ENGLISH

The Nightingale

DANSK

Nattergalen


In China, you know, the emperor is a Chinese, and all those about him are Chinamen also. The story I am going t tell you happened a great many years ago, so it is well to hear it now before it is forgotten. The emperor's palac was the most beautiful in the world. It was built entirely of porcelain, and very costly, but so delicate and brittle tha whoever touched it was obliged to be careful. In the garden could be seen the most singular flowers, with prett silver bells tied to them, which tinkled so that every one who passed could not help noticing the flowers. Indeed everything in the emperor's garden was remarkable, and it extended so far that the gardener himself did not kno where it ended. Those who travelled beyond its limits knew that there was a noble forest, with lofty trees, slopin down to the deep blue sea, and the great ships sailed under the shadow of its branches. In one of these trees live a nightingale, who sang so beautifully that even the poor fishermen, who had so many other things to do, woul stop and listen. Sometimes, when they went at night to spread their nets, they would hear her sing, and say, "Oh, i not that beautiful?" But when they returned to their fishing, they forgot the bird until the next night. Then they woul hear it again, and exclaim "Oh, how beautiful is the nightingale's song!

Travellers from every country in the world came to the city of the emperor, which they admired very much, as well as the palace and gardens; but when they heard the nightingale, they all declared it to be the best of all.

And the travellers, on their return home, related what they had seen; and learned men wrote books, containing descriptions of the town, the palace, and the gardens; but they did not forget the nightingale, which was really the greatest wonder. And those who could write poetry composed beautiful verses about the nightingale, who lived in a forest near the deep sea.

The books travelled all over the world, and some of them came into the hands of the emperor; and he sat in his golden chair, and, as he read, he nodded his approval every moment, for it pleased him to find such a beautiful description of his city, his palace, and his gardens. But when he came to the words, "the nightingale is the most beautiful of all," he exclaimed:

"What is this? I know nothing of any nightingale. Is there such a bird in my empire? and even in my garden? I have never heard of it. Something, it appears, may be learnt from books."

Then he called one of his lords-in-waiting, who was so high-bred, that when any in an inferior rank to himself spoke to him, or asked him a question, he would answer, "Pooh," which means nothing.

"There is a very wonderful bird mentioned here, called a nightingale," said the emperor; "they say it is the best thing in my large kingdom. Why have I not been told of it?"

"I have never heard the name," replied the cavalier; "she has not been presented at court."

"It is my pleasure that she shall appear this evening." said the emperor; "the whole world knows what I possess better than I do myself."

"I have never heard of her," said the cavalier; "yet I will endeavor to find her."

But where was the nightingale to be found? The nobleman went up stairs and down, through halls and passages; yet none of those whom he met had heard of the bird. So he returned to the emperor, and said that it must be a fable, invented by those who had written the book. "Your imperial majesty," said he, "cannot believe everything contained in books; sometimes they are only fiction, or what is called the black art."

"But the book in which I have read this account," said the emperor, "was sent to me by the great and mighty emperor of Japan, and therefore it cannot contain a falsehood. I will hear the nightingale, she must be here this evening; she has my highest favor; and if she does not come, the whole court shall be trampled upon after supper is ended."

"Tsing-pe!" cried the lord-in-waiting, and again he ran up and down stairs, through all the halls and corridors; and half the court ran with him, for they did not like the idea of being trampled upon. There was a great inquiry about this wonderful nightingale, whom all the world knew, but who was unknown to the court.

At last they met with a poor little girl in the kitchen, who said, "Oh, yes, I know the nightingale quite well; indeed, she can sing. Every evening I have permission to take home to my poor sick mother the scraps from the table; she lives down by the sea-shore, and as I come back I feel tired, and I sit down in the wood to rest, and listen to the nightingale's song. Then the tears come into my eyes, and it is just as if my mother kissed me."

"Little maiden," said the lord-in-waiting, "I will obtain for you constant employment in the kitchen, and you shall have permission to see the emperor dine, if you will lead us to the nightingale; for she is invited for this evening to the palace."

So she went into the wood where the nightingale sang, and half the court followed her. As they went along, a cow began lowing.

"Oh," said a young courtier, "now we have found her; what wonderful power for such a small creature; I have certainly heard it before."

"No, that is only a cow lowing," said the little girl; "we are a long way from the place yet."

Then some frogs began to croak in the marsh.

"Beautiful," said the young courtier again. "Now I hear it, tinkling like little church bells."

