The Fairy Tales of Hans Christian Andersen/The Nightingale

by Hans Christian Andersen

For other English-language translations of this work, see The Nightingale.

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The Nightingale

N China, you know, the emperor is a Chinese, and all those about him are Chinamen. It is now many years ago—but for that very reason the story is better worth hearing before it is quite forgotten—the emperor’s palace was the most magnificent in the whole world; it was built entirely of the finest porcelain, and was costly to a degree, but so brittle and so ticklish, that one scarcely dared to touch it. In the garden might be seen the most singular flowers, and to the most beautiful of these were fastened little silver bells that kept jingling, so that one could not pass by without observing them. Everything in the emperor’s garden was calculated after the same fashion. The garden itself extended so far that even the gardener did not know where it ended. If one went beyond its limits, one reached the finest forest with lofty trees and deep lakes. The forest sloped down to the deep blue sea: large ships could sail under its branches, in one of which dwelt a nightingale that sang so sweetly, that even the poor fishermen, who had something else to do, were fain to stand still and listen, whenever they heard her, as they went to spread their nets over-night. “Oh dear, how beautiful!” said they; and then they were forced to attend to their business, and forget the bird. Yet, if the bird happened to sing again on the following night, and any one of the fishermen came near the spot, he was sure to say to himself: “Dear me, how beautiful that is, to be sure!”

Travellers flocked from all parts of the earth to the emperor’s capital, and admired it, as well as the palace and the garden. Yet when they came to hear the nightingale, they all declared: “This is better still.”

And the travellers, on their return home, related what they had seen, and learned men wrote many volumes upon the town, the palace, and the garden. Nor did they forget the nightingale, which was reckoned the most remarkable of all; and those who could write poetry penned the most beautiful verses about the nightingale in the forest near the lake.

The books circulated through the world, and some of them fell into the emperor’s hands. He sat on his golden throne, and kept reading and reading, and nodding his head every moment, for he was delighted with the beautitul descriptions of the town, the palace, and the garden. “But the nightingale is the most lovely of all!” said the book.

“What is that?” said the emperor. “I don’t know of any nightingale! Can there be such a bird in my empire, and in my very garden, without my having ever heard of it? Must one learn such things from books?”

He then called his lord-in-waiting, who was so grand a personage, that if any one of inferior rank to himself dared to speak to him, orask him a question, he only answered “P!” which meant nothing at all.

SAT ON HIS GOLDEN THRONE READING THE BOOK. “This must be a very remarkable bird that is called a nightingale,” said the emperor. “They say it is the finest thing in my large kingdom. Why was I never told anything about it?”

“I never heard of her before!” said the lord-in-waiting, “She has never been presented at court.”

“I choose that she should come and sing before me this very evening,” said the emperor. “The whole world knows what I possess, while I myself do not!”

“I never heard her mentioned before,” repeated the lord-in-waiting; “but I will seek for her and find her.”

But where was she to be found? The lord-in-waiting ran up and down all the stairs in the palace, looked through all the rooms and passages, but none of those whom he met had ever heard of the nightingale. So the lord-in-waiting returned to the emperor, and said that it must be a mere fiction invented by those who wrote the books. “Your imperial majesty is not to believe all that is written,” said he; “these are mere poetical fancies, and what is called the black art.”

“But the book in which I read this,” said the emperor, “was sent to me by the high-potent Emperor of Japan, and therefore it cannot contain a falsehood. I will hear the nightingale! She must come hither this evening. She enjoys my gracious favour. And if she does not come, the whole court shall have their bodies trampled upon the moment supper is over.”

“Tsing-pe!” said the lord-in-waiting, and he again ran up and down all the stairs, and looked through all the rooms and passages, and half of the courtiers accompanied him in his search, for they did not relish the thoughts of being trampled upon. And there was a mighty inquiry after the wonderful nightingale, which all the world knew of, except those who resided at court.

RAN UP AND DOWN, AND LOOKED THROUGH ALL THE ROOMS. At last they found a little girl in the kitchen, who said: “Oh dear! I know the nightingale well enough, and beautifully she sings! I have leave to take home to my poor sick mother the remains of the dinner-table; and she lives down by the shore, and when I come back and am tired, and sit down to rest in the forest, then I hear the nightingale sing. And the tears come into my eyes, and it is just as if my mother kissed me.”

