more importance!--one, two, three, now to the right!--one, two, three,
now to the left, round the chimneypot! That was very well; you managed
your wings so neatly last time, that I will permit you to come with me
to-morrow to the marsh: several first-rate stork families will be there
with their children. Let it be said that mine are the prettiest and best
behaved of all; and remember to stand very upright, and to throw out
your chest; that looks well, and gives such an air of distinction!’
‘But are we not to take revenge upon those rude boys?’ asked the young
ones.
‘Let them screech as much as they please! You will fly among the clouds,
you will go to the land of the pyramids, when they must shiver with
cold, and have not a single green leaf to look at, nor a single sweet
apple to eat!’
‘Yes, we shall be revenged!’ whispered they one to another. And then
they were drilled again.
Of all the boys in the town, the forwardest in singing nonsensical
verses was always the same one who had begun teasing the storks, a
little urchin not more than six years old. The young storks indeed
fancied him a hundred years old, because he was bigger than either
their father or mother, and what should they know about the ages of
children, or grown up human beings! All their schemes of revenge were
aimed at this little boy; he had been the first to tease them, and
continued to do so. The young storks were highly excited about it, and
the older they grew, the less they were inclined to endure persecution.
Their mother, in order to pacify them, at last promised that they should
be revenged, but not until the last day of their stay in this place.
‘We must first see how you behave yourselves at the grand exercise; if
then you should fly badly, and the general should thrust his beak into
your breast, the boys will, in some measure, be proved in the right. Let
me see how well you will behave!’
‘Yes, that you shall!’ said the young ones. And now they really took
great pains, practised every day, and at last flew so lightly and
prettily, that it was a pleasure to see them.
[Illustration: AND FETCH ONE FOR EACH OF THE BOYS]
Well, now came the autumn. All the storks assembled, in order to fly
together to warm countries for the winter. What a practising there was!
Away they went over woods and fields, towns and villages, merely to see
how well they could fly, for they had a long journey before them. The
young storks distinguished themselves so honourably that they were
pronounced ‘worthy of frogs and serpents.’ This was the highest
character
[Illustration]
they could obtain; now they were allowed to eat frogs and serpents, and
accordingly they did eat them.
‘Now we will have our revenge!’ said they.
‘Very well!’ said the mother; ‘I have been thinking what will be the
best. I know where the pool is in which all the little human children
lie until the storks come and take them to their parents: the pretty
little things sleep and dream so pleasantly as they will never dream
again. All parents like to have a little child, and all children like to
have a little brother or sister. We will fly to the pool and fetch one
for each of the boys who has not sung that wicked song, nor made a jest
of the storks; and the other naughty children shall have none.’
‘But he who first sung those naughty rhymes! that great ugly fellow!
what shall we do to him?’ cried the young storks.
‘In the pool there lies a little child who has dreamed away his life; we
will take it for him, and he will weep because he has only a little dead
brother. But as to the good boy who said it was a sin to mock and tease
animals, surely you have not forgotten him? We will bring him two little
ones, a brother and a sister. And as this little boy’s name is Peter,
you too shall for the future be called “Peter!”’
And it came to pass just as the mother said; and all the storks were
called ‘Peter,’ and are still so called to this very day.
[Illustration: ‘OH! HOW PRETTY THAT IS!’ HE WOULD SAY]
THE NIGHTINGALE
In China, as you well know, the Emperor is Chinese, and all around him
are Chinese also. Now what I am about to relate happened many years ago,
but even on that very account it is the more important that you should
hear the story now, before it is forgotten.
The Emperor’s palace was the most magnificent palace in the world; it
was made entirely of fine porcelain, exceedingly costly; but at the same
time so brittle, that it was dangerous even to touch it.
The choicest flowers were to be seen in the garden; and to the most
splendid of all these little silver bells were fastened, in order that
their tinkling might prevent any one from passing by without noticing
them. Yes! everything in the Emperor’s garden was excellently well
arranged; and the garden extended so far, that even the gardener did not
know the end of it; whoever walked beyond it, however, came to a
beautiful wood, with very high trees; and beyond that, to the sea. The
wood went down quite to the sea, which was very deep and blue; large
ships could sail close under the branches; and among the branches dwelt
a nightingale, who sang so sweetly, that even the poor fisherman, who
had so much else to do, when he came out at night-time to cast his nets,
would stand still and listen to her song. ‘Oh! how pretty that is!’ he
would say--but then he was obliged to mind his work, and forget the
bird; yet the following night, if again the nightingale sang, and the
fisherman came out, again he would say, ‘Oh! how pretty that is!’
