In China, you
know, the emperor is a Chinese, and all those about him are Chinamen also. The
story I am going to tell you happened a great many years ago, so it is well to
hear it now before it is forgotten. The emperor’s palace was the most beautiful
in the world. It was built entirely of porcelain, and very costly, but so
delicate and brittle that whoever touched it was obliged to be careful. In the
garden could be seen the most singular flowers, with pretty silver bells tied
to them, which tinkled so that every one who passed could not help noticing the
flowers. Indeed, everything in the emperor’s garden was remarkable, and it
extended so far that the gardener himself did not know where it ended. Those
who travelled beyond its limits knew that there was a noble forest, with lofty
trees, sloping down to the deep blue sea, and the great ships sailed under the
shadow of its branches. In one of these trees lived a nightingale, who sang so
beautifully that even the poor fishermen, who had so many other things to do,
would stop and listen. Sometimes, when they went at night to spread their nets,
they would hear her sing, and say, “Oh, is not that beautiful?” But when they
returned to their fishing, they forgot the bird until the next night. Then they
would hear it again, and exclaim “Oh, how beautiful is the nightingale’s song!”
Travellers
from every country in the world came to the city of the emperor, which they
admired very much, as well as the palace and gardens; but when they heard the
nightingale, they all declared it to be the best of all. And the travellers, on
their return home, related what they had seen; and learned men wrote books,
containing descriptions of the town, the palace, and the gardens; but they did
not forget the nightingale, which was really the greatest wonder. And those who
could write poetry composed beautiful verses about the nightingale, who lived
in a forest near the deep sea. The books travelled all over the world, and some
of them came into the hands of the emperor; and he sat in his golden chair,
and, as he read, he nodded his approval every moment, for it pleased him to
find such a beautiful description of his city, his palace, and his gardens. But
when he came to the words, “the nightingale is the most beautiful of all,” he
exclaimed, “What is this? I know nothing of any nightingale. Is there such a
bird in my empire? and even in my garden? I have never heard of it. Something,
it appears, may be learnt from books.”
Then
he called one of his lords-in-waiting, who was so high-bred, that when any in
an inferior rank to himself spoke to him, or asked him a question, he would
answer, “Pooh,” which means nothing.
“There
is a very wonderful bird mentioned here, called a nightingale,” said the
emperor; “they say it is the best thing in my large kingdom. Why have I not
been told of it?”
“I
have never heard the name,” replied the cavalier; “she has not been presented
at court.”
“It
is my pleasure that she shall appear this evening.” said the emperor; “the
whole world knows what I possess better than I do myself.”
“I
have never heard of her,” said the cavalier; “yet I will endeavor to find her.”
But
where was the nightingale to be found? The nobleman went up stairs and down,
through halls and passages; yet none of those whom he met had heard of the
bird. So he returned to the emperor, and said that it must be a fable, invented
by those who had written the book. “Your imperial majesty,” said he, “cannot
believe everything contained in books; sometimes they are only fiction, or what
is called the black art.”
“But
the book in which I have read this account,” said the emperor, “was sent to me
by the great and mighty emperor of Japan, and therefore it cannot contain a
falsehood. I will hear the nightingale, she must be here this evening; she has
my highest favor; and if she does not come, the whole court shall be trampled
upon after supper is ended.”
“Tsing-pe!”
cried the lord-in-waiting, and again he ran up and down stairs, through all the
halls and corridors; and half the court ran with him, for they did not like the
idea of being trampled upon. There was a great inquiry about this wonderful
nightingale, whom all the world knew, but who was unknown to the court.
At
last they met with a poor little girl in the kitchen, who said, “Oh, yes, I
know the nightingale quite well; indeed, she can sing. Every evening I have
permission to take home to my poor sick mother the scraps from the table; she
lives down by the sea-shore, and as I come back I feel tired, and I sit down in
the wood to rest, and listen to the nightingale’s song. Then the tears come
into my eyes, and it is just as if my mother kissed me.”
