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Title: The Nightingale
Author: Hans Christian Andersen
Translator: H. W. Dulcken
Illustrator: Mary J. Newill
Release Date: July 2, 2023 [eBook #71096]
Language: English
Credits: Sonya Schermann and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at
https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images
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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE NIGHTINGALE ***
Transcriber’s Note
When blackletter font was used in the original book, the corresponding
text has been surrounded by _underscores_.
Some corrections have been made to the printed text. These are listed in
a second transcriber’s note at the end of the text.
The Nightingale
BY HANS ANDERSEN
NEW YORK: R. H. RUSSELL, MDCCCXCVIII
[Illustration: Illustrated title page]
COPYRIGHT, 1895, BY D. B. UPDIKE. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.
Note
In this Merrymount Edition of Hans Andersen’s story, the translation of
H. W. Dulcken is followed. The illustrations are by Mary J. Newill of
Birmingham.
The Nightingale
BEING A STORY FOR CHILDREN AND A PARABLE FOR MEN AND WOMEN.
In China, you must know, the Emperor is a Chinaman, and all whom he has
about him are Chinamen too. It happened a good many years ago, but
that’s just why it’s worth while to hear the story before it’s
forgotten! The Emperor’s Palace was the most splendid in the World; it
was made entirely of porcelain, very costly, but so delicate and brittle
that one had to take care how one touched it. In the Garden were to be
seen the most wonderful flowers, and to the costliest of them silver
bells were tied, which sounded, so that nobody should pass by without
noticing the flowers. Yes, every thing in the Emperor’s Garden was
admirably arranged. And it extended so far, that the Gardener himself
did not know where the end was. If a man went on and on, he came into a
glorious forest with high trees and deep lakes. The wood extended
straight down to the sea, which was blue and deep; great vessels could
sail beneath the branches of the trees, and in the trees lived a
Nightingale, which sang so splendidly that even the poor Fisherman, who
had many other things to do, stopped still and listened, when he had
gone out at night to throw out his nets, and heard the Nightingale. “How
beautiful that is!” he said; but he was obliged to attend to his
property and thus forgot the bird. But when in the next night, the bird
sang again and the Fisherman heard it, he exclaimed again, “How
beautiful that is!”
From all the countries of the World, Travellers came to the City of the
Emperor and admired it, and the Palace and the Garden, but when they
heard the song of the Nightingale, they said: “That is the best of all!”
And the Travellers told of it when they came home; and the learned men
wrote many books about the Town, the Palace, and the Garden. But they
did not forget the Nightingale; that was placed highest of all; and
those who were Poets wrote most magnificent poems about the Nightingale
in the wood, by the deep lake. The books went through all the World; and
a few of them once came to the Emperor. He sat in his golden chair, and
read, and read; every moment he nodded his head, for it pleased him to
peruse the masterly descriptions of the City, the Palace, and the
Garden. “But the Nightingale is the best of all!” it stood written
there. “What’s that? exclaimed the Emperor.” “I do not know the
Nightingale at all! Is there such a bird in my Garden? I’ve never heard
of that: to learn such a thing for the first time from books!” And
hereupon he called his Cavalier. This Cavalier was so grand that if any
one lower in rank than himself dared to speak to him, or to ask him any
question, he answered nothing but P! and that meant nothing.
[Illustration: Image of Garden]
“There is said to be a wonderful bird here called a Nightingale!” said
the Emperor. “They say it’s the best thing in all my great Empire. Why
have I never heard any thing about it?” “I have never heard him named,”
replied the Cavalier. “He has never been introduced at Court.” “I
command that he shall appear this evening, and sing before me,” said the
Emperor. “All the world knows what I possess, and I do not know it
myself!” “I have never heard him mentioned,” said the Cavalier. “I will
seek for him. I will find him.” But where was he to be found? The
Cavalier ran up and down all the staircases, through halls and passages,
but no one among all those whom he met had heard talk of the
Nightingale. And the Cavalier ran back to the Emperor, and said that it
must be a fable invented by the writers of books. “Your Imperial Majesty
cannot believe how much is written that is fiction, and something that
they call the black art.” “But the book in which I read this,” said the
Emperor, “was sent to me by the High and Mighty Emperor of Japan, and
therefore it cannot be a falsehood. I will hear the Nightingale! It must
be here this evening! It has my imperial favour! and if it does not
come, all the Court shall be trampled upon after the Court has supped!”
“Tsing-pe,” said the Cavalier; and again he ran up and down all the
staircases, and through all the halls and corridors; and half the Court
ran with him, for the Courtiers did not like being trampled upon.
