His Great Majesty the Emperor of Japan; so it cannot be untrue, and I
will hear the Nightingale! She must be here this evening! She has my
gracious permission to appear, and if she does not, the whole Court
shall be trampled under foot after supper!’
‘Tsing pe!’ said the First Lord; and he ran up and down stairs,
through the halls and corridors, and half the Court ran with him, for
they did not want to be trampled under foot. Everyone was asking after
the wonderful Nightingale which all the world knew of, except those at
Court.
At last they met a poor little girl in the kitchen, who said, ‘Oh! I
know the Nightingale well. How she sings! I have permission to carry
the scraps over from the Court meals to my poor sick mother, and when
I am going home at night, tired and weary, and rest for a little in
the wood, then I hear the Nightingale singing! It brings tears to my
eyes, and I feel as if my mother were kissing me!’
[Illustration: The Kitchenmaid Listens to the Nightingale]
‘Little kitchenmaid!’ said the First Lord, ‘I will give you a place in
the kitchen, and you shall have leave to see the Emperor at dinner, if
you can lead us to the Nightingale, for she is invited to come to
Court this evening.’
And so they all went into the wood where the Nightingale was wont to
sing, and half the Court went too.
When they were on the way there they heard a cow mooing.
‘Oh!’ said the Courtiers, ‘now we have found her! What a wonderful
power for such a small beast to have! I am sure we have heard her
before!’
‘No; that is a cow mooing!’ said the little kitchenmaid. ‘We are still
a long way off!’
Then the frogs began to croak in the marsh. ‘Splendid!’ said the
Chinese chaplain. ‘Now we hear her; it sounds like a little
church-bell!’
‘No, no; those are frogs!’ said the little kitchenmaid. ‘But I think
we shall soon hear her now!’
Then the Nightingale began to sing.
‘There she is!’ cried the little girl. ‘Listen! She is sitting there!’
And she pointed to a little dark-grey bird up in the branches.
‘Is it possible!’ said the First Lord. ‘I should never have thought
it! How ordinary she looks! She must surely have lost her feathers
because she sees so many distinguished men round her!’
‘Little Nightingale,’ called out the little kitchenmaid, ‘our Gracious
Emperor wants you to sing before him!’
‘With the greatest of pleasure!’ said the Nightingale; and she sang so
gloriously that it was a pleasure to listen.
‘It sounds like glass bells!’ said the First Lord. ‘And look how her
little throat works! It is wonderful that we have never heard her
before! She will be a great success at Court.’
‘Shall I sing once more for the Emperor?’ asked the Nightingale,
thinking that the Emperor was there.
‘My esteemed little Nightingale,’ said the First Lord, ‘I have the
great pleasure to invite you to Court this evening, where His Gracious
Imperial Highness will be enchanted with your charming song!’
‘It sounds best in the green wood,’ said the Nightingale; but still,
she came gladly when she heard that the Emperor wished it. At the
Palace everything was splendidly prepared. The porcelain walls and
floors glittered in the light of many thousand gold lamps; the most
gorgeous flowers which tinkled out well were placed in the corridors.
There was such a hurrying and draught that all the bells jingled so
much that one could not hear oneself speak. In the centre of the great
hall where the Emperor sat was a golden perch, on which the
Nightingale sat. The whole Court was there, and the little kitchenmaid
was allowed to stand behind the door, now that she was a Court-cook.
Everyone was dressed in his best, and everyone was looking towards the
little grey bird to whom the Emperor nodded.
[Illustration: The Present from the Emperor of Japan]
The Nightingale sang so gloriously that the tears came into the
Emperor’s eyes and ran down his cheeks. Then the Nightingale sang even
more beautifully; it went straight to all hearts. The Emperor was so
delighted that he said she should wear his gold slipper round her
neck. But the Nightingale thanked him, and said she had had enough
reward already. ‘I have seen tears in the Emperor’s eyes—that is a
great reward. An Emperor’s tears have such power!’ Then she sang again
with her gloriously sweet voice.
‘That is the most charming coquetry I have ever seen!’ said all the
ladies round. And they all took to holding water in their mouths that
they might gurgle whenever anyone spoke to them. Then they thought
themselves nightingales. Yes, the lackeys and chambermaids announced
that they were pleased; which means a great deal, for they are the
most difficult people of all to satisfy. In short, the Nightingale was
a real success.