"No, those are frogs," said the little maiden; "but I think we shall soon hear her now:"

And presently the nightingale began to sing.

"Hark, hark! there she is," said the girl, "and there she sits," she added, pointing to a little gray bird who was perched on a bough.

"Is it possible?" said the lord-in-waiting, "I never imagined it would be a little, plain, simple thing like that. She has certainly changed color at seeing so many grand people around her."

"Little nightingale," cried the girl, raising her voice, "our most gracious emperor wishes you to sing before him."

"With the greatest pleasure," said the nightingale, and began to sing most delightfully.

"It sounds like tiny glass bells," said the lord-in-waiting, "and see how her little throat works. It is surprising that we have never heard this before; she will be a great success at court."

"Shall I sing once more before the emperor?" asked the nightingale, who thought he was present.

"My excellent little nightingale," said the courtier, "I have the great pleasure of inviting you to a court festival this evening, where you will gain imperial favor by your charming song."

"My song sounds best in the green wood," said the bird; but still she came willingly when she heard the emperor's wish.

The palace was elegantly decorated for the occasion. The walls and floors of porcelain glittered in the light of a thousand lamps. Beautiful flowers, round which little bells were tied, stood in the corridors: what with the running to and fro and the draught, these bells tinkled so loudly that no one could speak to be heard.

In the centre of the great hall, a golden perch had been fixed for the nightingale to sit on. The whole court was present, and the little kitchen-maid had received permission to stand by the door. She was not installed as a real court cook. All were in full dress, and every eye was turned to the little gray bird when the emperor nodded to her to begin.

The nightingale sang so sweetly that the tears came into the emperor's eyes, and then rolled down his cheeks, as her song became still more touching and went to every one's heart. The emperor was so delighted that he declared the nightingale should have his gold slipper to wear round her neck, but she declined the honor with thanks: she had been sufficiently rewarded already.

"I have seen tears in an emperor's eyes," she said, "that is my richest reward. An emperor's tears have wonderful power, and are quite sufficient honor for me;" and then she sang again more enchantingly than ever.

"That singing is a lovely gift;" said the ladies of the court to each other; and then they took water in their mouths to make them utter the gurgling sounds of the nightingale when they spoke to any one, so thay they might fancy themselves nightingales. And the footmen and chambermaids also expressed their satisfaction, which is saying a great deal, for they are very difficult to please. In fact the nightingale's visit was most successful.

She was now to remain at court, to have her own cage, with liberty to go out twice a day, and once during the night. Twelve servants were appointed to attend her on these occasions, who each held her by a silken string fastened to her leg. There was certainly not much pleasure in this kind of flying.

The whole city spoke of the wonderful bird, and when two people met, one said "nightin," and the other said "gale," and they understood what was meant, for nothing else was talked of. Eleven peddlers' children were named after her, but not of them could sing a note.

One day the emperor received a large packet on which was written "The Nightingale."

"Here is no doubt a new book about our celebrated bird," said the emperor. But instead of a book, it was a work of art contained in a casket, an artificial nightingale made to look like a living one, and covered all over with diamonds, rubies, and sapphires. As soon as the artificial bird was wound up, it could sing like the real one, and could move its tail up and down, which sparkled with silver and gold. Round its neck hung a piece of ribbon, on which was written "The Emperor of China's nightingale is poor compared with that of the Emperor of Japan's."

"This is very beautiful," exclaimed all who saw it, and he who had brought the artificial bird received the title of "Imperial nightingale-bringer-in-chief."

"Now they must sing together," said the court, "and what a duet it will be."

But they did not get on well, for the real nightingale sang in its own natural way, but the artificial bird sang only waltzes. "That is not a fault," said the music-master, "it is quite perfect to my taste," so then it had to sing alone, and was as successful as the real bird; besides, it was so much prettier to look at, for it sparkled like bracelets and breast-pins.

Thirty three times did it sing the same tunes without being tired; the people would gladly have heard it again, but the emperor said the living nightingale ought to sing something. But where was she? No one had noticed her when she flew out at the open window, back to her own green woods.

"What strange conduct," said the emperor, when her flight had been discovered; and all the courtiers blamed her, and said she was a very ungrateful creature. "But we have the best bird after all," said one, and then they would have the bird sing again, although it was the thirty-fourth time they had listened to the same piece, and even then they had not learnt it, for it was rather difficult. But the music-master praised the bird in the highest degree, and even asserted that it was better than a real nightingale, not only in its dress and the beautiful diamonds, but also in its musical power.