“Little
maiden,” said the lord-in-waiting, “I will obtain for you constant employment
in the kitchen, and you shall have permission to see the emperor dine, if you
will lead us to the nightingale; for she is invited for this evening to the
palace.” So she went into the wood where the nightingale sang, and half the
court followed her. As they went along, a cow began lowing.
“Oh,”
said a young courtier, “now we have found her; what wonderful power for such a
small creature; I have certainly heard it before.”
“No,
that is only a cow lowing,” said the little girl; “we are a long way from the
place yet.”
Then
some frogs began to croak in the marsh.
“Beautiful,”
said the young courtier again. “Now I hear it, tinkling like little church
bells.”
“No,
those are frogs,” said the little maiden; “but I think we shall soon hear her
now:” and presently the nightingale began to sing.
“Hark,
hark! there she is,” said the girl, “and there she sits,” she added, pointing
to a little gray bird who was perched on a bough.
“Is
it possible?” said the lord-in-waiting, “I never imagined it would be a little,
plain, simple thing like that. She has certainly changed color at seeing so
many grand people around her.”
“Little
nightingale,” cried the girl, raising her voice, “our most gracious emperor
wishes you to sing before him.”
“With
the greatest pleasure,” said the nightingale, and began to sing most
delightfully.
“It
sounds like tiny glass bells,” said the lord-in-waiting, “and see how her
little throat works. It is surprising that we have never heard this before; she
will be a great success at court.”
“Shall
I sing once more before the emperor?” asked the nightingale, who thought he was
present.
“My
excellent little nightingale,” said the courtier, “I have the great pleasure of
inviting you to a court festival this evening, where you will gain imperial
favor by your charming song.”
“My
song sounds best in the green wood,” said the bird; but still she came
willingly when she heard the emperor’s wish.
The
palace was elegantly decorated for the occasion. The walls and floors of
porcelain glittered in the light of a thousand lamps. Beautiful flowers, round
which little bells were tied, stood in the corridors: what with the running to
and fro and the draught, these bells tinkled so loudly that no one could speak
to be heard. In the centre of the great hall, a golden perch had been fixed for
the nightingale to sit on. The whole court was present, and the little
kitchen-maid had received permission to stand by the door. She was not
installed as a real court cook. All were in full dress, and every eye was
turned to the little gray bird when the emperor nodded to her to begin. The
nightingale sang so sweetly that the tears came into the emperor’s eyes, and
then rolled down his cheeks, as her song became still more touching and went to
every one’s heart. The emperor was so delighted that he declared the
nightingale should have his gold slipper to wear round her neck, but she
declined the honor with thanks: she had been sufficiently rewarded already. “I
have seen tears in an emperor’s eyes,” she said, “that is my richest reward. An
emperor’s tears have wonderful power, and are quite sufficient honor for me;”
and then she sang again more enchantingly than ever.
“That
singing is a lovely gift;” said the ladies of the court to each other; and then
they took water in their mouths to make them utter the gurgling sounds of the
nightingale when they spoke to any one, so thay they might fancy themselves
nightingales. And the footmen and chambermaids also expressed their
satisfaction, which is saying a great deal, for they are very difficult to
please. In fact the nightingale’s visit was most successful. She was now to
remain at court, to have her own cage, with liberty to go out twice a day, and
once during the night. Twelve servants were appointed to attend her on these
occasions, who each held her by a silken string fastened to her leg. There was
certainly not much pleasure in this kind of flying.
The
whole city spoke of the wonderful bird, and when two people met, one said
“nightin,” and the other said “gale,” and they understood what was meant, for
nothing else was talked of. Eleven peddlers’ children were named after her, but
not of them could sing a note.
One
day the emperor received a large packet on which was written “The Nightingale.”
“Here is no doubt a new book about our celebrated bird,” said the emperor. But
instead of a book, it was a work of art contained in a casket, an artificial
nightingale made to look like a living one, and covered all over with diamonds,
rubies, and sapphires. As soon as the artificial bird was wound up, it could
sing like the real one, and could move its tail up and down, which sparkled
with silver and gold. Round its neck hung a piece of ribbon, on which was
written “The Emperor of Japan’s nightingale is poor compared with that of the
Emperor of China’s.”
