In china, as surely you know, the emperor’s Chinese, and everyone he keeps around him is Chinese too. The story of this particular Emperor took place many years ago—and that’s exactly why it’s worth hearing, before it’s forgotten!
Now the Emperor’s palace was the most magnificent in the world, made completely out of fine porcelain. It was so expensive and so fragile that if you wanted to touch anything, you had to be very careful. The gardens were filled with amazing flowers, and tiny bells were tied to the most splendid of these. Then the bells would tinkle when you walked past so that you would be sure to admire them. Indeed, everything was cunningly arranged in the Emperor’s gardens, and they were so large that even the Imperial Gardener didn’t know where they ended. But if you kept on walking, you would come to a lovely forest with tall trees and deep lakes. The forest stretched right down to the deep blue sea, so that ships could sail right under its branches. And in these branches there lived a nightingale. The nightingale sang with such joy that even 120the poor fisherman, who had quite a lot to do, would stop and listen when he was out at night, pulling up his fishing net. “My goodness, how beautiful!” he would say, but then he would have to look to his net and he’d forget about the bird. And then the next night, when the fisherman went out and she sang again, he would say the same thing: “My goodness, how beautiful!”
Travellers from every country in the world came to marvel at the Emperor’s city, the palace and the gardens. But when they heard the nightingale, every one of them would exclaim, “That’s the very best of all!”
When they returned home, the travellers would talk about her. Scholars wrote many books about the city, the palace and the gardens, but they didn’t forget the nightingale either. They placed her above everything else there, and those who could write poems wrote beautiful poems about the nightingale in the forest by the deep blue sea.
These books travelled the world over, and one of them ended up in the hands of the Emperor himself. He was sitting in his golden chair, reading and reading. He kept nodding his head as he did, for it pleased him to read the marvellous descriptions of the city, the palace and the gardens. “Yet the nightingale surpasses everything!”—that’s what stood there, right on the page. 121
“What’s this?” wondered the Emperor. “The nightingale? I don’t know anything about her at all! Does she live in my empire—in my very own gardens, even? I’ve never heard of such a bird. The things you find out from reading!”
And then he called in his Lord-in-Waiting. This man was so elegant that when someone who was beneath him dared to speak to him, or to ask him about something, he would only answer “P!”—which doesn’t mean anything at all.
“There’s supposed to be the most remarkable bird living here, called the nightingale,” the Emperor told him. “They say she surpasses everything else in my vast empire! Why has no one told me about her before?”
“I’ve never heard her mentioned before,” said the Lord-in-Waiting. “She’s never been presented at court.”
“I want her to come here this evening and sing for me,” said the Emperor. “The whole world knows what I have, and I don’t know it myself!”
“I’ve never heard her mentioned before,” the Lord-in-Waiting said again. “But I’ll search for her, and I’ll find her.”
But where? The Lord-in-Waiting ran up and down all the staircases and through all the great rooms and corridors of the palace, but no one he met had heard of 122the nightingale either. Then he ran back to the Emperor and said that it was a fable, no doubt, invented by the people who wrote books. “Your Imperial Grace must not believe the things they write. Books are full of inventions and black magic!”
“But the book where I read about her was sent to me by the high and mighty Emperor of Japan,” said the Emperor of China. “So it cannot be a lie. I want to hear this nightingale—she must come here this evening! I shall show her the highest favour. And if she doesn’t come, then I will have the entire court thumped on their bellies after they have eaten dinner.”
“Tsing-pe!” said the Lord-in-Waiting, and again he ran up and down all the staircases and through all the great rooms and corridors of the palace. And half the Emperor’s court ran with him, for they didn’t want to be thumped on their bellies. Everyone was asking about the strange nightingale that the whole world knew about except for the court.
They finally found a small, poor girl working in the kitchen who said, “Oh, the nightingale! I know her well. And how she can sing! Every evening I’m allowed to bring a few table scraps home to my poor sick mother, who lives down by the shore. Afterwards, when I walk back through the forest, I’m very tired, and so I rest 123a little. And then I hear the nightingale sing! It’s just as if my mother were kissing me—it brings tears to my eyes.”
“Little kitchen girl,” said the Lord-in-Waiting, “I will give you a job in the kitchen for the rest of your life, and let you watch the Emperor eat, if you can lead us to the nightingale. For the Emperor has ordered that she sing for him tonight.”