"For you must perceive, my chief lord and emperor, that with a real nightingale we can never tell what is going to be sung, but with this bird everything is settled. It can be opened and explained, so that people may understand how the waltzes are formed, and why one note follows upon another."

"This is exactly what we think," they all replied, and then the music-master received permission to exhibit the bird to the people on the following Sunday, and the emperor commanded that they should be present to hear it sing. When they heard it they were like people intoxicated; however it must have been with drinking tea, which is quite a Chinese custom. They all said "Oh!" and held up their forefingers and nodded, but a poor fisherman, who had heard the real nightingale, said, "it sounds prettily enough, and the melodies are all alike; yet there seems something wanting, I cannot exactly tell what."

And after this the real nightingale was banished from the empire.

The artificial bird was placed on a silk cushion close to the emperor's bed. The presents of gold and precious stones which had been received with it were round the bird, and it was now advanced to the title of "Little Imperial Toilet Singer," and to the rank of No. 1 on the left hand; for the emperor considered the left side, on which the heart lies, as the most noble, and the heart of an emperor is in the same place as that of other people. The music-master wrote a work, in twenty-five volumes, about the artificial bird, which was very learned and very long, and full of the most difficult Chinese words; yet all the people said they had read it, and understood it, for fear of being thought stupid and having their bodies trampled upon.

So a year passed, and the emperor, the court, and all the other Chinese knew every little turn in the artificial bird's song; and for that same reason it pleased them better. They could sing with the bird, which they often did. The street-boys sang, "Zi-zi-zi, cluck, cluck, cluck," and the emperor himself could sing it also. It was really most amusing.

One evening, when the artificial bird was singing its best, and the emperor lay in bed listening to it, something inside the bird sounded "whizz." Then a spring cracked. "Whir-r-r-r" went all the wheels, running round, and then the music stopped.

The emperor immediately sprang out of bed, and called for his physician; but what could he do? Then they sent for a watchmaker; and, after a great deal of talking and examination, the bird was put into something like order; but he said that it must be used very carefully, as the barrels were worn, and it would be impossible to put in new ones without injuring the music. Now there was great sorrow, as the bird could only be allowed to play once a year; and even that was dangerous for the works inside it. Then the music-master made a little speech, full of hard words, and declared that the bird was as good as ever; and, of course no one contradicted him.

Five years passed, and then a real grief came upon the land. The Chinese really were fond of their emperor, and he now lay so ill that he was not expected to live. Already a new emperor had been chosen and the people who stood in the street asked the lord-in-waiting how the old emperor was.

But he only said, "Pooh!" and shook his head.

Cold and pale lay the emperor in his royal bed; the whole court thought he was dead, and every one ran away to pay homage to his successor. The chamberlains went out to have a talk on the matter, and the ladies'-maids invited company to take coffee. Cloth had been laid down on the halls and passages, so that not a footstep should be heard, and all was silent and still. But the emperor was not yet dead, although he lay white and stiff on his gorgeous bed, with the long velvet curtains and heavy gold tassels. A window stood open, and the moon shone in upon the emperor and the artificial bird.


The poor emperor, finding he could scarcely breathe with a strange weight on his chest, opened his eyes, and saw Death sitting there. He had put on the emperor's golden crown, and held in one hand his sword of state, and in the other his beautiful banner. All around the bed and peeping through the long velvet curtains, were a number of strange heads, some very ugly, and others lovely and gentle-looking. These were the emperor's good and bad deeds, which stared him in the face now Death sat at his heart.

"Do you remember this?" - "Do you recollect that?" they asked one after another, thus bringing to his remembrance circumstances that made the perspiration stand on his brow.

"I know nothing about it," said the emperor. "Music! music!" he cried; "the large Chinese drum! that I may not hear what they say."

But they still went on, and Death nodded like a Chinaman to all they said.

"Music! music!" shouted the emperor. "You little precious golden bird, sing, pray sing! I have given you gold and costly presents; I have even hung my golden slipper round your neck. Sing! sing!"

But the bird remained silent. There was no one to wind it up, and therefore it could not sing a note. Death continued to stare at the emperor with his cold, hollow eyes, and the room was fearfully still.

Suddenly there came through the open window the sound of sweet music. Outside, on the bough of a tree, sat the living nightingale. She had heard of the emperor's illness, and was therefore come to sing to him of hope and trust. And as she sung, the shadows grew paler and paler; the blood in the emperor's veins flowed more rapidly, and gave life to his weak limbs; and even Death himself listened, and said, "Go on, little nightingale, go on."