“Little cook,” said the lord-in-waiting, “I will obtain for you a lasting situation in the kitchen, and the permission to see the emperor dine, if you will show us the way to the nightingale, for she is bespoken for this evening.”

And so they all went out into the forest, where the nightingale used to sing. Half the court was there. As they walked along, a cow began lowing.

“Oh,” cried some of the young lords of the court, “now we've found her! What wonderful strength for so small an animal! I have certainly heard this before!”

“Nay, those are cows a-bellowing,” said the little cook. “We are at a good distance yet from the spot.”

The frogs now began to croak in a neighbouring marsh.

“Magnificent!” said the Chinese court-preacher; “Now I hear her—it sounds like little church bells.”

“Nay, those are frogs,” said the little cook; “but I think that we shall soon hear her now.”

The nightingale then began to sing.

“There she is,” said the little girl. “Hark! hark! and there she sits,” added she, pointing to a little grey bird up in the boughs.

“Is it possible?” said the lord-in-waiting. “I should never have fancied her like that! How simple she looks! She has certainly lost her colour at seeing so many persons of rank around her.”

“Little nightingale,” cried the little cook aloud, “our most gracious emperor wishes you to sing before him.”

“With the greatest pleasure!” said the nightingale, and sang so exquisitely, that it was a delight to hear her.

“It sounds like glass bells,” said the lord-in-waiting; “and look how her little throat is working! It is surprising that we never heard her before! She will have great success at court.”

“Shall I sing once more before the emperor?” asked the nightingale, who thought the emperor was there.

“My sweet little nightingale,” said the lord-in-waiting, “I have the pleasure to invite you to a court assembly for this evening, at which you will enchant his Imperial Highness with your delightful singing.”

“It is best when heard in the greenwood,” said the nightingale; still she went willingly, on hearing the emperor wished it.

THE NIGHTINGALE SANG EXQUISITELY. The preparations in the palace were magnificent. The walls and the floor, both of porcelain, were shining in the light of several thousand golden lamps; the rarest flowers, such as had a right to ring their bells, were placed in the passages. What with the running to and fro, and the draught, there was such a jingling of bells that one could scarcely hear one’s self speak.

In the middle of the state room, where the emperor sat, there was a golden perch for the nightingale. The whole court was present, and the little cook had leave to stand behind the door, as she had now obtained the title of a real court cook. All present were dressed in their best, and all eyes were turned towards the little grey bird, to whom the emperor now made a sign by nodding his head.

And the nightingale sang so exquisitely, that tears came into the emperor’s eyes. The tears rolled down his cheeks, and then the nightingale sang in still more touching strains, that went to one’s very heart. And the emperor was so enchanted, that he declared the nightingale should have his golden slipper to wear round her neck. But the nightingale declined the honour with thanks; she was sufficiently rewarded already. “I have seen tears in the emperor’s eyes, and these are like the richest treasure to me. An emperor’s tears possess a peculiar virtue! God knows that I am sufficiently rewarded.” And thereupon she sang again in her sweet, melodious voice.

SHE WENT WILLINGLY, ON HEARING THE EMPEROR WISHED IT. “This is the prettiest piece of coquetry that I know of,” said the ladies present; and they put water into their mouths, to make a kind of liquid, clucking sound when anybody spoke to them. They then fancied themselves nightingales. Even the footmen and the chambermaids gave out that they were satisfied with the performance: and that is saying a great deal, for they are the most fastidious to please. In short, the nightingale’s success was complete.

She was now invited to take up her abode at court, where she was to have her own cage, besides the liberty of going out twice a day, and once in the night, on which occasions she was attended by twelve servants, each of whom had fastened a ribbon round her leg to hold her fast. There was no pleasure to be had in flying after such a fashion as that.

EACH HAD FASTENED A RIBBON ROUND HER LEG. The whole talk of the town ran on no other subject than the wonderful bird. Eleven old-clothes-men’s children were christened after her, but not one of them had a note in their throat.

One day the emperor received a large parcel, on which was written: “The Nightingale.”

“Here’s no doubt a new book about our celebrated bird,” said the emperor. But instead of a book, it was a piece of mechanism that lay in a box—an artificial nightingale made to imitate the living one, only set all over with diamonds, rubies and sapphires. As soon as the artificial bird was wound up, it could sing one of the pieces that the real one sang; and then it wagged its tail up and down, all sparkling with silver and gold. Round its neck was slung a little ribbon, on which was written: “The Emperor of Japan’s nightingale is poor indeed compared to that belonging to the Emperor of China.”

