The Emperor of China is a Chinaman, as you most likely know, and everyone around him is a Chinaman t

The Emperor of China is a Chinaman, as you most likely know, and everyone around him is a Chinaman too. It's been a great many years since this story happened in China, but that's all the more reason for telling it before it gets forgotten.

The Emperor's palace was the wonder of the world. It was made entirely of fine porcelain, extremely expensive but so delicate that you could touch it only with the greatest of care. In the garden the rarest flowers bloomed, and to the prettiest ones were tied little silver bells which tinkled so that no one could pass by without noticing them. Yes, all things were arranged according to plan in the Emperor's garden, though how far and wide it extended not even the gardener knew. If you walked on and on, you came to a fine forest where the trees were tall and the lakes were deep. The forest ran down to the deep blue sea, so close that tall ships could sail under the branches of the trees. In these trees a nightingale lived. His song was so ravishing that even the poor fisherman, who had much else to do, stopped to listen on the nights when he went out to cast his nets, and heard the nightingale.

"How beautiful that is," he said, but he had his work to attend to, and he would forget the bird's song. But the next night, when he heard the song he would again say, "How beautiful."

From all the countries in the world travelers came to the city of the Emperor. They admired the city. They admired the palace and its garden, but when they heard the nightingale they said, "That is the best of all."

And the travelers told of it when they came home, and men of learning wrote many books about the town, about the palace, and about the garden. But they did not forget the nightingale. They praised him highest of all, and those who were poets wrote magnificent poems about the nightingale who lived in the forest by the deep sea.

These books went all the world over, and some of them came even to the Emperor of China. He sat in his golden chair and read, nodding his head in delight over such glowing descriptions of his city, and palace, and garden. But the nightingale is the best of all. He read it in print.

"What's this?" the Emperor exclaimed. "I don't know of any nightingale. Can there be such a bird in my empire-in my own garden-and I not know it? To think that I should have to learn of it out of a book."

Thereupon he called his Lord-in-Waiting, who was so exalted that when anyone of lower rank dared speak to him, or ask him a question, he only answered, "P", which means nothing at all.

"They say there's a most remarkable bird called the nightingale," said the Emperor. "They say it's the best thing in all my empire. Why haven't I been told about it?"

"I've never heard the name mentioned," said the Lord-in-Waiting. "He hasn't been presented at court."

"I command that he appear before me this evening, and sing," said the Emperor. "The whole world knows my possessions better than I do!"

"I never heard of him before," said the Lord-in-Waiting. "But I shall look for him. I'll find him."

But where? The Lord-in-Waiting ran upstairs and downstairs, through all the rooms and corridors, but no one he met with had ever heard tell of the nightingale. So the Lord-in-Waiting ran back to the Emperor, and said it must be a story invented by those who write books. "Your Imperial Majesty would scarcely believe how much of what is written is fiction, if not downright black art."

"But the book I read was sent me by the mighty Emperor of Japan," said the Emperor. "Therefore it can't be a pack of lies. I must hear this nightingale. I insist upon his being here this evening. He has my high imperial favor, and if he is not forthcoming I will have the whole court punched in the stomach, directly after supper."

"Tsing-pe!" said the Lord-in-Waiting, and off he scurried up the stairs, through all the rooms and corridors. And half the court ran with him, for no one wanted to be punched in the stomach after supper.

There was much questioning as to the whereabouts of this remarkable nightingale, who was so well known everywhere in the world except at home. At last they found a poor little kitchen girl, who said:

"The nightingale? I know him well. Yes, indeed he can sing. Every evening I get leave to carry scraps from table to my sick mother. She lives down by the shore. When I start back I am tired, and rest in the woods. Then I hear the nightingale sing. It brings tears to my eyes. It's as if my mother were kissing me."

"Little kitchen girl," said the Lord-in-Waiting, "I'll have you appointed scullion for life. I'll even get permission for you to watch the Emperor dine, if you'll take us to the nightingale who is commanded to appear at court this evening."

So they went into the forest where the nightingale usually sang. Half the court went along. On the way to the forest a cow began to moo.

"Oh," cried a courtier, "that must be it. What a powerful voice for a creature so small. I'm sure I've heard her sing before."

"No, that's the cow lowing," said the little kitchen girl. "We still have a long way to go."

Then the frogs in the marsh began to croak.

"Glorious!" said the Chinese court person. "Now I hear it-like church bells ringing."

"No, that's the frogs," said the little kitchen girl. "But I think we shall hear him soon."

