In China, as
I daresay you know, the Emperor is a Chinaman, and all his courtiers are
also Chinamen. The story I am going to tell you happened many years ago,
but it is worth while for you to listen to it, before it is forgotten.
The Emperor's
Palace was the most splendid in the world, all made of priceless porcelain,
but so brittle and delicate that you had to take great care how you touched
it. In the garden were the most beautiful flowers, and on the loveliest
of them were tied silver bells which tinkled, so that if you passed you
could not help looking at the flowers. Everything in the Emperor's garden
was admirably arranged with a view to effect; and the garden was so large
that even the gardener himself did not know where it ended. If you ever
got beyond it, you came to a stately forest with great trees and deep lakes
in it. The forest sloped down to the sea, which was a clear blue. Large
ships could sail under the boughs of the trees, and in these trees there
lived a Nightingale. She sang so beautifully that even the poor fisherman
who had so much to do stood and listened when he came at night to cast
his nets. `How beautiful it is!' he said; but he had to attend to his work,
and forgot about the bird. But when she sang the next night and the fisherman
came there again, he said the same thing, `How beautiful it is!'
From all the countries
round came travellers to the Emperor's town, who were astonished at the
Palace and the garden. But when they heard the Nightingale they all said,
`This is the finest thing after all!'
The travellers
told all about it when they went home, and learned scholars wrote many
books upon the town, the Palace, and the garden. But they did not forget
the Nightingale; she was praised the most, and all the poets composed splendid
verses on the Nightingale in the forest by the deep sea.
The books were
circulated throughout the world, and some of them reached the Emperor.
He sat in his golden chair, and read and read. He nodded his head every
moment, for he liked reading the brilliant accounts of the town, the Palace,
and the garden. `But the Nightingale is better than all,' he saw written.
`What is that?'
said the Emperor. `I don't know anything about the Nightingale! Is there
such a bird in my empire, and so near as in my garden? I have never heard
it! Fancy reading for the first time about it in a book!'
And he called
his First Lord to him. He was so proud that if anyone of lower rank than
his own ventured to speak to him or ask him anything, he would say nothing
but `P!' and that does not mean anything.
`Here is a most
remarkable bird which is called a Nightingale!' said the Emperor. `They
say it is the most glorious thing in my kingdom. Why has no one ever said
anything to me about it?'
`I have never
before heard it mentioned!' said the First Lord. `I will look for it and
find it!'
But where was
it to be found? The First Lord ran up and down stairs, through the halls
and corridors; but none of those he met had ever heard of the Nightingale.
And the First Lord ran again to the Emperor, and told him that it must
be an invention on the part of those who had written the books.
`Your Irmperial
Majesty cannot really believe all that is written! There are some inventions
called the Black Art!'
`But the book
in which I read this,' said the Emperor, `is sent me by His Great Majesty
the Emperor of Japan; so it cannot be untrue, and I will hear the Nightingale!
She must be here this evening! She has my gracious permission to appear,
and if she does not, the whole Court shall be trampled under foot after
supper!'
`Tsing pe!' said
the First Lord; and he ran up and down stairs, through the halls and corridors,
and half the Court ran with him, for they did not want to be trampled under
foot. Everyone was asking after the wonderful Nightingale which all the
world knew of, except those at Court.
At last they met
a poor little girl in the kitchen, who said, `Oh! I know the Nightingale
well. How she sings! I have permission to carry the scraps over from the
Court meals to my poor sick mother, and when I am going home at night,
tired and weary, and rest for a little in the wood, then I hear the Nightingale
singing! It brings tears to my eyes, and I feel as if my mother were kissing
me!'
`Little kitchenmaid!'
said the First Lord, `I will give you a place in the kitchen, and you shall
have leave to see the Emperor at dinner, if you can lead us to the Nightingale,
for she is invited to come to Court this evening.'
And so they all
went into the wood where the Nightingale was wont to sing, and half the
Court went too.
When they were
on the way there they heard a cow mooing.
`Oh!' said the
Courtiers, `now we have found her! What a wonderful power for such a small
beast to have! I am sure we have heard her before!'
`No; that is a
cow mooing I `said the little kitchenmaid. `We are still a long way off!'
Then the frogs
began to croak in the marsh. `Splendid!' said the Chinese chaplain. `Now
we hear her; it sounds like a little church-bell!'
`No, no; those
are frogs!' said the little kitchenmaid. `But I think we shall soon hear
her now!'
Then the Nightingale
began to sing.
`There she is!'
cried the little girl. `Listen! She is sitting there!' And she pointed
to a little dark-grey bird up in the branches.
`Is it possible!'
said the First Lord. `I should never have thought it! How ordinary she
looks! She must surely have lost her feathers because she sees so many
distinguished men round her!'
