood of water. I will also venture to affirm that all the night singers found in the plains have strayed from the mountains; thus in my neighbourhood, inclosed in the first chains of the mountains of Thuringia, we hear only night singers, and in the plains of Gotha they know only the day nightingale.
It is a pity that the time for this delightful bird’s song should be so short, that is to say, when wild. It endures hardly three months; and during this short interval it is not maintained with equal power. At its first arrival it is the most beautiful, continued, and impassioned; when the young are hatched, it becomes more rare; the attentions which they require occupying considerable time. If from time to time the nightingale’e song is heard, it is evident that the fire which animated it is much weakened. After midsummer all is ended, nothing is heard but the warbling of the young, which seem to study their father’s song, and try to imitate it. The nightingale sings much longer in confinement: birds which are caught full grown sometimes sing from November to Easter; those which are bred from the nest sing much longer, sometimes as long as seven months; but in order that they may sing well they must be put under the instruction of an old nightingale which is a good singer, otherwise they will be only stammerers, mutilating their natural song, and inserting in a confused manner tones and passages which they have caught from other birds. If, however, they have a good instructor, and a good memory, they imitate perfectly, and often add to their instructor’s song some beauties of their own, as is usual among young birds[82].
I cannot help here mentioning the cruel and disgusting selfishness of some men, who, in order a little to prolong the song of this interesting bird, sacrifice to their transient gratification its eyes, by blinding it, as is done to the lark and the chaffinch.
It is said that a nightingale and a female red-breast running free in the room will sometimes pair, and produce mules, but I have no experience on this subject.
I cannot better complete my account of the nightingale’s song than by transcribing the delightful, though somewhat exaggerated picture, which has been given of it by Buffon. “There is no well organised man,” says he, “to whom the name of the nightingale does not recall some one of those fine nights in spring, when the sky being clear, the air calm, all nature silent, and as it were attentive, he has listened with delight to the song of this chorister of the woods. Several singing birds may be named whose voices in some respects may compete with that of the nightingale; the lark, the canary, the greenfinch, the blackcap, the linnet, the goldfinch, the common blackbird, the solitary thrush, the American mocking-bird, are all listened to with pleasure when the nightingale is silent: some have fine tones, others have their voice as clear as it is soft, others have as fine flourishes, but there is not one which the nightingale does not surpass in the complete union of all these different talents, and in the prodigious variety of his songs; so that the song of each of the above-named birds is, when taken in its whole extent, only one couplet of that of the nightingale. The nightingale always charms, and never copies himself servilely; if he repeats any passage it is animated with a new accent, embellished by new ornaments. He succeeds in all styles, he renders all expressions, he seizes all characters, and he also augments their effect by contrast. If this Coryphæus of the spring prepares to sing a hymn to nature, he begins by a timid prelude, by faint uncertain sounds, as if he would try his instrument and interest his audience; then gaining courage he becomes gradually animated, warmed, and he soon displays in their plenitude all the resources of his incomparable organ, brilliant bursts, lively delicate trills, volleys of notes whose distinctness equals their volubility; an internal dull murmur, not itself pleasing to the ear, but very fit to enhance the brilliancy of the agreeable strains, sudden, brilliant, and rapid runs, articulated with strength, and even a tasteful ruggedness, plaintive accents, tender cadences; sounds dwelt on without art, but swelling with sentiment; enchantingly penetrating notes, the true sighs of voluptuousness and love, which seem to come from the heart, and make all hearts palpitate; which produce in all who are not insensible a delightful emotion, a touching languor. In those impassioned tones are recognised the language of sentiment which a happy husband addresses to his beloved partner, and which she alone can inspire; while in other strains, more surprising perhaps, but less expressive, are discovered the simple wish of amusing and pleasing her, or of disputing before her the prize of singing with rivals jealous of his glory and happiness.
“These different strains are interspersed with pauses which in all styles of melody concur in producing great effects. We dwell on the beautiful notes we have just heard, and which still resound in our ears; we enjoy them the more because the pleasure is more limited, more exclusive, and undisturbed by new sensations. Soon we expect, we desire another strain; we hope it may be pleasing; if we are mistaken, the beauty of what we hear will not leave us room to regret that which is only delayed, and the interest of hope is maintained for the strains which will follow. One of the reasons why the song of the nightingale is so striking, and produces so much effect, is, as Mr. Barington has well said, because he sings in the night, which is the most favourable time, and he sings alone, whereby his voice is heard in all its splendour, and is undisturbed by any other voice. He eclipses all other birds, adds Mr. Barington, by his soft flute-like tones, and by the uninterrupted duration of his warble, which lasts sometimes for twenty seconds. The same observer reckoned in this warble sixteen different strains, well marked by their first and last notes, the intermediate notes being tastefully varied by the bird; and he ascertained that the space filled by the nightingale’s voice is no less than an English mile in diameter, especially when the air is calm: this equals the compass of the human voice.