Then the nightingale sang.

"That's it," said the little kitchen girl. "Listen, listen! And yonder he sits." She pointed to a little gray bird high up in the branches.

"Is it possible?" cried the Lord-in Waiting. "Well, I never would have thought he looked like that, so unassuming. But he has probably turned pale at seeing so many important people around him."

"Little nightingale," the kitchen girl called to him, "our gracious Emperor wants to hear you sing."

"With the greatest of pleasure," answered the nightingale, and burst into song.

"Very similar to the sound of glass bells," said the Lord-in-Waiting. "Just see his little throat, how busily it throbs. I'm astounded that we have never heard him before. I'm sure he'll be a great success at court."

"Shall I sing to the Emperor again?" asked the nightingale, for he thought that the Emperor was present.

"My good little nightingale," said the Lord-in-Waiting, "I have the honor to command your presence at a court function this evening, where you'll delight His Majesty the Emperor with your charming song."

"My song sounds best in the woods," said the nightingale, but he went with them willingly when he heard it was the Emperor's wish.

The palace had been especially polished for the occasion. The porcelain walls and floors shone in the rays of many gold lamps. The flowers with tinkling bells on them had been brought into the halls, and there was such a commotion of coming and going that all the bells chimed away until you could scarcely hear yourself talk.

In the middle of the great throne room, where the Emperor sat, there was a golden perch for the nightingale. The whole court was there, and they let the little kitchen girl stand behind the door, now that she had been appointed "Imperial Pot-Walloper." Everyone was dressed in his best, and all stared at the little gray bird to which the Emperor graciously nodded.

And the nightingale sang so sweetly that tears came into the Emperor's eyes and rolled down his cheeks. Then the nightingale sang still more sweetly, and it was the Emperor's heart that melted. The Emperor was so touched that he wanted his own golden slipper hung round the nightingale's neck, but the nightingale declined it with thanks. He had already been amply rewarded.

"I have seen tears in the Emperor's eyes," he said. "Nothing could surpass that. An Emperor's tears are strangely powerful. I have my reward." And he sang again, gloriously.

"It's the most charming coquetry we ever heard," said the ladies-in-waiting. And they took water in their mouths so they could gurgle when anyone spoke to them, hoping to rival the nightingale. Even the lackeys and chambermaids said they were satisfied, which was saying a great deal, for they were the hardest to please. Unquestionably the nightingale was a success. He was to stay at court, and have his own cage. He had permission to go for a walk twice a day, and once a night. Twelve footmen attended him, each one holding tight to a ribbon tied to the bird's leg. There wasn't much fun in such outings.

The whole town talked about the marvelous bird, and if two people met, one could scarcely say "night" before the other said "gale," and then they would sigh in unison, with no need for words. Eleven pork-butchers' children were named "nightingale," but not one could sing.

One day the Emperor received a large package labeled "The Nightingale."

"This must be another book about my celebrated bird," he said. But it was not a book. In the box was a work of art, an artificial nightingale most like the real one except that it was encrusted with diamonds, rubies and sapphires. When it was wound, the artificial bird could sing one of the nightingale's songs while it wagged its glittering gold and silver tail. Round its neck hung a ribbon inscribed: "The Emperor of Japan's nightingale is a poor thing compared with that of the Emperor of China."

"Isn't that nice?" everyone said, and the man who had brought the contraption was immediately promoted to be "Imperial-Nightingale-Fetcher-in-Chief."

"Now let's have them sing together. What a duet that will be," said the courtiers.

So they had to sing together, but it didn't turn out so well, for the real nightingale sang whatever came into his head while the imitation bird sang by rote.

"That's not the newcomer's fault," said the music master. "He keeps perfect time, just as I have taught him."

Then they had the imitation bird sing by itself. It met with the same success as the real nightingale, and besides it was much prettier to see, all sparkling like bracelets and breastpins. Three and thirty times it sang the selfsame song without tiring. The courtiers would gladly have heard it again, but the Emperor said the real nightingale should now have his turn. Where was he? No one had noticed him flying out the open window, back to his home in the green forest.

"But what made him do that?" said the Emperor.

All the courtiers slandered the nightingale, whom they called a most ungrateful wretch. "Luckily we have the best bird," they said, and made the imitation one sing again. That was the thirty-fourth time they had heard the same tune, but they didn't quite know it by heart because it was a difficult piece. And the music master praised the artificial bird beyond measure. Yes, he said that the contraption was much better than the real nightingale, not only in its dress and its many beautiful diamonds, but also in its mechanical interior.