And so they went out to the forest where the nightingale usually sang. Half of the court went with them. And as they were walking, a cow began to moo.
“A-ha!” said a young nobleman. “That must be her! But what a powerful voice for such a small creature. I’ve definitely heard her song before.”
“No, that’s just a cow mooing,” said the little kitchen girl. “It’s still a long way yet.”
Then they walked by a pond, and frogs began to croak.
“Lovely!” exclaimed the High Priest. “Now that I can hear her, it’s just like small church bells!”
“No, those are frogs,” said the little kitchen girl. “But I think that soon we will find her.”
Then the nightingale began to sing.
“That’s her!” said the young girl. “Listen, listen! And she’s sitting up there.” The girl pointed to a small grey bird up in the branches. 124
“Can that be possible?” wondered the Lord-in-Waiting. “I never thought she would look like that. She is so plain! No doubt she has lost her colour from seeing so many fine people at the same time.”
“Little nightingale!” the girl called out in a strong voice. “Our merciful Emperor would very much like for you to sing to him.”
“With the greatest pleasure,” the nightingale said. And she sang so that her song was a delight to hear.
“That sounds just like glass bells,” said the Lord-in-Waiting. “And see how she uses her tiny throat! It’s a wonder that we’ve never heard her before. She will be a great success at court.”
“Shall I sing something else for the Emperor?” asked the nightingale, who thought that the Emperor was with them.
“My excellent little nightingale!” said the Lord-in-Waiting. “I have the great pleasure of summoning you to a party at court this evening, where you will enchant His Exalted Imperial Majesty with your amusing song.”
“My singing sounds best in the green forest,” the nightingale said. But she went with them willingly, since they had said that the Emperor wished it.
The palace had been thoroughly decorated for the evening. The porcelain walls and floors shone in the light 125from thousands and thousands of gold lamps. The most splendid flowers from the gardens—the ones with the tiny bells—had been placed in the hallways. There was running and rushing everywhere, but that only made all the bells ring, and no one could hear a word anyone said.
In the middle of the great hall where the Emperor sat, a golden perch had been placed for the nightingale to sit upon. The entire court was there, and the little kitchen girl had got permission to stand behind the door, since now she had the job of real kitchen girl. Everyone was dressed in their finest clothes, and they were all watching the small grey bird. Then the Emperor nodded.
And the nightingale sang so exquisitely that it brought tears to the Emperor’s eyes. The tears rolled down his cheeks, and then the nightingale sang even more beautifully, so that it went right to his heart. And the Emperor was so happy that he said the nightingale must have his golden slipper to wear around her neck.
The nightingale thanked the Emperor, but said she’d already been richly rewarded.
“I have seen tears in the eyes of the Emperor—and to me that is the greatest treasure possible. An emperor’s tears have remarkable powers. God knows that I’ve been rewarded enough!” And then she sang some more with her sweet, joyful voice.126
“Such a darling way to flirt!” said the ladies who listened. After this evening, they all started putting water in their mouths so that they could gurgle whenever someone spoke to them. For they thought that this made them sound like nightingales too. Even the lackeys and chambermaids declared themselves satisfied. And that says a great deal, for they’re the hardest people to please. Yes, the nightingale was a huge success!
Now she had to stay with the court, where she got her own cage, along with the freedom to take a walk outside twice a day and once at night. Twelve servants were assigned to walk with her, each holding tight to a silk ribbon tied to her leg. These walks gave her no pleasure at all.
Meanwhile, the entire city was talking about the marvellous bird. Whenever two people met, one would say “Night” and the other “Gale”, and then they would sigh and understand each other. Eleven pork butchers named their children Nightingale, though none of the children could sing a note.
Then one day, a large package came for the Emperor. On it was written the word “Nightingale”.
“Here we have a new book about our famous bird!” said the Emperor. But it was not a book. It was a skilful little piece of handiwork that lay in a box—a mechanical nightingale that was made to look like the living bird, 127except that it was covered with diamonds, rubies and sapphires. As soon as this imitation bird was wound up, it sang one of the pieces that the real bird sang, and then its tail moved up and down, gleaming with silver and gold. A small ribbon hung around its neck, and on it were these words: “The Emperor of Japan’s nightingale is but a poor thing compared to the Emperor of China’s.”
“Oh, how lovely!” everyone cried, and the person who had brought the artificial bird was immediately given the title of Chief Imperial Nightingale-Bringer.