"Then will you give me the beautiful golden sword and that rich banner? and will you give me the emperor's crown?" said the bird.

So Death gave up each of these treasures for a song; and the nightingale continued her singing. She sung of the quiet churchyard, where the white roses grow, where the elder-tree wafts its perfume on the breeze, and the fresh, sweet grass is moistened by the mourners' tears. Then Death longed to go and see his garden, and floated out through the window in the form of a cold, white mist.

"Thanks, thanks, you heavenly little bird. I know you well. I banished you from my kingdom once, and yet you have charmed away the evil faces from my bed, and banished Death from my heart, with your sweet song. How can I reward you?"

"You have already rewarded me," said the nightingale. "I shall never forget that I drew tears from your eyes the first time I sang to you. These are the jewels that rejoice a singer's heart. But now sleep, and grow strong and well again. I will sing to you again."

And as she sung, the emperor fell into a sweet sleep; and how mild and refreshing that slumber was!

When he awoke, strengthened and restored, the sun shone brightly through the window; but not one of his servants had returned– they all believed he was dead; only the nightingale still sat beside him, and sang.

"You must always remain with me," said the emperor. "You shall sing only when it pleases you; and I will break the artificial bird into a thousand pieces."

"No; do not do that," replied the nightingale; "the bird did very well as long as it could. Keep it here still. I cannot live in the palace, and build my nest; but let me come when I like. I will sit on a bough outside your window, in the evening, and sing to you, so that you may be happy, and have thoughts full of joy. I will sing to you of those who are happy, and those who suffer; of the good and the evil, who are hidden around you. The little singing bird flies far from you and your court to the home of the fisherman and the peasant's cot. I love your heart better than your crown; and yet something holy lingers round that also. I will come, I will sing to you; but you must promise me one thing."

"Everything," said the emperor, who, having dressed himself in his imperial robes, stood with the hand that held the heavy golden sword pressed to his heart.

"I only ask one thing," she replied; "let no one know that you have a little bird who tells you everything. It will be best to conceal it."

So saying, the nightingale flew away.

The servants now came in to look after the dead emperor; when, lo! there he stood, and, to their astonishment, said, "Good morning."
I Kina ved du jo nok er kejseren en kineser, og alle de han har om sig er kinesere. Det er nu mange år siden, men just derfor er det værd at høre historien, før man glemmer den! Kejserens slot var det prægtigste i verden, ganske og aldeles af fint porcelæn, så kostbart, men så skørt, så vanskeligt at røre ved, at man måtte ordentlig tage sig i agt. I haven så man de forunderligste blomster, og ved de allerprægtigste var der bundet sølvklokker, der klingede, for at man ikke skulle gå forbi uden at bemærke blomsten. Ja, alting var så udspekuleret i kejserens have, og den strakte sig så langt, at gartneren selv ikke vidste enden på den; blev man ved at gå, kom man i den dejligste skov med høje træer og dybe søer. Skoven gik lige ned til havet, der var blåt og dybt; store skibe kunne sejle lige ind under grenene, og i disse boede der en nattergal, der sang så velsignet, at selv den fattige fisker, der havde så meget andet at passe, lå stille og lyttede, når han om natten var ude at trække fiskegarnet op og da hørte nattergalen. "Herregud, hvor det er kønt!" sagde han, men så måtte han passe sine ting og glemte fuglen; dog næste nat når den igen sang, og fiskeren kom derud, sagde han det samme: "Herregud! hvor det dog er kønt!"

Fra alle verdens lande kom der rejsende til kejserens stad, og de beundrede den, slottet og haven, men når de fik nattergalen at høre, sagde de alle sammen: "Den er dog det bedste!"

Og de rejsende fortalte derom, når de kom hjem, og de lærde skrev mange bøger om byen, slottet og haven, men nattergalen glemte de ikke, den blev sat allerøverst; og de, som kunne digte, skrev de dejligste digte, alle sammen om nattergalen i skoven ved den dybe sø.

De bøger kom verden rundt, og nogle kom da også engang til kejseren. Han sad i sin guldstol, læste og læste, hvert øjeblik nikkede han med hovedet, thi det fornøjede ham at høre de prægtige beskrivelser over byen, slottet og haven. "Men nattergalen er dog det allerbedste!" stod der skrevet.