"You see, ladies and gentlemen, and above all Your Imperial Majesty, with a real nightingale one never knows what to expect, but with this artificial bird everything goes according to plan. Nothing is left to chance. I can explain it and take it to pieces, and show how the mechanical wheels are arranged, how they go around, and how one follows after another."

"Those are our sentiments exactly," said they all, and the music master was commanded to have the bird give a public concert next Sunday. The Emperor said that his people should hear it. And hear it they did, with as much pleasure as if they had all gotten tipsy on tea, Chinese fashion. Everyone said, "Oh," and held up the finger we call "lickpot," and nodded his head. But the poor fishermen who had heard the real nightingale said, "This is very pretty, very nearly the real thing, but not quite. I can't imagine what's lacking."

The real nightingale had been banished from the land. In its place, the artificial bird sat on a cushion beside the Emperor's bed. All its gold and jeweled presents lay about it, and its title was now "Grand Imperial Singer-of-the-Emperor-to-sleep." In rank it stood first from the left, for the Emperor gave preëminence to the left side because of the heart. Even an Emperor's heart is on the left.

The music master wrote a twenty-five-volume book about the artificial bird. It was learned, long-winded, and full of hard Chinese words, yet everybody said they read and understood it, lest they show themselves stupid and would then have been punched in their stomachs.

After a year the Emperor, his court, and all the other Chinamen knew every twitter of the artificial song by heart. They liked it all the better now that they could sing it themselves. Which they did. The street urchins sang, "Zizizi! kluk, kluk, kluk," and the Emperor sang it too. That's how popular it was.

But one night, while the artificial bird was singing his best by the Emperor's bed, something inside the bird broke with a twang. Whir-r-r, all the wheels ran down and the music stopped. Out of bed jumped the Emperor and sent for his own physician, but what could he do? Then he sent for a watchmaker, who conferred, and investigated, and patched up the bird after a fashion. But the watchmaker said that the bird must be spared too much exertion, for the cogs were badly worn and if he replaced them it would spoil the tune. This was terrible. Only once a year could they let the bird sing, and that was almost too much for it. But the music master made a little speech full of hard Chinese words which meant that the bird was as good as it ever was. So that made it as good as ever.

Five years passed by, and a real sorrow befell the whole country. The Chinamen loved their Emperor, and now he fell ill. Ill unto death, it was said. A new Emperor was chosen in readiness. People stood in the palace street and asked the Lord-in-Waiting how it went with their Emperor.

"P," said he, and shook his head.

Cold and pale lay the Emperor in his great magnificent bed. All the courtiers thought he was dead, and went to do homage to the new Emperor. The lackeys went off to trade gossip, and the chambermaids gave a coffee party because it was such a special occasion. Deep mats were laid in all the rooms and passageways, to muffle each footstep. It was quiet in the palace, dead quiet. But the Emperor was not yet dead. Stiff and pale he lay, in his magnificent bed with the long velvet curtains and the heavy gold tassels. High in the wall was an open window, through which moonlight fell on the Emperor and his artificial bird.

The poor Emperor could hardly breathe. It was as if something were sitting on his chest. Opening his eyes he saw it was Death who sat there, wearing the Emperor's crown, handling the Emperor's gold sword, and carrying the Emperor's silk banner. Among the folds of the great velvet curtains there were strangely familiar faces. Some were horrible, others gentle and kind. They were the Emperor's deeds, good and bad, who came back to him now that Death sat on his heart.

"Don't you remember-?" they whispered one after the other. "Don't you remember-?" And they told him of things that made the cold sweat run on his forehead.

"No, I will not remember!" said the Emperor. "Music, music, sound the great drum of China lest I hear what they say!" But they went on whispering, and Death nodded, Chinese fashion, at every word.

"Music, music!" the Emperor called. "Sing, my precious little golden bird, sing! I have given you gold and precious presents. I have hung my golden slipper around your neck. Sing, I pray you, sing!"

But the bird stood silent. There was no one to wind it, nothing to make it sing. Death kept staring through his great hollow eyes, and it was quiet, deadly quiet.

Suddenly, through the window came a burst of song. It was the little live nightingale who sat outside on a spray. He had heard of the Emperor's plight, and had come to sing of comfort and hope. As he sang, the phantoms grew pale, and still more pale, and the blood flowed quicker and quicker through the Emperor's feeble body. Even Death listened, and said, "Go on, little nightingale, go on!"