“The two of them should sing together now. Oh, what a duet that will be!”
And so they had to sing together, but it didn’t work out very well. For the real nightingale sang in her own way, from the heart, while the artificial one could only sing according to the wheels and cylinders inside it. “It’s not its fault,” declared the Imperial Teacher of Music. “It keeps perfect time, and that’s the most important thing in my school.” So the artificial bird sang by itself. It pleased its listeners just as much as the real bird had—and besides, it was much more enjoyable to look at, sparkling there like bracelets and brooches.
Thirty-three times—that’s how many times it sang the very same piece, and yet it didn’t grow tired at all. Then the court wanted to hear the piece from the beginning, 128but the Emperor thought that now the living nightingale should sing a bit too. But where was she? No one had noticed her fly out of an open window and away to the green forest.
“What kind of behaviour is this?!” thundered the Emperor. And the entire court scolded the nightingale and called her a terribly ungrateful animal. “Yet we still have the best bird right here!” they said, and so the mechanical bird had to sing again. It was the thirty-fourth time they had heard the same piece, but they didn’t know it by heart yet because it was very difficult. The Imperial Teacher of Music praised the bird to the skies, and assured the court that it was better than the real nightingale. And not just in its appearance and many delightful diamonds, but also on the inside.
“Because listen to what I say, ladies and gentlemen, and the Emperor most of all! With the real nightingale, you never can tell what will come out of her mouth. But with the mechanical bird, the music is fixed. It will always be the same and never change! It can all be explained—you can slit it open and show the human thought behind it—how the wheels and cylinders are placed, how they move and how one thing follows the other.”
“That’s just what we were thinking!” the court exclaimed with one voice. And on the following Sunday, the Imperial 129Music Teacher was allowed to present the bird to the common people. They should also hear it, the Emperor said. And they did hear it, and they enjoyed it tremendously—it was as if they had drunk themselves merry with tea, for that is very Chinese, you know. Everyone cried “Oh!” and stuck one finger—the finger we call “lickpot”—into the air, and then they all nodded. But the poor fisherman, who had heard the real nightingale sing, said, “It sounds pretty enough, and it sounds like the real bird. But something’s missing, I’m not sure what.”
And the Emperor banished the true nightingale from the empire.
Meanwhile, the mechanical bird was given its own place on a silk cushion, right next to the Emperor’s bed. All about it lay gold and gemstones and the other presents it had received. It was also given the new title of High Imperial Night-Table Singer, which was the very highest rank on the left side. For the Emperor considered the side of the body where the heart sits the most distinguished one—and the heart sits on the left side, even in an emperor.
The Imperial Teacher of Music wrote twenty-five volumes about the mechanical bird. This work was so learned and long, and so filled with the very hardest of Chinese words, that everyone at the court said that they 130had read and understood them—for otherwise they would be stupid, wouldn’t they, and have to be thumped on the belly.
This went on for an entire year. The Emperor, the court and everyone else knew every little gurgle in the mechanical bird’s song inside out. But that is exactly why they liked it more than ever—now they could sing along, and sing along they did. The street urchins sang, “Zee-zee-zee! Cluck-luck-luck!” and the Emperor did too. It was simply wonderful.
But then one evening, just as the mechanical bird was singing and the Emperor lay in bed listening to it, there came a pop! from inside the bird and something snapped. All the wheels whirred round, and then the music stopped.
The Emperor leapt straight out of bed and sent for the Imperial Physician. But what could a doctor do? Then the watchmaker was sent for, and after much talking and tinkering he was able repair it—more or less. But he said it must be spared from singing as much as possible, because its pins were so worn out. And putting new pins in wouldn’t work, because it was hard to make them fit the music with precision. What a tragedy! They only dared to let the mechanical bird sing once a year now, and that was pushing it. But then the Imperial Teacher of Music gave a little speech with difficult words, and he 131said that it was just as good as before. And so it was just as good as before.
Five years passed, and then the entire land suffered a tremendous sorrow. For everyone was very fond of the Emperor, and now he was very sick, and they said he would not live. A new emperor had already been chosen, and people stood out on the street and asked the Lord-in-Waiting how the old Emperor was doing.
“P!” he said, shaking his head.