She had to stay at Court now; she had her own cage, and permission to
walk out twice in the day and once at night.
She was given twelve servants, who each held a silken string which was
fastened round her leg. There was little pleasure in flying about like
this.
The whole town was talking about the wonderful bird, and when two
people met each other one would say ‘Nightin,’ and the other ‘Gale,’
and then they would both sigh and understand one another. Yes, and
eleven grocer’s children were called after her, but not one of them
could sing a note.
One day the Emperor received a large parcel on which was written ‘The
Nightingale.’
‘Here is another new book about our famous bird!’ said the Emperor.
But it was not a book, but a little mechanical toy, which lay in a
box—an artificial nightingale which was like the real one, only that
it was set all over with diamonds, rubies, and sapphires. When it was
wound up, it could sing the piece the real bird sang, and moved its
tail up and down, and glittered with silver and gold. Round its neck
was a little collar on which was written, ‘The Nightingale of the
Emperor of Japan is nothing compared to that of the Emperor of China.’
‘This is magnificent!’ they all said, and the man who had brought the
clockwork bird received on the spot the title of ‘Bringer of the
Imperial First Nightingale.’
‘Now they must sing together; what a duet we shall have!’
And so they sang together, but their voices did not blend, for the
real Nightingale sang in her way and the clockwork bird sang waltzes.
‘It is not its fault!’ said the bandmaster; ‘it keeps very good time
and is quite after my style!’
Then the artificial bird had to sing alone. It gave just as much
pleasure as the real one, and then it was so much prettier to look at;
it sparkled like bracelets and necklaces. Three-and-thirty times it
sang the same piece without being tired. People would like to have
heard it again, but the Emperor thought that the living Nightingale
should sing now—but where was she? No one had noticed that she had
flown out of the open window away to her green woods.
‘What _shall_ we do!’ said the Emperor.
And all the Court scolded, and said that the Nightingale was very
ungrateful. ‘But we have still the best bird!’ they said and the
artificial bird had to sing again, and that was the thirty-fourth time
they had heard the same piece. But they did not yet know it by heart;
it was much too difficult. And the bandmaster praised the bird
tremendously; yes, he assured them it was better than a real
nightingale, not only because of its beautiful plumage and diamonds,
but inside as well. ‘For see, my Lords and Ladies and your Imperial
Majesty, with the real Nightingale one can never tell what will come
out, but all is known about the artificial bird! You can explain it,
you can open it and show people where the waltzes lie, how they go,
and how one follows the other!’
‘That’s just what we think!’ said everyone; and the bandmaster
received permission to show the bird to the people the next Sunday.
They should hear it sing, commanded the Emperor. And they heard it,
and they were as pleased as if they had been intoxicated with tea,
after the Chinese fashion, and they all said ‘Oh!’ and held up their
forefingers and nodded time. But the poor fishermen who had heard the
real Nightingale said: ‘This one sings well enough, the tunes glide
out; but there is something wanting—I don’t know what!’
The real Nightingale was banished from the kingdom.
The artificial bird was put on silken cushions by the Emperor’s bed,
all the presents which it received, gold and precious stones, lay
round it, and it was given the title of Imperial Night-singer, First
from the left. For the Emperor counted that side as the more
distinguished, being the side on which the heart is; the Emperor’s
heart is also on the left.
And the bandmaster wrote a work of twenty-five volumes about the
artificial bird. It was so learned, long, and so full of the hardest
Chinese words that everyone said they had read it and understood it;
for once they had been very stupid about a book, and had been trampled
under foot in consequence. So a whole year passed. The Emperor, the
Court, and all the Chinese knew every note of the artificial bird’s
song by heart. But they liked it all the better for this; they could
even sing with it, and they did. The street boys sang ‘Tra-la-la-la-la,’
and the Emperor sang too sometimes. It was indeed delightful.