"But," said the little nightingale, "will you give back that sword, that banner, that Emperor's crown?"

And Death gave back these treasures for a song. The nightingale sang on. It sang of the quiet churchyard where white roses grow, where the elder flowers make the air sweet, and where the grass is always green, wet with the tears of those who are still alive. Death longed for his garden. Out through the windows drifted a cold gray mist, as Death departed.

"Thank you, thank you!" the Emperor said. "Little bird from Heaven, I know you of old. I banished you once from my land, and yet you have sung away the evil faces from my bed, and Death from my heart. How can I repay you?"

"You have already rewarded me," said the nightingale. "I brought tears to your eyes when first I sang for you. To the heart of a singer those are more precious than any precious stone. But sleep now, and grow fresh and strong while I sing." He sang on until the Emperor fell into a sound, refreshing sleep, a sweet and soothing slumber.

The sun was shining in his window when the Emperor awoke, restored and well. Not one of his servants had returned to him, for they thought him dead, but the nightingale still sang.

"You must stay with me always," said the Emperor. "Sing to me only when you please. I shall break the artificial bird into a thousand pieces."

"No," said the nightingale. "It did its best. Keep it near you. I cannot build my nest here, or live in a palace, so let me come as I will. Then I shall sit on the spray by your window, and sing things that will make you happy and thoughtful too. I'll sing about those who are gay, and those who are sorrowful. My songs will tell you of all the good and evil that you do not see. A little singing bird flies far and wide, to the fisherman's hut, to the farmer's home, and to many other places a long way off from you and your court. I love your heart better than I do your crown, and yet the crown has been blessed too. I will come and sing to you, if you will promise me one thing."

"All that I have is yours," cried the Emperor, who stood in his imperial robes, which he had put on himself, and held his heavy gold sword to his heart.

"One thing only," the nightingale asked. "You must not let anyone know that you have a little bird who tells you everything; then all will go even better." And away he flew.

The servants came in to look after their dead Emperor- and there they stood. And the Emperor said, "Good morning."

中國的皇帝是一位中國人，你最有可能知道，和他身邊的人都是支那人噸

中國的皇帝是一位中國人，你最有可能知道，和他周圍的人是一位中國人了。這是一個偉大的很多年，因為這故事發生在中國，但是這一切更有理由告訴它之前，它被遺忘了。

皇帝的宮殿是世界的奇蹟。它是用精瓷的全部，非常昂貴，但如此微妙，你只能以最大的照顧觸摸它。在花園裡最稀有的花開花，並且最漂亮的人被捆綁的小銀鈴的聲響，這樣沒有人可以經過沒有注意到他們。是的，所有的事情都按計劃在皇帝的花園佈置，但如何遠揚延長它甚至不是園丁知道。如果你走在和上，你來到罰款森林裡的樹木高大的湖泊是深的。森林裡跑下來的深藍色的大海，如此接近，高大的船舶可根據樹的樹枝航行。在這些樹夜鶯住。他的歌是如此令人陶醉，即使是窮漁夫，誰曾很多其他的事，停下來時，他出去投他的網的夜聽，聽到了夜鶯。

“好美即，”他說，但他有他的工作，無暇顧及，他會忘了鳥的歌聲。但第二天晚上，當他聽到這首歌，他會再說一遍，“好美。”

從所有的世界各國遊客來到這個城市的皇帝。他們欽佩的城市。他們欽佩的宮殿和它的花園，但是當他們聽到夜鶯他們說，“這是最重要的。”

而旅客告訴它，當他們回家，和學習的人寫了關於城鎮許多書，對宮殿，以及有關的花園。但他們並沒有忘記夜鶯。他們大大地表揚了他最重要的是，和那些誰是詩人寫的誰住在森林裡的深海夜鶯壯麗詩篇。

這些書都去了世界各地，其中一些甚至來向中國的皇帝。他坐在他的金椅子上，讀，點頭的喜悅在他的城市，宮殿和花園這樣的發光描述。不過夜鶯是最好的。他在印刷品閱讀。

“這是什麼？” 皇帝感嘆道。“我不知道任何夜鶯的。可有在我的帝國，在我自己的花園，我不知道呢？要認為我應該要學習它出了一本書。這樣的鳥”

於是他叫他閣下在等待，誰是如此崇高，當等級較低的人敢和他說話，或問他一個問題，他只回答，“P”​​，這意味著什麼都沒有。

“他們說，有一個最顯著的那隻叫夜鶯，”皇帝說。“他們說這是在我所有的帝國的最好的事情。為什麼我沒有被告知有關嗎？”