"Hvad for noget!" sagde kejseren, "nattergalen! den kender jeg jo slet ikke! er her sådan en fugl i mit kejserdømme, oven i købet i min have! det har jeg aldrig hørt! sådant noget skal man læse sig til!"

Og så kaldte han på sin kavaler, der var så fornem, at når nogen, der var ringere end han, vovede at tale til ham, eller spørge om noget, så svarede han ikke andet, end "P!" og det har ikke noget at betyde.

"Her skal jo være en højst mærkværdig fugl, som kaldes nattergal!" sagde kejseren, "man siger at den er det allerbedste i mit store rige! hvorfor har man aldrig sagt mig noget om den!"

"Jeg har aldrig før hørt den nævne!" sagde kavaleren, "den er aldrig blevet præsenteret ved hoffet!" –

"Jeg vil at den skal komme her i aften og synge for mig!" sagde kejseren. "Der ved hele verden hvad jeg har, og jeg ved det ikke!"

"Jeg har aldrig før hørt den nævne!" sagde kavaleren, "jeg skal søge den, jeg skal finde den!" –

Men hvor var den at finde; kavaleren løb op og ned af alle trapper, gennem sale og gange, ingen af alle dem, han traf på, havde hørt tale om nattergalen, og kavaleren løb igen til kejseren og sagde, at det vist måtte være en fabel af dem, der skrev bøger. "Deres kejserlige majestæt skal ikke tro hvad der skrives! det er opfindelser og noget, som kaldes den sorte kunst!"

"Men den bog, hvori jeg har læst det," sagde kejseren, "er sendt mig fra den stormægtige kejser af Japan, og så kan det ikke være usandhed. Jeg vil høre nattergalen! den skal være her i aften! den har min højeste nåde! og kommer den ikke, da skal hele hoffet dunkes på maven, når det har spist aftensmad."

"Tsing-pe!" sagde kavaleren, og løb igen op og ned af alle trapper, gennem alle sale og gange; og det halve hof løb med, for de ville ikke gerne dunkes på maven. Der var en spørgen efter den mærkelige nattergal, som hele verden kendte, men ingen ved hoffet.

Endelig traf de en lille, fattig pige i køknet, hun sagde: "Oh Gud, nattergalen! den kender jeg godt! ja, hvor den kan synge! hver aften har jeg lov til at bringe lidt af levningerne fra bordet hjem til min stakkels syge moder, hun bor nede ved stranden, og når jeg så går tilbage, er træt og hviler i skoven, så hører jeg nattergalen synge! jeg får vandet i øjnene derved, det er ligesom om min moder kyssede mig!"

"Lille kokkepige!" sagde kavaleren, "jeg skal skaffe hende fast ansættelse i køknet og lov til at se kejseren spise, dersom hun kan føre os til nattergalen, for den er tilsagt til i aften!" –

Og så drog de alle sammen ud i skoven, hvor nattergalen plejede at synge; det halve hof var med. Som de allerbedst gik, begyndte en ko at brøle.

"Oh!" sagde hofjunkerne, "nu har vi den! det er dog en mærkelig kraft i et sådant lille dyr! jeg har ganske bestemt hørt den før!"

"Nej, det er køerne, som brøler!" sagde den lille kokkepige, "vi er endnu langt fra stedet!"

Frøerne kvækkede nu i kæret.

"Dejligt!" sagde den kinesiske slotsprovst, "nu hører jeg hende, det er ligesom små kirkeklokker!"

"Nej, det er frøerne!" sagde den lille kokkepige. "Men nu tænker jeg snart vi hører den!"

Så begyndte nattergalen at synge.

"Den er det," sagde den lille pige, "hør! hør! og dér sidder den!" og så pegede hun på en lille, grå fugl oppe i grenene.

"Er det muligt!" sagde kavaleren, "således havde jeg nu aldrig tænkt mig den! hvor den ser simpel ud! den har vist mistet kulør over at se så mange fornemme mennesker hos sig!"

"Lille nattergal!" råbte den lille kokkepige ganske højt, "vor nådige kejser vil så gerne, at De skal synge for ham!"

"Med største fornøjelse!" sagde nattergalen og sang, så at det var en lyst.

"Det er ligesom glasklokker!" sagde kavaleren, "og se den lille strube, hvor den bruger sig! det er mærkværdigt vi aldrig har hørt den før! den vil gøre en stor succes ved hoffet!"