But one evening, when the artificial bird was singing its best, and
the Emperor lay in bed listening to it, something in the bird went
crack. Something snapped! Whir-r-r! all the wheels ran down and then
the music ceased. The Emperor sprang up, and had his physician
summoned, but what could _he_ do! Then the clockmaker came, and, after
a great deal of talking and examining, he put the bird somewhat in
order, but he said that it must be very seldom used as the works were
nearly worn out, and it was impossible to put in new ones. Here was a
calamity! Only once a year was the artificial bird allowed to sing,
and even that was almost too much for it. But then the bandmaster made
a little speech full of hard words, saying that it was just as good as
before. And so, of course, it _was_ just as good as before. So five
years passed, and then a great sorrow came to the nation. The Chinese
look upon their Emperor as everything, and now he was ill, and not
likely to live it was said.
Already a new Emperor had been chosen, and the people stood outside in
the street and asked the First Lord how the old Emperor was. ‘P!’ said
he, and shook his head.
Cold and pale lay the Emperor in his splendid great bed; the whole
Court believed him dead, and one after the other left him to pay their
respects to the new Emperor. Everywhere in the halls and corridors
cloth was laid down so that no footstep could be heard, and everything
was still—very, very still. And nothing came to break the silence.
The Emperor longed for something to come and relieve the monotony of
this deathlike stillness. If only someone would speak to him! If only
someone would sing to him. Music would carry his thoughts away, and
would break the spell lying on him. The moon was streaming in at the
open window; but that, too, was silent, quite silent.
‘Music! music!’ cried the Emperor. ‘You little bright golden bird,
sing! do sing! I gave you gold and jewels; I have hung my gold slipper
round your neck with my own hand—sing! do sing!’ But the bird was
silent. There was no one to wind it up, and so it could not sing. And
all was silent, so terribly silent!
All at once there came in at the window the most glorious burst of
song. It was the little living Nightingale, who, sitting outside on a
bough, had heard the need of her Emperor and had come to sing to him
of comfort and hope. And as she sang the blood flowed quicker and
quicker in the Emperor’s weak limbs, and life began to return.
‘Thank you, thank you!’ said the Emperor. ‘You divine little bird! I
know you. I chased you from my kingdom, and you have given me life
again! How can I reward you?’
‘You have done that already!’ said the Nightingale. ‘I brought tears
to your eyes the first time I sang. I shall never forget that. They
are jewels that rejoice a singer’s heart. But now sleep and get strong
again; I will sing you a lullaby.’ And the Emperor fell into a deep,
calm sleep as she sang.
[Illustration: The true Nightingale sings to the Emperor]
The sun was shining through the window when he awoke, strong and well.
None of his servants had come back yet, for they thought he was dead.
But the Nightingale sat and sang to him.
‘You must always stay with me!’ said the Emperor. ‘You shall sing
whenever you like, and I will break the artificial bird into a
thousand pieces.’
‘Don’t do that!’ said the Nightingale. ‘He did his work as long as he
could. Keep him as you have done! I cannot build my nest in the Palace
and live here; but let me come whenever I like. I will sit in the
evening on the bough outside the window, and I will sing you something
that will make you feel happy and grateful. I will sing of joy, and of
sorrow; I will sing of the evil and the good which lies hidden from
you. The little singing-bird flies all around, to the poor fisherman’s
hut, to the farmer’s cottage, to all those who are far away from you
and your Court. I love your heart more than your crown, though that
has about it a brightness as of something holy. Now I will sing to you
again; but you must promise me one thing——’
‘Anything!’ said the Emperor, standing up in his Imperial robes, which
he had himself put on, and fastening on his sword richly embossed with
gold.
‘One thing I beg of you! Don’t tell anyone that you have a little bird
who tells you everything. It will be much better not to!’ Then the
Nightingale flew away.
The servants came in to look at their dead Emperor.
The Emperor said, ‘Good-morning!’
_HERMOD AND HADVOR_[32]
Once upon a time there were a King and a Queen who had an only
daughter, called Hadvor, who was fair and beautiful, and being an only
child, was heir to the kingdom. The King and Queen had also a foster
son, named Hermod, who was just about the same age as Hadvor, and was
good-looking, as well as clever at most things. Hermod and Hadvor
often played together while they were children, and liked each other
so much that while they were still young they secretly plighted their
troth to each other.