“This is splendid,” said all present, while he who had brought the bird was immediately invested with the title of Imperial Chief Nightingale-bringer.

“Now they must sing together,” said the courtiers, “and what a duet that will be!”

And they were accordingly set to sing together. But it did not do, for the real nightingale sang after her fashion, and the artificial bird according
ALL CRIED OUT “OH!” to the barrel. “It is not the fault of the latter,” observed the musical conductor, “for the bird is a good timeist, quite after my school.” So the artificial bird was made to sing alone. It obtained just as much success as the real bird, and then it was thought so much prettier to look at, for it sparkled like bracelets and breast-pins.

Three-and-thirty times did it sing the same piece without being tired. The company would willingly have heard it anew, but the emperor said that it was time the living nightingale should take her turn. But where was she? Nobody had remarked that she had flown out at the open window and back to her green woods.

“How comes this?” said the emperor. And all the courtiers blamed her, and set down the nightingale for a most ungrateful animal.

“But we have the best bird left,” said they; and accordingly the artificial bird was made to sing again, and they heard the same tune for the four-and-thirtieth time. Only they had not yet learned it by heart completely, for it was difficult to catch. “And the conductor praised the bird to the skies, and even maintained that it was superior to a real nightingale, not only as regards outward appearance and the profusion of diamonds, but in point of intrinsic merit.

“For you perceive, my gracious lord and emperor of us all,” said he, “with a real nightingale you can never depend on what is coming; but with an artificial bird all is laid out beforehand. One can analyze it, one can open it, and show the human skill that contrived its mechanism, and how the barrels lie, how they work, and how one thing proceeds from another.”

“Those are quite my own thoughts,” said all present; and the musical conductor was allowed to exhibit the bird to the people on the following Sunday. And the emperor commanded that the people should likewise hear it sing. They accordingly heard it, and were as delighted as though they had got drunk with tea, for it was so thoroughly Chinese. And they all cried out “Oh!” and held up their forefingers, and nodded their heads. But the poor fisherman, who had heard the real nightingale, said: “It sounds prettily enough, and the melodies are all alike; but there's a something wanting, though I can’t tell what.”

The real nightingale was banished from the land.

THE BOYS IN THE STREET WOULD GO ABOUT SINGING. The artificial bird was placed on a silk cushion beside the emperor’s bed. All the presents of gold and precious stones which had been showered upon it lay around, and the bird had risen to the title of Imperial Toilet-singer, and to the rank of number one on the left side. For the emperor reckoned the left side the noblest, as being the seat of the heart; for an emperor's heart is on the left, just as other people’s are. And the conductor of the music wrote a work in twenty-five volumes about the artificial bird, which was so learned, and so long, and so full of the hardest Chinese words, that everybody said they had read it and understood it, for fear of being thought stupid, or being trampled to death.

A whole year passed by. The emperor and his court, and all other Chinese, now knew by heart every little flourish in the artificial bird’s song. But that was the very reason why it pleased them better than ever, because they could now sing with the bird—which they accordingly did. The boys in the street would go about singing “Zi-zi-zi—cluck-cluck—cooo-oo”; and the emperor sang it likewise. It was really quite delightful!

But one evening, when the artificial bird was singing its best, and the emperor lay in bed listening, something inside the bird seemed to say “crick!” Then a spring flew—whirr-r-r-r! All the wheels ran round, and suddenly the music came to a standstill.

The emperor jumped out of bed and called for his physician. But of what use could he be?

JUMPED OUT OF BED AND CALLED FOR HIS PHYSICIAN. They next fetched a watchmaker, and after a deal of talking and examination, he managed to set the bird in order to a certain degree; but he said it must be used sparingly, for the uvula was worn away, and it was impossible to put in a new one so as to be sure not to injure the music. Here was a cause for deep mourning! The artificial bird was now only to be heard once a year, and that was almost too often for its safety. But the conductor of the music made a speech, consisting of very hard words, in order to prove that it was just as good as ever; and so, of course, it was considered.

Five years had now flown past, when a real affliction threatened the land. The Chinese all loved their emperor, and he now lay so ill that it was said he could not recover. A new emperor was already chosen; and the people who stood outside in the street asked the lord-in-waiting how it fared with their old emperor? “P!” said he, shaking his head.