"Skal jeg synge endnu en gang for kejseren?" spurgte nattergalen, der troede at kejseren var med.

"Min fortræffelige lille nattergal!" sagde kavaleren, "jeg har den store glæde at skulle tilsige Dem til en hoffest i aften, hvor De vil fortrylle hans høje kejserlige nåde med Deres charmante sang!"

"Den tager sig bedst ud i det grønne!" sagde nattergalen, men den fulgte dog gerne med, da den hørte, at kejseren ønskede det.

På slottet var der ordentligt pudset op! Vægge og gulv, der var af porcelæn, skinnede ved mange tusinde guldlamper! de dejligste blomster, som ret kunne klinge, var stillet op i gangene; der var en løben og en trækvind, men så klang just alle klokkerne, man kunne ikke høre ørenlyd.

Midt inde i den store sal, hvor kejseren sad, var der stillet en guldpind, og på den skulle nattergalen sidde; hele hoffet var der, og den lille kokkepige havde fået lov til at stå bag ved døren, da hun nu havde titel af virkelig kokkepige. Alle var de i deres største pynt, og alle så de på den lille grå fugl, som kejseren nikkede til.

Og nattergalen sang så dejligt, at kejseren fik tårer i øjnene, tårerne trillede ham ned over kinderne, og da sang nattergalen endnu smukkere, det gik ret til hjertet; og kejseren var så glad, og han sagde, at nattergalen skulle have hans guldtøffel at bære om halsen. Men nattergalen takkede, den havde allerede fået belønning nok.

"Jeg har set tårer i øjnene på kejseren, det er mig den rigeste skat! en kejsers tårer har en forunderlig magt! Gud ved, jeg er nok belønnet!" og så sang den igen med sin søde, velsignede stemme.

"Det er det elskeligste koketteri jeg kender!" sagde damerne rundt om, og så tog de vand i munden for at klukke, når nogen talte til dem: De troede da også at være nattergale; ja lakajerne og kammerpigerne lod melde, at også de var tilfredse, og det vil sige meget, thi de er de allervanskeligste at gøre tilpas. Jo, nattergalen gjorde rigtignok lykke!

Den skulle nu blive ved hoffet, have sit eget bur, samt frihed til at spadsere ud to gange om dagen og en gang om natten. Den fik tolv tjenere med, alle havde de et silkebånd om benet på den og holdt godt fast. Der var slet ingen fornøjelse ved den tur.

Hele byen talte om den mærkværdige fugl, og mødte to hinanden, så sagde den ene ikke andet end: "Nat-!" og den anden sagde "gal!" og så sukkede de og forstod hinanden, ja elve spækhøkerbørn blev opkaldt efter den, men ikke én af dem havde en tone i livet. –

En dag kom en stor pakke til kejseren, udenpå stod skrevet: Nattergal.

"Der har vi nu en ny bog om vor berømte fugl!" sagde kejseren; men det var ingen bog, det var et lille kunststykke der lå i en æske, en kunstig nattergal, der skulle ligne den levende, men var overalt besat med diamanter, rubiner og safirer; så snart man trak kunstfuglen op, kunne den synge et af de stykker, den virkelige sang, og så gik halen op og ned og glinsede af sølv og guld. Om halsen hang et lille bånd, og på det stod skrevet: "Kejseren af Japans nattergal er fattig imod kejserens af Kina."

"Det er dejligt!" sagde de alle sammen, og den, som havde bragt den kunstige fugl, fik straks titel af over-kejserlig-nattergale-bringer.

"Nu må de synge sammen! hvor det vil blive en duet!"

Og så måtte de synge sammen, men det ville ikke rigtig gå, thi den virkelige nattergal sang på sin maner, og kunstfuglen gik på valser; "den har ingen skyld," sagde spillemesteren, "den er særdeles taktfast og ganske af min skole!" Så skulle kunstfuglen synge alene. – Den gjorde lige så megen lykke som den virkelige, og så var den jo også så meget mere nydelig at se på: Den glimrede som armbånd og brystnåle.

Treogtredve gange sang den et og det samme stykke, og den var dog ikke træt; folk havde gerne hørt den forfra igen, men kejseren mente, at nu skulle også den levende nattergal synge lidt - men hvor var den? ingen havde bemærket, at den var fløjet ud af det åbne vindue, bort til sine grønne skove.