As time went on the Queen fell sick, and suspecting that it was her
last illness, sent for the King to come to her. When he came she told
him that she had no long time to live, and therefore wished to ask one
thing of him, which was, that if he married another wife he should
promise to take no other one than the Queen of Hetland the Good. The
King gave the promise, and thereafter the Queen died.
Time went past, and the King, growing tired of living alone, fitted
out his ship and sailed out to sea. As he sailed there came upon him
so thick a mist that he altogether lost his bearings, but after long
trouble he found land. There he laid his ship to, and went on shore
all alone. After walking for some time he came to a forest, into which
he went a little way and stopped. Then he heard sweet music from a
harp, and went in the direction of the sound until he came to a
clearing, and there he saw three women, one of whom sat on a golden
chair, and was beautifully and grandly dressed; she held a harp in her
hands, and was very sorrowful. The second was also finely dressed, but
younger in appearance, and also sat on a chair, but it was not so
grand as the first one’s. The third stood beside them, and was very
pretty to look at; she had a green cloak over her other clothes, and
it was easy to see that she was maid to the other two.
[Footnote 32: From the Icelandic.]
After the King had looked at them for a little he went forward and
saluted them. The one that sat on the golden chair asked him who he
was and where he was going; and he told her all the story—how he was
a king, and had lost his queen, and was now on his way to Hetland the
Good, to ask the Queen of that country in marriage. She answered that
fortune had contrived this wonderfully, for pirates had plundered
Hetland and killed the King, and she had fled from the land in terror,
and had come hither after great trouble, and she was the very person
he was looking for, and the others were her daughter and maid. The
King immediately asked her hand; she gladly received his proposal and
accepted him at once. Thereafter they all set out, and made their way
to the ship; and after that nothing is told of their voyage until the
King reached his own country. There he made a great feast, and
celebrated his marriage with this woman; and after that things are
quiet for a time.
Hermod and Hadvor took but little notice of the Queen and her
daughter, but, on the other hand, Hadvor and the Queen’s maid, whose
name was Olof, were very friendly, and Olof came often to visit Hadvor
in her castle. Before long the King went out to war, and no sooner was
he away than the Queen came to talk with Hermod, and said that she
wanted him to marry her daughter. Hermod told her straight and plain
that he would not do so, at which the Queen grew terribly angry, and
said that in that case neither should he have Hadvor, for she would
now lay this spell on him, that he should go to a desert island and
there be a lion by day and a man by night. He should also think always
of Hadvor, which would cause him all the more sorrow, and from this
spell he should never be freed until Hadvor burned the lion’s skin,
and that would not happen very soon.
As soon as the Queen had finished her speech Hermod replied that he
also laid a spell on her, and that was, that as soon as he was freed
from her enchantments she should become a rat and her daughter a
mouse, and fight with each other in the hall until he killed them with
his sword.
After this Hermod disappeared, and no one knew what had become of him;
the Queen caused search to be made for him, but he could nowhere be
found. One time, when Olof was in the castle beside Hadvor, she asked
the Princess if she knew where Hermod had gone to. At this Hadvor
became very sad, and said that she did not.
‘I shall tell you then,’ said Olof, ‘for I know all about it.
[Illustration: The King Finds the Queen of Hetland]
Hermod has disappeared through the wicked devices of the Queen, for
she is a witch, and so is her daughter, though they have put on these
beautiful forms. Because Hermod would not fall in with the Queen’s
plans, and marry her daughter, she has laid a spell on him, to go on
an island and be a lion by day and a man by night, and never be freed
from this until you burn the lion’s skin. Besides,’ said Olof, ‘she
has looked out a match for you; she has a brother in the Under-world,
a three-headed Giant, whom she means to turn into a beautiful prince
and get him married to you. This is no new thing for the Queen; she
took me away from my parents’ house and compelled me to serve her; but
she has never done me any harm, for the green cloak I wear protects me
against all mischief.’
Hadvor now became still sadder than before at the thought of the
marriage destined for her, and entreated Olof to think of some plan to
save her.
‘I think,’ said Olof, ‘that your wooer will come up through the floor
of the castle to you, and so you must be prepared when you hear the
noise of his coming and the floor begins to open, and have at hand
blazing pitch, and pour plenty of it into the opening. That will prove
too much for him.’