The emperor lay pale and cold in his fine large bed. The whole court thought he was dead, and everybody had run away from him to pay their respects to the new emperor. The valets had run away to prate about the event, and the chambermaids had a large company to coffee. Cloth coverings had been laid down in all the rooms and passages, that nobody's step might be heard, and therefore all was silent as the grave. But the emperor was not yet dead, though he lay stiff and pale in his magnificent bed, with its long velvet curtains and heavy gold tassels. High above was an open window, through which the moon shone down upon the emperor and the artificial bird.

SHE SANG, AND THE EMPEROR FELL INTO A SWEET SLEEP. The poor emperor could scarcely breathe; he felt as if a weight were lying on his chest, and on opening his eyes he saw that it was Death who was sitting on his breast, and had put on his gold crown, and was holding the imperial sword in one hand and his beautiful banner in the other. Strange heads were peeping out on all sides through the velvet bed-curtains, some of which were quite ugly, while others were mild and lovely. These were the emperor’s good and bad actions, which looked him in the face now that Death was at his heart.

“Do you remember this?” whispered one after another. “Do you remember that?” And they told him so many things that the perspiration stood on his brow.

“| never knew it,” said the emperor. “Music! music!—the large Chinese drum!” cried he, “to drown what they say!”

But they went on, and Death nodded to all they said, like a true Chinese.

“Music! music!” vociferated the emperor. “You little charming golden bird, sing away!—sing, can’t you? I have given you gold and precious stones, and I have even hung my golden slipper round your neck. Sing, I tell you, sing!”

But the bird remained silent. There was nobody there to wind it up, and without that it could not sing a note. And Death went on staring at the emperor with his hollow sockets, and a frightful stillness reigned around.

Suddenly a gust of melody sounded through the window. It proceeded from the little living nightingale who sat on a bough. She had heard of her emperor’s danger, and had hastened hither to sing hope and comfort to his soul. And as she sang, the phantoms grew fainter and fainter, while the blood began to circulate faster and faster through the emperor’s weak limbs, and even Death listened, and said, “Go on, little nightingale, go on.”

“But will you give me that costly golden sword? Will you give me that rich banner? Will you give me the emperor’s crown?”

And Death gave each of the baubles for a song, and the nightingale continued singing. She sang of the quiet churchyard, where the white roses blossom, where the elder sheds its perfumes, and where the cool grass is moistened by the tears of the survivors. Then Death longed to go to his garden, and he floated out through the window, like a cold, white mist.

“Thanks! thanks!” said the emperor, “you heavenly little bird! I know you well, I banished you from my dominions, and yet have you sung away those evil faces from my bedside, and expelled Death from my heart. How can I reward you?”

“You have rewarded me,” said the nightingale. “I beguiled tears from your eyes the first time I sang—I shall never forget that! Those are the jewels that rejoice a singer’s heart. But now sleep and grow strong and healthy. I will sing to you.”

And she sang, and the emperor fell into a sweet sleep. And most mild and beneficent was that slumber.

The sun was shining through the window when he awoke, refreshed and restored to health. None of his servants had returned, for they thought he was dead; but the nightingale still sat and sang.

“You must always remain with me,” said the emperor. “You shall only sing when you choose, and I will break the artificial bird into a thousand pieces.”

“Do not do that,” said the nightingale; “the bird did good as long as it could. Keep it as before. I cannot build my nest and live in the palace, but let me come when I have a mind, and I will sit on the bough near the window of an evening and sing to you, that you may be at once glad and thoughtful. I will sing of the happy, and of those who suffer. I will tell of the bad and the good that is concealed from you by those about your person. For the little songster flies far around to the poor fishermen, and to the peasants’ humble roof, and to all who live at so great a distance from yourself and your court. I love your heart better than your crown, and yet the crown has a perfume of sacredness about it too. I will come and sing to you, but you must promise me one thing.”

“All I possess!” said the emperor, as he stood in his imperial robes, which he had himself put on, and pressed his sword of weighty gold to his heart.

“One thing only I require of you: that is, to let no one know you have a little bird who tells you everything, and all will be for the best.” And away the nightingale flew.

The servants came in to look after their late emperor. . . . When there, they stood in amazement on hearing the emperor say “Good morning!”