The Child's Story: The Beautiful Bird

You know that the Emperor of China is a Chinaman, and all his subjects and followers are Chinese. His palace, built of porcelain, was the most beautiful of all the palaces in the world. It is told that in one of the trees of the forest lying within the grounds of the Emperor's palace there dwelt a singing nightingale, whose voice was of such sweetness that the poor fishermen would stop to listen to him despite their many labors; and travelers came flocking to the Emperor's city from every land and clime, drawn by their great admiration of it — but their admiration of the nightingale's song, when they heard it, surpassed every other admiration. Poets took to singing of the magic of this melodious nightingale and stringing precious pearls in his praise and eulogy. Numerous books about him appeared in various parts of the world, and it chanced that some of these books fell into the Emperor's hands. When he read in them that "the nightingale is the most beautiful thing in China," he cried out: "What is this? I know nothing of any nightingale."

Then the Emperor summoned the chief of his court and said: "The books have told of a wondrous bird called the nightingale, and have said that he is the most wonderful of all the wonders of my far-stretching land. Why have you not informed me of this before?" The chief of the court answered: "I have never heard this name." Said the Emperor: "You must bring this bird to me this very night, for I long to see him."

The chief of the court went searching for this nightingale without knowing where he dwelt. He climbed to the high rooms of the palace and came down from them to the lower rooms, and left no hall or gallery unsearched; yet he met no one on his way who had ever heard of this bird.

At last the men of the court came upon a little girl who served in the palace kitchen. When they questioned her she said: "Yes, I know the nightingale very well, for every evening I go to the forest to rest and listen to the nightingale's song."

Said the chief of the court: "Then lead us to him."

So the girl went to where the nightingale sang among the trees, and half the men of the court followed her.

There she said, pointing to the little gray bird perched on the branch of the tree: "Do you hear! That is he. And there is his home."

And the girl called out: "Little nightingale, our mighty Emperor wishes you to sing before him."

And the chief of the court said: "Little singing nightingale, it is my pleasure to invite you to a festival this evening at the royal court."

For this occasion the imperial palace appeared in a splendid dress of decorations, and there the nightingale sang with his tender, enchanting voice, and moved the Emperor's heart, and drew his tears down his cheeks, until in his rapture he commanded that his golden slipper be hung about the nightingale's neck. But the nightingale declined this favor with abundant thanks, saying: "I have seen tears spring from my lord's eyes, and that is reward enough for me."

In truth the nightingale's visit to the Emperor was a most happy one, for the Emperor kept him at his court and set apart a special cage for him, granting him the freedom to go out twice each day and once at night.

It happened one day that the Emperor received a large parcel on which was written "To the Nightingale." When he undid its wrapping he found a precious box, and inside it an artificial nightingale resembling the living nightingale, studded with diamonds and rubies and emeralds, with a spring which, if you wound it, could sing like the real nightingale and move its tail, glittering with gold and silver, up and down. This artificial nightingale was a gift from the Emperor of Japan.

The court said: "Now the two nightingales must sing together, for no doubt we shall be delighted indeed when they join together in song." And the artificial nightingale sang the same tunes three-and-thirty times without tiring; nor would the company have wearied of asking him for more, had not the Emperor commanded that the real nightingale should sing them something. But where was he? He had vanished — he had flown out of the window without anyone noticing, and returned to his home among the trees of the forest.

After that, the artificial bird was placed on a cushion of silk beside the Emperor's bed. A year passed, in which the Emperor and the men of his court and the rest of the Chinese came to know by heart every note of the artificial nightingale's tunes; and this only made them the fonder of him, and they often joined him in his singing.

And it happened one night, while the artificial nightingale was singing his very best, the Emperor lying on his bed and listening, that a crackling sound came from inside the bird. The spring had broken; the whirring of its wheels went on as they spun round, and then the music stopped. The Emperor leaped from his bed at once and summoned his physician; but the physician could do nothing, so they summoned the watchmaker, and at last, after long discussion and examination, he managed to mend the bird's spring. But now sorrow spread over all the people of the nation, for the artificial bird was permitted to play his musical parts only once a year — and even that was a danger to the musical works within him.

Five more years passed, at the end of which the country was stricken with a greater and graver calamity. The Chinese loved their Emperor with a mighty love, and now he had been seized with a mortal illness that was expected to end his life. And indeed the choice had already fallen on a new Emperor.

But the Emperor had not yet died, though the malady had drained his failing strength, and death hovered with its wings over his pale face as he lay in his soft bed. One of the windows of his bedchamber stood open, and the moonlight gleamed upon the Emperor and the artificial nightingale. The sick Emperor felt a suffocation that almost stopped his breath, and a strange weight upon his chest; he opened his eyes, and there he saw Azrael, the angel of death, seated before him. He cried out: "Music! Music! Dear golden bird, I implore you, by all that is generous — sing!"

But the bird remained silent, for there was no one to wind the spring, and so he could neither play nor sing.

Azrael went on fixing the Emperor with his cold gaze, and a faint stillness filled the chamber. Then all of a sudden sweet strains of music came from the open window, and outside it, perched upon the branch of one of the trees, was the real nightingale. He had heard of the Emperor's illness, and had come to sing him what would breathe into him the spirit of strength and hope. And the blood began to run with mounting speed in the Emperor's veins, and health to creep back through his body, the longer the nightingale sang; even Azrael himself could not keep from listening to him, and said: "Go on with your song, little nightingale."

The nightingale answered: "Then will you give me the Emperor's crown?" And Azrael yielded him the crown in exchange for a song. And the nightingale sang on — and it was a song of the quiet graveyards where the white roses grow, where the breeze carries the fragrance of their fresh blossoms, and the tears of the dead's kinsfolk and dear companions bedew their beautiful grasses. Then Azrael's soul yearned to go and see his garden, and he flew out of the window in the shape of a white cloud and vanished from sight.

The Emperor said: "Thanks to you, and a thousand thanks, little bird. I know you well indeed. How, then, can I reward you?"

Said the nightingale: "You have rewarded me already, for never could I forget that I drew your tears when I sang to you the first time. And now you must sleep, that you may grow strong and win back your health."

And the nightingale returned to his singing, and slumber sealed the Emperor's eyelids, and he slept a sweet sleep from which he awoke with his health and vigor restored; and the sun rose and flooded his chamber with its light.