`Little Nightingale,'
called out the little kitchenmaid, `our Gracious Emperor wants you to sing
before him!'
`With the greatest
of pleasure!' said the Nightingale; and she sang so gloriously that it
was a pleasure to listen.
`It sounds like
glass bells!' said the First Lord. `And look how her little throat works!
It is wonderful that we have never heard her before! She will be a great
success at Court.'
`Shall I sing
once more for the Emperor?' asked the Nightingale, thinking that the Emperor
was there.
`My esteemed little
Nightingale,' said the First Lord, `I have the great pleasure to invite
you to Court this evening, where His Gracious Imperial Highness will be
enchanted with your charming song!'
`It sounds best
in the green wood,' said the Nightingale; but still, she came gladly when
she heard that the Emperor wished it. At the Palace everything was splendidly
prepared. The porcelain walls and floors glittered in the light of many
thousand gold lamps; the most gorgeous flowers which tinkled out well were
placed in the corridors. There was such a hurrying and draught that all
the bells jingled so much that one could not hear oneself speak. In the
centre of the great hall where the Emperor sat was a golden perch, on which
the Nightingale sat. The whole Court was there, and the little kitchenmaid
was allowed to stand behind the door, now that she was a Court-cook. Everyone
was dressed in his best, and everyone was looking towards the little grey
bird to whom the Emperor nodded.
The Nightingale
sang so gloriously that the tears came into the Emperor's eyes and ran
down his cheeks. Then the Nightingale sang even more beautifully; it went
straight to all hearts. The Emperor was so delighted that he said she should
wear his gold slipper round her neck. But the Nightingale thanked him,
and said she had had enough reward already. `I have seen tears in the Emperor's
eyes -- that is a great reward. An Emperor's tears have such power!' Then
she sang again with her gloriously sweet voice.
`That is the most
charming coquetry I have ever seen!' said all the ladies round. And they
all took to holding water in their mouths that they might gurgle whenever
anyone spoke to them. Then they thought themselves nightingales. Yes, the
lackeys and chambermaids announced that they were pleased; which means
a great deal, for they are the most difficult people of all to satisfy.
In short, the Nightingale was a real success.
She had to stay
at Court now; she had her own cage, and permission to walk out twice in
the day and once at night.
She was given
twelve servants, who each held a silken string which was fastened round
her leg. There was little pleasure in flying about like this.
The whole town
was talking about the wonderful bird, and when two people met each other
one would say `Nightin,' and the other `Gale,' and then they would both
sigh and understand one another. Yes, and eleven grocer's children were
called after her, but not one of them could sing a note.
One day the Emperor
received a large parcel on which was written `The Nightingale.'
`Here is another
new book about our famous bird!' said the Emperor.
But it was not
a book, but a little mechanical toy, which lay in a box -- an artificial
nightingale which was like the real one, only that it was set all over
with diamonds, rubies, and sapphires. When it was wound up, it could sing
the piece the real bird sang, and moved its tail up and down, and glittered
with silver and gold. Round its neck was a little collar on which was written,
`The Nightingale of the Emperor of Japan is nothing compared to that of
the Emperor of China.'
`This is magnificent!'
they all said, and the man who had brought the clockwork bird received
on the spot the title of `Bringer of the Imperial First Nightingale.'
`Now they must
sing together; what a duet we shall have!'
And so they sang
together, but their voices did not blend, for the real Nightingale sang
in her way and the clockwork bird sang waltzes.
`It is not its
fault!' said the bandmaster; `it keeps very good time and is quite after
my style!'
Then the artificial
bird had to sing alone. It gave just as much pleasure as the real one,
and then it was so much prettier to look at; it sparkled like bracelets
and necklaces. Three-and-thirty times it sang the same piece without being
tired. People would like to have heard it again, but the Emperor thought
that the living Nightingale should sing now -- but where was she? No one
had noticed that she had flown out of the open window away to her green
woods.
`What shall we
do!' said the Emperor.
And all the Court
scolded, and said that the Nightingale was very ungrateful. `But we have
still the best bird!' they said and the artificial bird had to sing again,
and that was the thirty-fourth time they had heard the same piece. But
they did not yet know it by heart; it was much too difficult. And the bandmaster
praised the bird tremendously; yes, he assured them it was better than
a real nightingale, not only because of its beautiful plumage and diamonds,
but inside as well. `For see, my Lords and Ladies and your Imperial Majesty,
with the real Nightingale one can never tell what will come out, but all
is known about the artificial bird! You can explain it, you can open it
and show people where the waltzes lie, how they go, and how one follows
the other!'
`That's just what
we think!' said everyone; and the bandmaster received permission to show
the bird to the people the next Sunday. They should hear it sing, commanded
the Emperor. And they heard it, and they were as pleased as if they had
been intoxicated with tea, after the Chinese fashion, and they all said
`Oh!' and held up their forefingers and nodded time. But the poor fishermen
who had heard the real Nightingale said: `This one sings well enough, the
tunes glide out; but there is something wanting -- I don't know what!'