Then there was a great inquiry after the wonderful Nightingale, which
all the World knew, excepting the people at Court. At last they met with
a poor little Girl in the kitchen, who said, “The Nightingale? I know it
well; yes, it can sing gloriously. Every evening I get leave to carry my
poor sick mother the scraps from the table. She lives down by the
strand, and when I get back and am tired, and rest in the wood, then I
hear the Nightingale sing! And then the water comes into my eyes, and it
is just as if my mother kissed me.” “Little Kitchen-Girl,” said the
Cavalier, “I will get you a place in the kitchen, with permission to see
the Emperor dine, if you will lead us to the Nightingale, for it is
announced for this evening.”
So they all went out into the wood where the Nightingale was accustomed
to sing; half the Court went forth. When they were in the midst of their
journey a cow began to low. “Oh!” cried the court pages, “now we have
it! That shows a wonderful power in so small a creature! I have
certainly heard it before.” “No; those are cows lowing,” said the little
Kitchen-Girl. “We are a long way from the place yet.” Now the frogs
began to quack in the marsh. “Glorious!” said the Chinese Court
Preacher. “Now I hear it: it sounds just like little church bells.” “No;
those are frogs,” said the little Kitchen-Maid. “But now I think we
shall soon hear it.” And then the Nightingale began to sing.
[Illustration: Image of forest]
“That is it!” exclaimed the little Girl. “Listen, listen! and yonder it
sits,” and she pointed to a little gray bird up in the boughs. “Is it
possible?” cried the Cavalier. “I should never have thought it looked
like that. How simple it looks! It must certainly have lost its colour
at seeing such grand people around.” “Little Nightingale!” called the
little Kitchen-Girl, quite loudly, “our gracious Emperor wishes you to
sing before him.” “With the greatest pleasure!” replied the Nightingale,
and began to sing most delightfully. “It sounds just like glass bells!”
said the Cavalier. “And look at the little throat, how it’s working!
It’s wonderful that we should never have heard it before. That bird will
be a great success at Court.” “Shall I sing once more before the
Emperor?” asked the Nightingale, for it thought the Emperor was present.
“My excellent little Nightingale,” said the Cavalier, “I have great
pleasure in inviting you to a Court festival this evening, when you
shall charm his Imperial Majesty with your beautiful singing.” “My song
sounds best in the green wood!” replied the Nightingale; still it came
willingly when it heard what the Emperor wished.
The Palace was festively adorned. The walls and the flooring, which were
of porcelain, gleamed in the rays of thousands of golden lamps. The most
glorious flowers, which could ring clearly, had been placed in the
passages. There was a running to and fro, and a through draught, and all
the bells rang so loudly that one could not hear one’s self speak. In
the midst of the great hall, where the Emperor sat, a golden perch had
been placed, on which the Nightingale was to sit. The whole Court was
there, and the little Cook-Maid had got leave to stand behind the door,
as she had now received the title of a real Court cook. All were in full
dress, and all looked at the little gray bird, to which the Emperor
nodded.
And the Nightingale sang so gloriously that the tears came into the
Emperor’s eyes. The tears ran down over his cheeks, and then the
Nightingale sang still more sweetly; that went straight to the heart.
The Emperor was so much pleased that he said the Nightingale should have
his golden slipper to wear round its neck. But the Nightingale declined
this with thanks, saying it had already received a sufficient reward. “I
have seen tears in the Emperor’s eyes; that is the real treasure to me!
An Emperor’s tears have a peculiar power. I am rewarded enough.” And
then it sang again with a sweet, glorious voice.
“That’s the most amiable coquetry I ever saw!” said the Ladies who stood
round about, and then they took water in their mouths to gurgle when any
one spoke to them. They thought they should be nightingales too. And the
lackeys and chambermaids reported that they were satisfied too; and that
was saying a good deal, for they are the most difficult to please. In
short the Nightingale achieved a real success. It was now to remain at
Court, to have its own cage, with liberty to go out twice every day and
once at night. Twelve servants were appointed when the Nightingale went
out, each of whom had a silken string fastened to the bird’s leg, and
which they held very tight. There was really no pleasure in an excursion
of that kind. The whole City spoke of the wonderful bird, and when two
people met, one said nothing but _Nightin_, and the other said _gale_;
and then they sighed, and understood one another. Eleven pedlar’s
children were named after the bird, but not one of them could sing a
note.