"Men hvad er dog det for noget!" sagde kejseren; og alle hoffolkene skændte og mente, at nattergalen var et højst utaknemmeligt dyr. "Den bedste fugl har vi dog!" sagde de, og så måtte igen kunstfuglen synge, og det var den fireogtredvte gang de fik det samme stykke, men de kunne det ikke helt endnu, for det var så svært, og spillemesteren roste så overordentlig fuglen, ja forsikrede, at den var bedre end den virkelige nattergal, ikke blot hvad klæderne angik og de mange dejlige diamanter, men også indvortes.

"Thi ser De, mine herskaber, kejseren fremfor alle! hos den virkelige nattergal kan man aldrig beregne, hvad der vil komme, men hos kunstfuglen er alt bestemt! således bliver det og ikke anderledes! man kan gøre rede for det, man kan sprætte den op og vise den menneskelige tænkning, hvorledes valserne ligger, hvorledes de går, og hvordan det ene følger af det andet –!"

"Det er ganske mine tanker!" sagde de alle sammen, og spillemesteren fik lov til, næste søndag, at holde fuglen frem for folket; de skulle også høre den synge, sagde kejseren; og de hørte den, og de blev så fornøjede, som om de havde drukket sig lystige i tevand, for det er nu så ganske kinesisk, og alle sagde da "oh!" og stak i vejret den finger, man kalder "slikpot," og så nikkede de; men de fattige fiskere, som havde hørt den virkelige nattergal, sagde: "Det klinger smukt nok, det ligner også, men der mangler noget, jeg ved ikke hvad!"

Den virkelige nattergal var forvist fra land og rige.

Kunstfuglen havde sin plads på en silkepude tæt ved kejserens seng; alle de presenter, den havde fået, guld og ædelstene, lå rundt omkring den, og i titel var den steget til "Højkejserlig natbord-sanger," i rang nummer ét til venstre side, for kejseren regnede den side for at være mest fornem, på hvilken hjertet sad, og hjertet sidder til venstre også hos en kejser. Og spillemesteren skrev femogtyve bind om kunstfuglen, det var så lærd og så langt, og med de allersværeste kinesiske ord, så alle folk sagde, at de havde læst og forstået det, for ellers havde de jo været dumme og var da blevet dunket på maven.

Således gik der et helt år; kejseren, hoffet og alle de andre kinesere kunne udenad hvert lille kluk i kunstfuglens sang, men just derfor syntes de nu allerbedst om den; de kunne selv synge med, og det gjorde de. Gadedrengene sang "zizizi! klukklukkluk!" og kejseren sang det –! jo det var bestemt dejligt!

Men en aften, som kunstfuglen bedst sang, og kejseren lå i sengen og hørte på den, sagde det "svup!" inden i fuglen; der sprang noget: "Surrrrrr!" alle hjulene løb rundt, og så stod musikken.

Kejseren sprang straks ud af sengen og lod sin livlæge kalde, men hvad kunne han hjælpe! så lod de urmageren hente, og efter megen tale og megen seenefter, fik han fuglen nogenlunde i stand, men han sagde, at der måtte spares meget på den, thi den var så forslidt i tapperne og det var ikke muligt at sætte nye, således at det gik sikkert med musikken. Det var en stor bedrøvelse! kun én gang om året turde man lade kunstfuglen synge, og det var strengt nok endda; men så holdt spillemesteren en lille tale med de svære ord og sagde, at det var lige så godt, som før, og så var det lige så godt som før.

Nu var fem år gået, og hele landet fik en rigtig stor sorg, thi de holdt i grunden alle sammen af deres kejser; nu var han syg og kunne ikke leve, sagde man, en ny kejser var allerede valgt, og folk stod ude på gaden og spurgte kavaleren hvorledes det var med deres kejser.

"P!" sagde han og rystede med hovedet.

Kold og bleg lå kejseren i sin store, prægtige seng, hele hoffet troede ham død, og enhver af dem løb hen for at hilse på den nye kejser; kammertjenerne løb ud for at snakke om det, og slotspigerne havde stort kaffeselskab. Rundt om i alle sale og gange var lagt klæde, for at man ikke skulle høre nogen gå, og derfor var der så stille, så stille. Men kejseren var endnu ikke død; stiv og bleg lå han i den prægtige seng med de lange fløjlsgardiner og de tunge guldkvaste; højt oppe stod et vindue åbent, og månen skinnede ind på kejseren og kunstfuglen.