The real Nightingale
was banished from the kingdom.
The artificial
bird was put on silken cushions by the Emperor's bed, all the presents
which it received, gold and precious stones, lay round it, and it was given
the title of Imperial Night-singer, First from the left. For the Emperor
counted that side as the more distinguished, being the side on which the
heart is; the Emperor's heart is also on the left.
And the bandmaster
wrote a work of twenty-five volumes about the artificial bird. It was so
learned, long, and so full of the hardest Chinese words that everyone said
they had read it and understood it; for once they had been very stupid
about a book, and had been trampled under foot in consequence. So a whole
year passed. The Emperor, the Court, and all the Chinese knew every note
of the artificial bird's song by heart. Bat they liked it all the better
for this; they could even sing with it, and they did. The street boys sang
`Tra-la-la-la-la, and the Emperor sang too sometimes. It was indeed delightful.
But one evening,
when the artificial bird was singing its best, and the Emperor lay in bed
listening to it, something in the bird went crack. Something snapped! Whir-r-r!
all the wheels ran down and then the music ceased. The Emperor sprang up,
and had his physician summoned, but what could he do! Then the clockmaker
came, and, after a great deal of talking and examining, he put the bird
somewhat in order, but he said that it must be very seldom used as the
works were nearly worn out, and it was impossible to put in new ones. Here
was a calamity! Only once a year was the artificial bird allowed to sing,
and even that was almost too much for it. But then the bandmaster made
a little speech full of hard words, saying that it was just as good as
before. And so, of course, it was just as good as before. So five years
passed, and then a great sorrow came to the nation. The Chinese look upon
their Emperor as everything, and now he was ill, and not likely to live
it was said.
Already a new
Emperor had been chosen, and the people stood outside in the street and
asked the First Lord how the old Emperor was. `P!' said he, and shook his
head.
Cold and pale
lay the Emperor in his splendid great bed; the whole Court believed him
dead, and one after the other left him to pay their respects to the new
Emperor. Everywhere in the halls and corridors cloth was laid down so that
no footstep could be heard, and everything was still -- very, very still.
And nothing came to break the silence.
The Emperor longed
for something to come and relieve the monotony of this deathlike stillness.
If only someone would speak to him! If only someone would sing to him.
Music would carry his thoughts away, and would break the spell lying on
him. The moon was streaming in at the open window; but that, too, was silent,
quite silent.
`Music! music!'
cried the Emperor. `You little bright golden bird, sing! do sing! I gave
you gold and jewels; I have hung my gold slipper round your neck with my
own hand -- sing! do sing!' But the bird was silent. There was no one to
wind it up, and so it could not sing. And all was silent, so terribly silent!
All at once there
came in at the window the most glorious burst of song. It was the little
living Nightingale, who, sitting outside on a bough, had heard the need
of her Emperor and had come to sing to him of comfort and hope. And as
she sang the blood flowed quicker and quicker in the Emperor's weak limbs,
and life began to return.
`Thank you, thank
you!' said the Emperor. `You divine little bird! I know you. I chased you
from my kingdom, and you have given me life again! How can I reward you?'
`You have done
that already!' said the Nightingale. `I brought tears to your eyes the
first time I sang. I shall never forget that. They are jewels that rejoice
a singer's heart. But now sleep and get strong again; I will sing you a
lullaby.' And the Emperor fell into a deep, calm sleep as she sang.
The sun was shining
through the window when he awoke, strong and well. None of his servants
had come back yet, for they thought he was dead. But the Nightingale sat
and sang to him.
`You must always
stay with me!' said the Emperor. `You shall sing whenever you like, and
I will break the artificial bird into a thousand pieces.'
`Don't do that!'
said the Nightingale. `He did his work as long as he could. Keep him as
you have done! I cannot build my nest in the Palace and live here; but
let me come whenever I like. I will sit in the evening on the bough outside
the window, and I will sing you something that will make you feel happy
and grateful. I will sing of joy, and of sorrow; I will sing of the evil
and the good which lies hidden from you. The little singing-bird flies
all around, to the poor fisherman's hut, to the farmer's cottage, to all
those who are far away from you and your Court. I love your heart more
than your crown, though that has about it a brightness as of something
holy. Now I will sing to you again; but you must promise me one thing --
-- '
`Anything!' said
the Emperor, standing up in his Imperial robes, which he had himself put
on, and fastening on his sword richly embossed with gold.
`One thing I beg
of you! Don't tell anyone that you have a little bird who tells you everything.
It will be much better not to!' Then the Nightingale flew away.
The servants came
in to look at their dead Emperor.
The Emperor said,
`Good-morning!'
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