Travellers came from all parts of the world to the Emperor’s city; and
they admired the city, the palace, and the garden; but if they heard the
nightingale, they all said, ‘This is the best.’ And they talked about
her after they went home, and learned men wrote books about the city,
the palace, and the garden; nor did they forget the nightingale: she was
extolled above everything else; and poets wrote the most beautiful
verses about the nightingale of the wood near the sea.
These books went round the world, and one of them at last reached the
Emperor. He was sitting in his golden arm-chair; he read and read, and
nodded his head every moment; for these splendid descriptions of the
city, the palace, and the garden pleased him greatly. ‘But the
nightingale is the best of all,’ was written in the book.
‘What in the world is this?’ said the Emperor. ‘The nightingale! I do
not know it at all! Can there be such a bird in my empire, in my garden
even, without my having even heard of it? Truly one may learn something
from books.’
So he called his Cavalier;[1] now this was so grand a personage, that no
one of inferior rank might speak to him; and if one did venture to ask
him a question, his only answer was ‘Pish!’ which has no particular
meaning.
[1] Gentleman in waiting.
‘There is said to be a very remarkable bird here, called the
nightingale,’ said the Emperor; ‘her song, they say, is worth more than
anything else in all my dominions; why has no one ever told me of her?’
‘I have never before heard her mentioned,’ said the Cavalier; ‘she has
never been presented at court.’
‘I wish her to come, and sing before me this evening,’ said the
Emperor. ‘The whole world knows what I have, and I do not know it
myself!’
‘I have never before heard her mentioned,’ said the Cavalier, ‘but I
will seek her, I will find her.’
But where was she to be found? The Cavalier ran up one flight of steps,
down another, through halls, and through passages; not one of all whom
he met had ever heard of the nightingale; and the Cavalier returned to
the Emperor, and said, ‘It must certainly be an invention of the man who
wrote the book. Your Imperial Majesty must not believe all that is
written in books; much in them is pure invention, and there is what is
called the Black Art.’
‘But the book in which I have read it,’ said the Emperor, ‘was sent me
by the high and mighty Emperor of Japan, and therefore it cannot be
untrue. I wish to hear the nightingale; she must be here this evening,
and if she do not come, after supper the whole court shall be flogged.’
‘Tsing-pe!’ said the Cavalier; and again he ran upstairs, and
downstairs, through halls, and through passages, and half the court ran
with him; for not one would have relished the flogging. Many were the
questions asked respecting the wonderful nightingale, whom the whole
world talked of, and about whom no one at court knew anything.
At last they met a poor little girl in the kitchen, who said, ‘Oh yes!
the nightingale! I know her very well. Oh! how she can sing! Every
evening I carry the fragments left at table to my poor sick mother. She
lives by the sea-shore; and when I am coming back, and stay to rest a
little in the wood, I hear the nightingale sing; it makes the tears come
into my eyes! it is just as if my mother kissed me.’
‘Little kitchen maiden,’ said the Cavalier, ‘I will procure for you a
sure appointment in the kitchen, together with permission to see His
Majesty the Emperor dine, if you will conduct us to the nightingale, for
she is expected at court this evening.’
So they went together to the wood, where the nightingale was accustomed
to sing; and half the court went with them. Whilst on their way, a cow
began to low.
‘Oh!’ said the court pages, ‘now we have her! It is certainly an
extraordinary voice for so small an animal; surely I have heard it
somewhere before.’
‘No, those are cows you hear lowing,’ said the little kitchen-maid, ‘we
are still far from the place.’
The frogs were now croaking in the pond.
‘That is famous!’ said the chief court-preacher, ‘now I hear her; it
sounds just like little church-bells.’
‘No, those are frogs,’ said the little kitchen-maid, ‘but now I think we
shall soon hear her.’
Then began the nightingale to sing.
‘There she is!’ said the little girl. ‘Listen! listen! there she sits,’
and she pointed to a little grey bird up in the branches.
‘Is it possible?’ said the Cavalier. ‘I should not have thought it. How
simple she looks! she must certainly have changed colour at the sight of
so many distinguished personages.’