“This
is very beautiful,” exclaimed all who saw it, and he who had brought the
artificial bird received the title of “Imperial nightingale-bringer-in-chief.”
“Now
they must sing together,” said the court, “and what a duet it will be.” But
they did not get on well, for the real nightingale sang in its own natural way,
but the artificial bird sang only waltzes.
“That
is not a fault,” said the music-master, “it is quite perfect to my taste,” so
then it had to sing alone, and was as successful as the real bird; besides, it
was so much prettier to look at, for it sparkled like bracelets and
breast-pins. Three and thirty times did it sing the same tunes without being
tired; the people would gladly have heard it again, but the emperor said the
living nightingale ought to sing something. But where was she? No one had
noticed her when she flew out at the open window, back to her own green woods.
“What
strange conduct,” said the emperor, when her flight had been discovered; and
all the courtiers blamed her, and said she was a very ungrateful creature.
“But
we have the best bird after all,” said one, and then they would have the bird
sing again, although it was the thirty-fourth time they had listened to the
same piece, and even then they had not learnt it, for it was rather difficult.
But the music-master praised the bird in the highest degree, and even asserted
that it was better than a real nightingale, not only in its dress and the
beautiful diamonds, but also in its musical power. “For you must perceive, my
chief lord and emperor, that with a real nightingale we can never tell what is
going to be sung, but with this bird everything is settled. It can be opened
and explained, so that people may understand how the waltzes are formed, and
why one note follows upon another.”
“This
is exactly what we think,” they all replied, and then the music-master received
permission to exhibit the bird to the people on the following Sunday, and the
emperor commanded that they should be present to hear it sing. When they heard
it they were like people intoxicated; however it must have been with drinking
tea, which is quite a Chinese custom. They all said “Oh!” and held up their
forefingers and nodded, but a poor fisherman, who had heard the real
nightingale, said, “it sounds prettily enough, and the melodies are all alike;
yet there seems something wanting, I cannot exactly tell what.”
And
after this the real nightingale was banished from the empire, and the
artificial bird placed on a silk cushion close to the emperor’s bed. The
presents of gold and precious stones which had been received with it were round
the bird, and it was now advanced to the title of “Little Imperial Toilet
Singer,” and to the rank of No. 1 on the left hand; for the emperor considered
the left side, on which the heart lies, as the most noble, and the heart of an
emperor is in the same place as that of other people.
The
music-master wrote a work, in twenty-five volumes, about the artificial bird,
which was very learned and very long, and full of the most difficult Chinese
words; yet all the people said they had read it, and understood it, for fear of
being thought stupid and having their bodies trampled upon.
So
a year passed, and the emperor, the court, and all the other Chinese knew every
little turn in the artificial bird’s song; and for that same reason it pleased
them better. They could sing with the bird, which they often did. The street-boys
sang, “Zi-zi-zi, cluck, cluck, cluck,” and the emperor himself could sing it
also. It was really most amusing.
One
evening, when the artificial bird was singing its best, and the emperor lay in
bed listening to it, something inside the bird sounded “whizz.” Then a spring
cracked. “Whir-r-r-r” went all the wheels, running round, and then the music
stopped. The emperor immediately sprang out of bed, and called for his
physician; but what could he do? Then they sent for a watchmaker; and, after a
great deal of talking and examination, the bird was put into something like
order; but he said that it must be used very carefully, as the barrels were
worn, and it would be impossible to put in new ones without injuring the music.
Now there was great sorrow, as the bird could only be allowed to play once a
year; and even that was dangerous for the works inside it. Then the
music-master made a little speech, full of hard words, and declared that the
bird was as good as ever; and, of course no one contradicted him.
Five
years passed, and then a real grief came upon the land. The Chinese really were
fond of their emperor, and he now lay so ill that he was not expected to live.
Already a new emperor had been chosen and the people who stood in the street
asked the lord-in-waiting how the old emperor was; but he only said, “Pooh!”
and shook his head.