“我從來沒有聽說過提到的名字，”上帝的候補說。“他還沒有被發表在法院。”

“我命令他在我面前出現在這個晚上，和唱，”皇帝說。“全世界都知道我的財產比我好！”

“之​​前我從來沒有聽說過他，”閣下在等待說。“不過，我會去找他，我會找到他的。”

但在哪裡呢？神的候補跑下樓，穿過所有客房及走廊，但沒有人，他會見了曾經聽人說夜鶯的。因此，閣下在等待跑回了皇帝，並表示它必須是由那些誰寫書發明了一個故事。“你的皇帝陛下會難以相信的是如何寫的是什麼多少是虛構的，如果不是徹頭徹尾的黑色藝術。”

“但是，這本書我讀了給我發了由日本帝威武，”皇帝說。“因此，它不可能是騙人的鬼話，我必須聽到這樣的夜鶯，我堅持他是今天晚上，他有我高皇帝的青睞，如果他沒有著落，我會在胃中整個法庭打孔直接晚餐後“。

“青-PE！” 說，閣下在等待，並關閉他急忙上了樓梯，穿過所有的房間和走廊。半法院跑了他，因為沒有人想在晚飯後肚子打孔。

有很多質疑的這一顯著夜鶯的下落，誰是那麼廣為人知，在世界各地，除了在家裡。最後，他們找到了一個可憐的小廚房的女孩，誰說：

“夜鶯？我知道他很好，是的，他的確可以唱。每天晚上我得到離開從表進行碎片到我生病的母親，她住下來的岸邊。當我開始回到我累了，休息的樹林裡，然後我聽到夜鶯唱歌。它帶給我眼含淚水，就好像我的母親親吻了我。“

“小廚房的女孩，說：”閣下在等待，“我會讓你任命斯庫利的生活，我什至會得到許可，你看帝堂食，如果你能帶我們去夜鶯是誰吩咐今晚出現在法庭。“

於是他們走進了森林裡的夜鶯通常唱。一半的法院去了。在途中對森林一頭牛開始哞。

“哦，”哭一朝臣“，那一定是它。對生物這麼小什麼強大的聲音，我敢肯定，我聽說在她面前唱歌。”

“不，那是牛哞哞叫著，說：”小廚房的女孩。“我們仍然有很長的路要走。”

然後在沼澤青蛙就開始呱呱叫。

“光榮！” 說，中國法庭的人。“現在我聽到類似教堂的鐘聲響起。”

“不，那是青蛙”之稱的小廚房的女孩。“但我認為，我們應當聽取他很快。”

於是夜鶯唱歌。

“就是這樣”之稱的小廚房的女孩。“聽著，聽著！而他那邊坐。” 她指著一條灰色的鳥在高高的樹枝。

“這可能嗎？” 哭閣下在等待。“嗯，我從來沒有覺得他好像是，那麼張揚，但他可能是在看到他身邊這麼多重要的人的臉色變得蒼白。”

“小夜鶯，”廚房裡的女孩叫他，“我們的親切皇帝要聽你唱歌。”

“以最大的快感，回答說：”夜鶯，並放聲歌唱。

“非常類似玻璃鈴鐺的聲音，”耶和華的候補說。“剛看到他的小喉嚨，怎麼也忙碌地跳動，我很震驚，我們以前從來沒有聽說過他，我相信他會在法庭上取得了巨大成功。”

“要我唱歌給皇帝了嗎？” 問夜鶯，因為他認為皇帝出席了會議。

“我的好小夜鶯”之稱的閣下在等待，“我榮幸地命令在法庭函數今晚，在這裡您將盡享皇帝陛下用你那迷人的歌聲你的存在。”

“我的歌聽起來最好在樹林裡，說：”夜鶯，但他也與他們心甘情願地當他聽說這是皇帝的願望。

宮殿已經特別拋光的場合。瓷牆壁和地板潔在眾多黃金燈的光線。與他們清脆的鈴鐺花已帶進大廳，並有來來往往的這種騷動，所有的鐘聲遙相呼應走，直到你幾乎可以聽到自己說話。

在偉大的金鑾殿，這裡的皇帝坐在中間，有一個金色鱸魚的夜鶯。整個球場在那裡，他們讓小廚房的女孩站在門後，現在她已被任命為“禦鍋 - Walloper。” 大家都穿著他最好的，所有盯著小灰鳥的皇帝殷勤地點頭。