‘Little nightingale!’ called out the kitchen-maid, ‘our gracious Emperor
wishes you to sing something to him.’
‘With the greatest pleasure,’ said the nightingale, and she sang in such
a manner that it was delightful to hear her.
‘It sounds like glass bells,’ said the Cavalier. ‘And look at her little
throat, how it moves! It is singular that we should never have heard her
before; she will have great success at court.’
[Illustration]
‘Shall I sing again to the Emperor?’ asked the nightingale, for she
thought the Emperor was among them.
‘Most excellent nightingale!’ said the Cavalier, ‘I have the honour to
invite you to a court festival, which is to take place this evening,
when His Imperial Majesty will be enchanted with your delightful song.’
[Illustration: AMONG THE BRANCHES DWELT A NIGHTINGALE]
‘My song would sound far better among the green trees,’ said the
nightingale; however, she followed willingly when she heard that the
Emperor wished it.
There was a regular trimming and polishing at the palace; the walls and
the floors, which were all of porcelain, glittered with a thousand gold
lamps; the loveliest flowers, with the merriest tinkling bells, were
placed in the passages; there was a running to and fro, which made all
the bells to ring, so that one could not hear his own words.
In the midst of the grand hall where the Emperor sat, a golden perch was
erected, on which the nightingale was to sit. The whole court was
present, and the little kitchen-maid received permission to stand behind
the door, for she had now actually the rank and title of ‘Maid of the
Kitchen.’ All were dressed out in their finest clothes; and all eyes
were fixed upon the little grey bird, to whom the Emperor nodded as a
signal for her to begin.
And the nightingale sang so sweetly, that tears came into the Emperor’s
eyes, tears rolled down his cheeks; and the nightingale sang more
sweetly still, and touched the hearts of all who heard her; and the
Emperor was so merry, that he said, ‘The nightingale should have his
golden slippers, and wear them round her neck.’ But the nightingale
thanked him, and said she was already sufficiently rewarded.
‘I have seen tears in the Emperor’s eyes; that is the greatest reward I
can have. The tears of an Emperor have a particular value. Heaven knows
I am sufficiently rewarded.’ And then she sang again with her sweet,
lovely voice.
‘It is the most amiable coquetry ever known,’ said the ladies present;
and they put water into their mouths, and tried to move their throats as
she did when they spoke; they thought to become nightingales also.
Indeed even the footmen and chamber-maids declared that they were quite
contented; which was a great thing to say, for of all people they are
the most difficult to satisfy. Yes indeed! the nightingale’s success was
complete. She was now to remain at court, to have her own cage; with
permission to fly out twice in the day, and once in the night. Twelve
attendants were allotted her, who were to hold a silken band, fastened
round her foot; and they kept good hold. There was no pleasure in
excursions made in this manner.
[Illustration: THEY ADMIRED THE CITY, THE PALACE, AND THE GARDEN]
All the city was talking of the wonderful bird; and when two persons
met, one would say only ‘night,’ and the other ‘gale,’ and then they
sighed, and understood each other perfectly; indeed eleven of the
children of the citizens were named after the nightingale, but none of
them had her tones in their throats.
One day a large parcel arrived for the Emperor, on which was written
‘Nightingale.’
‘Here we have another new book about our far-famed bird,’ said the
Emperor. But it was not a book; it was a little piece of mechanism,
lying in a box; an artificial nightingale, which was intended to look
like the living one, but was covered all over with diamonds, rubies, and
sapphires. When this artificial bird had been wound up, it could sing
one of the tunes that the real nightingale sang; and its tail, all
glittering with silver and gold, went up and down all the time. A little
band was fastened round its neck, on which was written, ‘The nightingale
of the Emperor of China is poor compared with the nightingale of the
Emperor of Japan.’
‘That is famous!’ said every one; and he who had brought the bird
obtained the title of ‘Chief Imperial Nightingale Bringer.’ ‘Now they
shall sing together; we will have a duet.’
And so they must sing together; but it did not succeed, for the real
nightingale sang in her own way, and the artificial bird produced its
tones by wheels. ‘It is not his fault,’ said the artist, ‘he keeps exact
time and quite according to method.’