The Emperor lay cold and pale in his large, sumptuous bed. The entire court believed him dead, and so they ran, every one of them, to greet the new Emperor. Then the lackeys ran off to talk about it, and the chambermaids gathered in a large group to drink coffee and eat cake. Cloth had been spread in all the rooms and corridors around the Emperor’s chamber when he became ill so that he wouldn’t be disturbed by footsteps, and now everything was quiet: very, very quiet.
Yet the Emperor was not dead yet. He lay pale and stiff in his majestic bed with the long velvet curtains and the heavy gold tassels. High in the wall a window stood open, and the moon shone in upon the Emperor and the mechanical bird.
The poor Emperor could hardly even breathe; it was as if something were sitting on his chest. Then he opened 132his eyes and saw Death sitting there. Death had put on the Emperor’s golden crown, and in one hand he held the Emperor’s golden sabre and in the other his proud banner. And from the folds of the bed’s large velvet curtains, strange heads were peeping forth—some of them quite nasty, others very kind and mild. They were the Emperor’s deeds, both evil and good, and they gazed at him now as Death sat on his heart.
“Do you remember me?” each of them whispered in turn. “Do you remember me?” And they told him of so many things he had done that beads of sweat appeared on his forehead.
“I never knew!” said the Emperor. “Music, music!” he shouted. “The great Chinese drum! I don’t want to listen to the things they’re saying!”
But they kept on talking, and Death nodded at everything that was said, just like they do in China.
“Music, music!” screamed the Emperor. “You, sweet little golden bird, sing now, sing! I have given you gold and treasure, I have hung my golden slipper around your neck with my own two hands so sing, please sing!”
But the bird did not stir. There was no one to wind it up, and it couldn’t sing otherwise. And Death continued to stare at the Emperor with his great empty eye sockets, and now it grew silent, dreadfully silent. 133
Suddenly, through the high window, there burst the most beautiful song—it was the real nightingale, sitting outside on a branch! She had heard of her Emperor’s distress, and so she had come to sing him comfort and hope. And with each trill she sang, the shadows in the curtains grew paler and paler, the blood started moving through the Emperor’s weak limbs with more and more force, and Death himself listened and said, “Keep singing, little nightingale! Keep singing!”
“Yes,” said the nightingale, “if you’ll give me his splendid golden sabre! Yes, if you’ll give me his rich banner! Yes, if you’ll give me the Emperor’s crown!”
And Death gave back each treasure for a song, and still the nightingale kept singing. She sang of the silent graveyard where the white roses grow, where the scent of elderflower is strong, where the new grass is watered by the tears of the living. And Death longed so much for his garden that at last he floated, like a cold white fog, up and out of the window.
“Thank you, thank you!” cried the Emperor. “You heavenly little bird, I know who you are. I have chased you from my empire, and yet you have sung the evil visions from my bed and lifted Death from my heart! How can I reward you?”
“You already have,” said the nightingale. “I had tears from your eyes the first time I sang for you, and that is 134something I shall never forget. Those are the jewels that do a singer’s heart good. But sleep now, and grow strong and well. I will sing for you.”
And she sang, and the Emperor fell into a sweet sleep, a sleep gentle and reviving.
The sun was shining through the windows on the Emperor when he awoke, healthy and strong. None of his servants had returned yet, because they all believed he was dead. Yet still the nightingale perched on the branch and sang.
“You must stay with me always,” the Emperor said. “You only have to sing when you like. And I will smash the mechanical bird into a thousand pieces.”
“Don’t do that,” said the nightingale. “It did the best it could. Keep it as you always have. I cannot build a nest and live in the palace, but I will come when I want to. I will come in the evening and sit on the branch here by the window, and you can grow happy and thoughtful at the same time. I’ll sing about the fortunate, and about those who suffer. I’ll sing about the good and the evil that all around you stays hidden. For the songbird can fly to the poor fisherman and the roof of the farmer, to everyone who is distant from you and your court. I love your heart more than your crown, though the crown does have something of a holy odour. Yes, I will come and sing for you. But you must promise me one thing.” 135
“Anything!” said the Emperor. He was standing there in his imperial robes, which he had put on all by himself for once, and he pressed the sabre, heavy with gold, up against his heart.
“One thing I ask of you. Don’t say to anyone that you have a little bird who tells you everything. And then it’ll all go much better.”
And then the nightingale flew away.
The servants came in to take care of their dead Emperor. But they stopped short and stood there, and the Emperor said, “Good morning!”