THE NIGHTINGALE

                                  1872

                 FAIRY TALES OF HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN

                            THE NIGHTINGALE

                       by Hans Christian Andersen



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 China's nightingale is poor compared with that

of the Emperor of Japan'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."

                        THE END

.