One day the Emperor received a large parcel, on which was written “The
Nightingale.” “There we have a new book about this celebrated bird,”
said the Emperor. But it was not a book, but a little work of art,
contained in a box; an artificial nightingale, which was to be like a
natural one, but was brilliantly ornamented with diamonds, rubies, and
sapphires. So soon as the artificial bird was wound up, he could sing
one of the pieces that he really sang, and then his tail moved up and
down, and shone with silver and gold. Round his neck hung a little
ribbon, and on that was written, _The Emperor of Japan’s nightingale is
poor, compared to that of the Emperor of China._ “That is capital!” said
they all, and he who had brought the artificial bird, immediately
received the title, Imperial Head-Nightingale-Bringer. “Now they must
sing together; what a duet that will be!” And so they had to sing
together; but it did not go very well, for the real Nightingale sang in
its own way, and the artificial bird sang waltzes. “That’s not his
fault,” said the Playmaster, “he’s quite perfect, and very much in my
style.” Now the artificial bird was to sing alone. He had just as much
success as the real one, and then it was much handsomer to look at; it
shone like bracelets and breastpins. Three-and-thirty times over did it
sing the same piece, and yet it was not tired. The people would gladly
have heard it again, but the Emperor said that the living Nightingale
ought to sing something now. But where was it? No one had noticed that
it had flown away out of the open window, back to the green wood.
“But what is that!” said the Emperor. And all the courtiers abused the
Nightingale, and declared that it was a very ungrateful creature. “We
have the best bird after all,” said they, and so the artificial bird had
to sing again, and that was the thirty-fourth time that they listened to
the same piece. For all that they did not know it quite by heart, for it
was so very difficult, and the Playmaster praised the bird particularly;
yes, he declared that it was better than a Nightingale, not only with
regard to its plumage, and the many beautiful diamonds, but inside as
well. “For you see, ladies and gentlemen, and above all, your Imperial
Majesty, with a real Nightingale one can never calculate what is coming,
but in this artificial bird every thing is settled. One can explain it;
one can open it and make people understand where the waltzes come from,
how they go, and how one follows upon another.”
[Illustration: Image of Court]
“Those are quite our own ideas,” they all said, and the speaker received
permission to show the bird to the people on the next Sunday. The people
were to hear it sing too, the Emperor commanded, and they did hear it,
and were as much pleased as if they had all got tipsy upon tea, for
that’s quite the Chinese fashion; and they all said “Oh!” and held up
their forefingers and nodded. But the poor Fisherman, who had heard the
real Nightingale, said, “It sounds pretty enough and the melodies
resemble each other, but there’s something wanting, and I know not
what!” The real Nightingale was banished from the country and Empire.
The artificial bird had its place on a silken cushion, close to the
Emperor’s bed; all the presents it had received, gold and precious
stones, were ranged about; in title it had advanced to be the High
Imperial After-Dinner-Singer, and in rank to number one on the left
hand; for the Emperor considered that side the most important on which
the heart is placed, and even in an Emperor the heart is on the left
side; and the Playmaster wrote a work of five-and-twenty volumes about
the artificial bird; it was very learned and very long, full of the most
difficult Chinese words; but yet all the people declared that they had
read it, and understood it, for fear of being considered stupid, and
having their bodies trampled on. So a whole year went by. The Emperor,
the Court, and all the other Chinese knew every little twitter in the
artificial bird’s song, by heart. But just for that reason it pleased
them best; they could sing it with themselves, and they did so. The
street-boys sang “Tsi-tsi-tsi-glug-glug,” and the Emperor himself sung
it too. Yes, that was certainly famous!
But one evening, when the artificial bird was singing its best, and when
the Emperor lay in bed listening to it, something inside the bird said
“Whiz!” Something cracked. “Whirr!” All the wheels ran around, and then
the music stopped. The Emperor immediately sprang out of bed, and caused
his Body Physician to be called; but what could he do? Then they sent
for a Watchmaker, and after a good deal of talking and investigation,
the bird was put into something like order; but the Watchmaker said that
the bird must be carefully treated, for the barrels were worn, and it
would be impossible to put new ones in, in such a manner that the music
would go. There was a great lamentation; only once in a year was it
permitted to let the bird sing, and that was almost too much. But then
the Playmaster made a little speech, full of heavy words, and said this
was just as good as before, and so of course it was as good as before.
Now five years had gone by, and a real grief came upon the whole Nation.
The Chinese really were fond of their Emperor, and now he was ill, and
could not, it was said, live much longer. Already a new Emperor had been
chosen, and the people stood out in the street and asked the Cavalier
how their old Emperor did. P! said he, and shook his head.