About this time the King came home from his expedition, and thought it
a great blow that no one knew what had become of Hermod; but the Queen
consoled him as best she could, and after a time the King thought less
about his disappearance.
Hadvor remained in her castle, and had made preparations to receive
her wooer when he came. One night, not long after, a loud noise and
rumbling was heard under the castle. Hadvor at once guessed what it
was, and told her maids to be ready to help her. The noise and
thundering grew louder and louder, until the floor began to open,
whereupon Hadvor made them take the cauldron of pitch and pour plenty
of it into the opening. With that the noises grew fainter and fainter,
till at last they ceased altogether.
Next morning the Queen rose early, and went out to the Palace gate,
and there she found her brother the Giant lying dead. She went up to
him and said, ‘I pronounce this spell, that you become a beautiful
prince, and that Hadvor shall be unable to say anything against the
charges that I shall bring against her.’
The body of the dead Giant now became that of a beautiful prince, and
the Queen went in again.
‘I don’t think,’ said she to the King, ‘that your daughter is as good
as she is said to be. My brother came and asked her hand, and she has
had him put to death. I have just found his dead body lying at the
Palace gate.’
The King went along with the Queen to see the body, and thought it all
very strange; so beautiful a youth, he said, would have been a worthy
match for Hadvor, and he would readily have agreed to their marriage.
The Queen asked leave to decide what Hadvor’s punishment should be,
which the King was very willing to allow, so as to escape from
punishing his own daughter. The Queen’s decision was that the King
should make a big grave-mound for her brother, and put Hadvor into it
beside him.
Olof knew all the plans of the Queen, and went to tell the Princess
what had been done, whereupon Hadvor earnestly entreated her to tell
her what to do.
‘First and foremost,’ said Olof, ‘you must get a wide cloak to wear
over your other clothes, when you are put into the mound. The Giant’s
ghost will walk after you are both left together in there, and he will
have two dogs along with him. He will ask you to cut pieces out of his
legs to give to the dogs, but that you must not promise to do unless
he tells you where Hermod has gone to, and tells you how to find him.
He will then let you stand on his shoulders, so as to get out of the
mound; but he means to cheat you all the same, and will catch you by
the cloak to pull you back again; but you must take care to have the
cloak loose on your shoulders, so that he will only get hold of that.’
The mound was all ready now, and the Giant laid in it, and into it
Hadvor also had to go without being allowed to make any defence. After
they were both left there everything happened just as Olof had said.
The prince became a Giant again, and asked Hadvor to cut the pieces
out of his legs for the dogs; but she refused until he told her that
Hermod was in a desert island, which she could not reach unless she
took the skin off the soles of his feet and made shoes out of that;
with these shoes she could travel both on land and sea. This Hadvor
now did, and the Giant then let her get up on his shoulders to get out
of the mound. As she sprang out he caught hold of her cloak; but she
had taken care to let it lie loose on her shoulders, and so escaped.
She now made her way down to the sea, to where she knew there was the
shortest distance over to the island in which Hermod was. This strait
she easily crossed, for the shoes kept her up. On reaching the island
she found a sandy beach all along by the sea, and high cliffs above.
Nor could she see any way to get up these, and so, being both sad at
heart and tired with the long journey, she lay down and fell asleep.
As she slept she dreamed that a tall woman came to her and said, ‘I
know that you are Princess Hadvor, and are searching for Hermod. He is
on this island; but it will be hard for you to get to him if you have
no one to help you, for you cannot climb the cliffs by your own
strength. I have therefore let down a rope, by which you will be able
to climb up; and as the island is so large that you might not find
Hermod’s dwelling-place so easily, I lay down this clew beside you.
You need only hold the end of the thread, and the clew will run on
before and show you the way. I also lay this belt beside you, to put
on when you awaken; it will keep you from growing faint with hunger.’
The woman now disappeared, and Hadvor woke, and saw that all her dream
had been true. The rope hung down from the cliff, and the clew and
belt lay beside her. The belt she put on, the rope enabled her to
climb up the cliff, and the clew led her on till she came to the mouth
of a cave, which was not very big. She went into the cave, and saw
there a low couch, under which she crept and lay down.