Cold
and pale lay the emperor in his royal bed; the whole court thought he was dead,
and every one ran away to pay homage to his successor. The chamberlains went
out to have a talk on the matter, and the ladies’-maids invited company to take
coffee. Cloth had been laid down on the halls and passages, so that not a
footstep should be heard, and all was silent and still. But the emperor was not
yet dead, although he lay white and stiff on his gorgeous bed, with the long
velvet curtains and heavy gold tassels. A window stood open, and the moon shone
in upon the emperor and the artificial bird. The poor emperor, finding he could
scarcely breathe with a strange weight on his chest, opened his eyes, and saw
Death sitting there. He had put on the emperor’s golden crown, and held in one
hand his sword of state, and in the other his beautiful banner. All around the
bed and peeping through the long velvet curtains, were a number of strange
heads, some very ugly, and others lovely and gentle-looking. These were the emperor’s
good and bad deeds, which stared him in the face now Death sat at his heart.
“Do
you remember this?” “Do you recollect that?” they asked one after another, thus
bringing to his remembrance circumstances that made the perspiration stand on
his brow.
“I
know nothing about it,” said the emperor. “Music! music!” he cried; “the large
Chinese drum! that I may not hear what they say.” But they still went on, and
Death nodded like a Chinaman to all they said. “Music! music!” shouted the
emperor. “You little precious golden bird, sing, pray sing! I have given you
gold and costly presents; I have even hung my golden slipper round your neck.
Sing! sing!” But the bird remained silent. There was no one to wind it up, and
therefore it could not sing a note.
Death
continued to stare at the emperor with his cold, hollow eyes, and the room was
fearfully still. Suddenly there came through the open window the sound of sweet
music. Outside, on the bough of a tree, sat the living nightingale. She had
heard of the emperor’s illness, and was therefore come to sing to him of hope
and trust. And as she sung, the shadows grew paler and paler; the blood in the
emperor’s veins flowed more rapidly, and gave life to his weak limbs; and even
Death himself listened, and said, “Go on, little nightingale, go on.”
“Then
will you give me the beautiful golden sword and that rich banner? and will you
give me the emperor’s crown?” said the bird.
So
Death gave up each of these treasures for a song; and the nightingale continued
her singing. She sung of the quiet churchyard, where the white roses grow,
where the elder-tree wafts its perfume on the breeze, and the fresh, sweet
grass is moistened by the mourners’ tears. Then Death longed to go and see his
garden, and floated out through the window in the form of a cold, white mist.
“Thanks,
thanks, you heavenly little bird. I know you well. I banished you from my
kingdom once, and yet you have charmed away the evil faces from my bed, and
banished Death from my heart, with your sweet song. How can I reward you?”
“You
have already rewarded me,” said the nightingale. “I shall never forget that I
drew tears from your eyes the first time I sang to you. These are the jewels
that rejoice a singer’s heart. But now sleep, and grow strong and well again. I
will sing to you again.”
And
as she sung, the emperor fell into a sweet sleep; and how mild and refreshing
that slumber was! When he awoke, strengthened and restored, the sun shone
brightly through the window; but not one of his servants had returned—they all
believed he was dead; only the nightingale still sat beside him, and sang.
“You
must always remain with me,” said the emperor. “You shall sing only when it
pleases you; and I will break the artificial bird into a thousand pieces.”
“No;
do not do that,” replied the nightingale; “the bird did very well as long as it
could. Keep it here still. I cannot live in the palace, and build my nest; but
let me come when I like. I will sit on a bough outside your window, in the
evening, and sing to you, so that you may be happy, and have thoughts full of
joy. I will sing to you of those who are happy, and those who suffer; of the
good and the evil, who are hidden around you. The little singing bird flies far
from you and your court to the home of the fisherman and the peasant’s cot. I
love your heart better than your crown; and yet something holy lingers round
that also. I will come, I will sing to you; but you must promise me one thing.”
“Everything,”
said the emperor, who, having dressed himself in his imperial robes, stood with
the hand that held the heavy golden sword pressed to his heart.
“I
only ask one thing,” she replied; “let no one know that you have a little bird
who tells you everything. It will be best to conceal it.” So saying, the
nightingale flew away.
The
servants now came in to look after the dead emperor; when, lo! there he stood,
and, to their astonishment, said, “Good morning.”
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