Cold and pale lay the Emperor in his great gorgeous bed; the whole Court
thought him dead, and each one ran to pay homage to the new ruler. The
Chamberlains ran out to talk it over, and the Ladies’ Maids had a great
coffee-party. All about, in all the halls and passages, cloth had been
laid down, so that no footstep could be heard, and therefore it was
quiet there, quite quiet. But the Emperor was not dead yet; stiff and
pale he lay on the gorgeous bed with the long velvet curtains and the
heavy gold tassels; high up, a window stood open, and the moon shone in
upon the Emperor and the artificial bird.
The poor Emperor could scarcely breathe; it was just as if something lay
upon his chest; he opened his eyes, and then he saw that it was Death,
who sat upon his chest, and had put on his golden crown, and held in one
hand the Emperor’s sword and in the other his beautiful banner. And all
around, from among the folds of the splendid velvet curtains, strange
heads peered forth; a few very ugly, the rest quite lovely and mild.
These were all the Emperor’s bad and good deeds, that stood before him
now that Death sat upon his heart. “Do you remember this?” whispered one
to the other. “Do you remember that?” and then they told him so much
that the perspiration ran from his forehead. “I did not know that!” said
the Emperor. “Music! music! the great Chinese drum!” he cried, “so that
I need not hear all they say!” and they continued speaking, and Death
nodded like a Chinaman to all they said. “Music! music!” cried the
Emperor. “You little precious golden bird, sing, sing! I have given you
gold and costly presents; I have even hung my golden slipper around your
neck; sing, now, sing!” But the bird stood still; no one was there to
wind him up, and he could not sing without that; but Death continued to
stare at the Emperor with his great hollow eyes, and it was quiet,
fearfully quiet!
[Illustration: Image of house]
Then there sounded from the window, suddenly, the most lovely song. It
was the little live Nightingale, that sat outside on a spray. It had
heard of the Emperor’s sad plight and had come to sing to him of comfort
and hope. And as it sung the spectres grew paler and paler; the blood
ran quicker and more quickly through the Emperor’s weak limbs, and even
Death listened, and said, “Go on, little Nightingale, go on!” “But will
you give me that splendid golden sword? Will you give me that rich
banner? Will you give me the Emperor’s crown?” And Death gave up each of
these treasures for a song. And the Nightingale sang on and on; and it
sung of the quiet Churchyard where the white roses grow, where the
elder-blossom smells sweet, and where the fresh grass is moistened by
the tears of survivors. Then Death felt a longing to see his Garden, and
floated out at the window in the form of a cold white mist.
“Thanks, thanks!” said the Emperor. “You heavenly little bird! I know
you well! I banished you from my Country and Empire, and yet you have
charmed away the evil faces from my couch, and banished Death from my
heart! How can I reward you?”
“You have rewarded me,” replied the Nightingale. “I have drawn tears
from your eyes, when I sang the first time; I shall never forget that.
These are the jewels that rejoice a singer’s heart; but now sleep and
grow fresh and strong again; I will sing you something.” And it sang,
and the Emperor fell into a sweet slumber. Ah! how mild and refreshing
that sleep was. The sun shone upon him through the windows, when he
awoke refreshed and restored; not one of his servants had yet returned,
for they all thought he was dead; only the Nightingale still sat beside
him and sang.
“You must always stay with me,” said the Emperor. “You shall sing as you
please; and I’ll break the artificial bird into a thousand pieces.” “Not
so,” replied the Nightingale. “It did well so long as it could; keep it
as you have done till now. I cannot build my nest in the Palace to dwell
in it, but let me come when I feel the wish; then I will sit in the
evening on the spray yonder by the window, and sing you something so
that you may be glad and thoughtful at once. And I will sing of those
who are happy, and of those who suffer. I will sing of good and of evil
that remains hidden round about you. The little singing-bird flies far
around, to the poor Fisherman, to the Peasant’s roof, to every one who
dwells far away from you and from your Court. I love your heart more
than your crown, and yet the crown has an air of sanctity about it; I
come, I shall sing to you; but one thing you must promise me.” “Every
thing!” said the Emperor; and he stood there in his imperial robes,
which he had put on himself, and pressed the sword which was heavy with
gold to his heart.
“One thing I beg of you; tell no one that you have a little bird that
tells you everything. Then it will go all the better.” And the
Nightingale flew away. The servants came in to look to their dead
Emperor—and—yes, there they stood, and the Emperor said, “Good-morning.”
The End
ARRANGED AND PRINTED BY D. B. UPDIKE
The Merrymount Press
AT 104 CHESTNUT STREET, BOSTON, U. S. A.
Transcriber’s Note
Some corrections have been made, including fixing punctuation. The
following correction has been made to the text:
p. 7: And look at the little throat, how its working -> And look at the
little throat, how it’s working
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