So the artificial bird must now sing alone; he was quite as successful
as the real nightingale; and then he was so much prettier to look at;
his plumage sparkled like jewels.
Three and thirty times he sang one and the same tune, and yet he was not
weary; every one would willingly have heard
[Illustration: THE KITCHEN-MAID]
him again; however, the Emperor now wished the real nightingale should
sing something--but where was she? No one had remarked that she had
flown out of the open window; flown away to her own green wood.
‘What is the meaning of this?’ said the Emperor; and all the courtiers
abused the nightingale, and called her a most ungrateful creature. ‘We
have the best bird at all events,’ said they, and for the four and
thirtieth time they heard the same tune, but still they did not quite
know it, because it was so difficult. The artist praised the bird
inordinately; indeed he declared it was superior to the real
nightingale, not only in its exterior, all sparkling with diamonds, but
also intrinsically.
‘For see, my noble lords, his Imperial Majesty especially, with the real
nightingale, one could never reckon on what was coming; but everything
is settled with the artificial bird; he will sing in this one way, and
no other: this can be proved, he can be taken to pieces, and the works
can be shown, where the wheels lie, how they move, and how one follows
from another.’
‘That is just what I think,’ said everybody; and the artist received
permission to show the bird to the people on the following Sunday. ‘They
too should hear him sing,’ the Emperor said. So they heard him, and were
as well pleased as if they had all been drinking tea; for it is tea that
makes Chinese merry, and they all said oh! and raised their
fore-fingers, and nodded their heads. But the fisherman, who had heard
the real nightingale, said, ‘It sounds very pretty, almost like the real
bird; but yet there is something wanting, I do not know what.’
The real nightingale was, however, banished the empire.
The artificial bird had his place on a silken cushion, close to the
Emperor’s bed; all the presents he received, gold and precious stones,
lay around him; he had obtained the rank and title of ‘High Imperial
Dessert Singer,’ and, therefore, his place was number one on the left
side; for the Emperor thought that the side where the heart was situated
must be the most honourable, and the heart is situated on the left side
of an Emperor, as well as with other folks.
And the artist wrote five and twenty volumes about the artificial bird,
with the longest and most difficult words that are to be found in the
Chinese language. So, of course, all said they had read and understood
them, otherwise they would have been stupid, and perhaps would have been
flogged.
Thus it went on for a year. The Emperor, the court, and all the Chinese
knew every note of the artificial bird’s song by heart; but that was the
very reason they enjoyed it so much, they could now sing with him. The
little boys in the street sang ‘Zizizi, cluck, cluck, cluck!’ and the
Emperor himself sang too--yes indeed, that was charming!
But one evening, when the bird was in full voice, and the Emperor lay in
bed, and listened, there was suddenly a noise, ‘bang,’ inside the bird,
then something sprang ‘fur-r-r-r,’ all the wheels were running about,
and the music stopped.
The Emperor jumped quickly out of bed, and had his chief physician
called; but of what use could he be? Then a clockmaker was fetched, and
at last, after a great deal of discussion and consultation, the bird was
in some measure put to rights again; but the clockmaker said he must be
spared much singing, for the pegs were almost worn out, and it was
impossible to renew them, at least so that the music should be correct.
There was great lamentation, for now the artificial bird was allowed to
sing only once a year, and even then there were difficulties; however,
the artist made a short speech full of his favourite long words, and
said the bird was as good as ever: so then, of course, it was as good as
ever.
When five years were passed away, a great affliction visited the whole
empire, for in their hearts the people thought highly of their Emperor;
and now he was ill, and it was reported that he could not live. A new
Emperor had already been chosen, and the people stood in the street,
outside the palace, and asked the Cavalier how the Emperor was?
[Illustration: THE CHIEF IMPERIAL NIGHTINGALE BRINGER]
‘Pish!’ said he, and shook his head.
Cold and pale lay the Emperor in his magnificent bed; all the court
believed him to be already dead, and every one had hastened away to
greet the new Emperor; the men ran out for a little gossip on the
subject, and the maids were having a grand coffee-party.
The floors of all the rooms and passages were covered with cloth, in
order that not a step should be heard--it was everywhere so still! so
still! But the Emperor was not yet dead; stiff and pale he lay in his
splendid bed, with the long velvet curtains, and heavy gold tassels. A
window was opened above, and the moon shone down on the Emperor and the
artificial bird.