Den stakkels kejser kunne næsten ikke trække vejret, det var ligesom om der sad noget på hans bryst; han slog øjnene op, og da så han, at det var Døden, der sad på hans bryst og havde taget hans guldkrone på, og holdt i den ene hånd kejserens guldsabel, i den anden hans prægtige fane; og rundt om i folderne af de store fløjlssengegardiner stak der forunderlige hoveder frem, nogle ganske fæle, andre så velsignede milde: Det var alle kejserens onde og gode gerninger, der så på ham, nu da Døden sad på hans hjerte:

"Husker du det?" hviskede den ene efter den anden. "Husker du det!" og så fortalte de ham så meget, så at sveden sprang ham ud af panden.

"Det har jeg aldrig vidst!" sagde kejseren; "musik, musik, den store kinesiske tromme!" råbte han, "at jeg dog ikke skal høre alt det, de siger!"

Og de blev ved, og Døden nikkede ligesom en kineser ved alt, hvad der blev sagt.

"Musik, musik!" skreg kejseren. "Du lille velsignede guldfugl! syng dog, syng! jeg har givet dig guld og kostbarheder, jeg har selv hængt dig min guldtøffel om halsen, syng dog, syng!"

Men fuglen stod stille, der var ingen til at trække den op, og ellers sang den ikke; men Døden blev ved at se på kejseren med sine store, tomme øjenhuler, og der var så stille, så skrækkeligt stille.

Da lød i det samme, tæt ved vinduet, den dejligste sang: Det var den lille, levende nattergal, der sad på grenen udenfor; den havde hørt om sin kejsers nød, og var derfor kommet at synge ham trøst og håb; og alt som den sang, blev skikkelserne mere og mere blege, blodet kom raskere og raskere i gang i kejserens svage lemmer, og Døden selv lyttede og sagde: "Bliv ved lille nattergal! bliv ved!"

"Ja vil du give mig den prægtige guldsabel! ja vil du give mig den rige fane! vil du give mig kejserens krone!"

Og Døden gav hvert klenodie for en sang, og nattergalen blev ved endnu at synge, og den sang om den stille kirkegård, hvor de hvide roser gror, hvor hyldetræet dufter, og hvor det friske græs vandes af de efterlevendes tårer; da fik Døden længsel efter sin have og svævede, som en kold, hvid tåge, ud af vinduet.

"Tak, tak!" sagde kejseren, "du himmelske lille fugl, jeg kender dig nok! dig har jeg jaget fra mit land og rige! og dog har du sunget de onde syner fra min seng, fået Døden fra mit hjerte! Hvorledes skal jeg lønne dig?"

"Du har lønnet mig!" sagde nattergalen, "jeg har fået tårer af dine øjne første gang jeg sang, det glemmer jeg dig aldrig! det er de juveler, der gør et sangerhjerte godt –! men sov nu og bliv frisk og stærk! jeg skal synge for dig!"

Og den sang – og kejseren faldt i en sød søvn, så mild og velgørende var søvnen.

Solen skinnede ind af vinduerne til ham, da han vågnede styrket og sund; ingen af hans tjenere var endnu kommet tilbage, thi de troede, han var død, men nattergalen sad endnu og sang.

"Altid må du blive hos mig!" sagde kejseren, "du skal kun synge, når du selv vil, og kunstfuglen slår jeg i tusinde stykker."

"Gør ikke det!" sagde nattergalen, "den har jo gjort det gode, den kunne! behold den som altid! jeg kan ikke bygge og bo på slottet, men lad mig komme, når jeg selv har lyst, da vil jeg om aftnen sidde på grenen dér ved vinduet og synge for dig, at du kan blive glad og tankefuld tillige! jeg skal synge om de lykkelige, og om dem, som lider! jeg skal synge om ondt og godt, der rundt om dig holdes skjult! den lille sangfugl flyver vidt omkring til den fattige fisker, til bondemandens tag, til hver, der er langt fra dig og dit hof! jeg elsker dit hjerte mere end din krone, og dog har kronen en duft af noget helligt om sig! – jeg kommer, jeg synger for dig! – men ét må du love mig!" –

– "Alt!" sagde kejseren, og stod der i sin kejserlige dragt, som han selv havde iført sig og holdt sablen, der var tung af guld, op mod sit hjerte.

"Ét beder jeg dig om! fortæl ingen, at du har en lille fugl, der siger dig alt, så vil det gå endnu bedre!"

Og da fløj nattergalen bort.

Tjenerne kom ind for at se til deres døde kejser; - jo der stod de, og kejseren sagde: "Godmorgen!"




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