The poor Emperor could scarcely breathe; it appeared to him as though
something was sitting on his chest; he opened his eyes, and saw that it
was Death, who had put on the Emperor’s crown, and with one hand held
the golden scimitar, with the other the splendid imperial banner;
whilst, from under the folds of the thick velvet hangings, the
strangest-looking heads were seen peering forth; some with an expression
absolutely hideous, and others with an extremely gentle and lovely
aspect: they were the bad and good deeds of the Emperor, which were now
all fixing their eyes upon him, whilst Death sat on his heart.
‘Dost thou know this?’ they whispered one after another. ‘Dost thou
remember that?’ And they began reproaching him in such a manner that the
sweat broke out upon his forehead.
‘I have never known anything like it,’ said the Emperor. ‘Music, music,
the great Chinese drum!’ cried he; ‘let me not hear what they are
saying.’
They went on, however; and Death, quite in the Chinese fashion, nodded
his head to every word.
‘Music, music!’ cried the Emperor. ‘Thou dear little artificial bird!
sing, I pray thee, sing!--I have given thee gold and precious stones, I
have even hung my golden slippers round thy neck--sing, I pray thee,
sing!’
But the bird was silent; there was no one there to wind him up, and he
could not sing without this. Death continued to stare at the Emperor
with his great hollow eyes! and everywhere it was still, fearfully
still!
All at once the sweetest song was heard from the window; it was the
little living nightingale who was sitting on a branch outside--she had
heard of her Emperor’s severe illness, and was come to sing to him of
comfort and hope. As she sang, the spectral forms became paler and
paler, the blood flowed more and more quickly through the Emperor’s
feeble members, and even Death listened and said, ‘Go on, little
nightingale, go on.’
‘Wilt thou give me the splendid gold scimitar? Wilt thou give me the gay
banner, and the Emperor’s crown?’
And Death gave up all these treasures for a song; and the nightingale
sang on: she sang of the quiet churchyard, where white roses blossom,
where the lilac sends forth its fragrance, and the fresh grass is
bedewed with the tears of the sorrowing friends of the departed. Then
Death was seized with a longing after his garden, and like a cold white
shadow, flew out at the window.
‘Thanks, thanks,’ said the Emperor, ‘thou heavenly little bird, I know
thee well. I have banished thee from my realm, and thou hast sung away
those evil faces from my bed, and Death from my heart; how shall I
reward thee?’
‘Thou hast already rewarded me,’ said the nightingale; ‘I have seen
tears in thine eyes, as when I sang to thee for the first time: those I
shall never forget, they are jewels which do so much good to a
minstrel’s heart! but sleep now, and wake fresh and healthy; I will sing
thee to sleep.’
And she sang--and the Emperor fell into a sweet sleep. Oh, how soft and
kindly was that sleep!
The sun shone in at the window when he awoke, strong and healthy. Not
one of his servants had returned, for they all believed him dead; but
the nightingale still sat and sang.
[Illustration: HE WAS QUITE AS SUCCESSFUL AS THE REAL NIGHTINGALE]
‘Thou shalt always stay with me,’ said the Emperor, ‘thou shalt only
sing when it pleases thee, and the artificial bird I will break into a
thousand pieces.’
‘Do not so,’ said the nightingale; ‘truly he has done what he could;
take care of him. I cannot stay in the palace; but let me come when I
like: I will sit on the branches close to the window, in the evening,
and sing to thee, that thou mayest become happy and thoughtful. I will
sing to thee of the joyful and the sorrowing, I will sing to thee of all
that is good or bad, which is concealed from thee. The little minstrel
flies afar to the fisherman’s hut, to the peasant’s cottage, to all who
are far distant from thee and thy court. I love thy heart more than thy
crown, and yet the crown has an odour of something holy about it. I will
come, I will sing. But thou must promise me one thing.’
‘Everything,’ said the Emperor. And now he stood in his imperial
splendour, which he had put on himself, and held the scimitar so heavy
with gold to his heart. ‘One thing I beg of thee: let no one know that
thou hast a little bird, who tells thee everything, then all will go on
well.’ And the nightingale flew away.
The attendants came in to look at their dead Emperor. Lo! there they
stood--and the Emperor said, ‘Good-morning!’
[Illustration: THE WILD SWANS]
THE WILD SWANS