和夜鶯唱得那麼動聽，眼淚就到皇帝的眼睛，滾落他的面頰。於是夜鶯仍唱得最美，這是皇帝的心臟是融化。皇帝太感動了，他希望自己的金拖鞋掛輪夜鶯的脖子，但夜鶯與感謝謝絕了。他已經被重獎。

“我看到眼淚在皇帝的眼中，”他說。“沒有什麼可以超越的。一個皇帝的眼淚是奇怪的強大，我有我的獎勵。”他又唱，光榮。

“這是我們聽過的最迷人的撒嬌，說：”女士們，在等待。他們就拿水在他們的嘴，使他們能汩汩當有人對他們說話，希望能媲美夜鶯。即使是走狗和女服務員表示滿意，這是說了很多，因為他們是最難討好。毫無疑問，夜鶯是成功的。他留在場上，並有自己的籠子裡。他有權限去散步，一天兩次，一次一晚。十二步兵伺候他，每個人拿著緊綁在鳥的腿色帶。有沒有這樣的戶外活動的樂趣。

全鎮談到了奇妙的鳥，如果兩個人遇見，人們幾乎無法說“夜”之前，對方表示“大風”，然後他們會感嘆異口同聲，沒有必要的話。十一豬肉屠夫的孩子被命名為“夜鶯”，卻沒有一個能唱。

有一天，皇帝收到了一大包標有“夜鶯”。

“這一定是另一本書對我的著名的鳥，”他說。但它不是一本書。在盒子是一件藝術品，人工夜鶯最像真實的，只不過它是鑲有鑽石，紅寶石和藍寶石。當它被清盤，人工鳥會唱歌的夜鶯的歌曲之一，而它搖搖它的閃閃發光的黃金和白銀的尾巴。圓其脖子上掛著刻絲帶：“日本的夜鶯的皇帝是一個可憐的東西與中國的皇帝相比。”

“這不是很好嗎？” 大家都說，誰帶來的玩意兒的男子立即晉升為“禦 - 南丁格爾取器總司令。”

“現在，讓我們有他們一起唱歌。什麼二重唱，這將是”之稱的臣子。

所以他們不得不一起唱歌，但它並沒有變成這麼好，對於真正的夜鶯唱什麼進入了他的頭，而仿​​鳥唱死記硬背。

“這不是新來的錯”之稱的音樂大師。“他總是完美的時間，正如我剛才教他。”

然後，他們通過自身的模仿鳥兒唱歌。它遇到了同樣的成功，真正的夜鶯，再說這是非常漂亮看到，所有的像閃閃發光的手鐲和breastpins。三和30次唱正當那首歌不累。朝臣們會很高興地再次聽到它，但皇帝說真正的夜鶯現在應該有輪到他。他在哪裡？沒有人注意到他飛出敞開的窗戶，回到他的家在綠色的森林。

“但是，是什麼讓他這樣做呢？” 皇帝說。

所有的臣子誹謗夜鶯，就是他們所謂的最忘恩負義的壞蛋。“幸運的是我們有最好的鳥，”他們說，並提出了仿人再唱歌。那是他們已經聽到了同樣的調第三十四時間，但他們並沒有完全由心臟知道它，因為它是一個困難的一塊。而音樂大師稱讚人造鳥無可估量的。是的，他說，玩意兒是不是真正的夜鶯要好得多，不僅在它的衣服和許多美麗的鑽石，而且在它的機械內部。

“你看，女士們，先生們，首先你的皇帝陛下，與真正的夜鶯誰也不知道會發生什麼，但根據計劃，這個人造鳥一切順利，沒有什麼僥倖心理，我可以解釋它，並把它成碎片，並展示如何在機械車輪被安排，他們怎麼繞過去，又經過怎樣的遵循。“

“這些都是我們的情緒完全是，說：”他們都和音樂大師吩咐有鳥要給大家一個公開演唱會下週日。皇帝說，他的人都應該聽到它。並聽取了他們所做的，與盡可能多的快樂，彷彿他們都得到了醉意上茶，中國時尚。大家說，“哦”，並舉行了我們所說的手指“lickpot”，並點了點頭。但誰聽說過真正的夜鶯的貧困漁民說，“這是非常漂亮，非常接近真實的東西，但並不完全。我無法想像什麼欠缺。”

真正的夜鶯被驅逐的土地。在其位，人工鳥坐在皇帝的床旁邊有一個緩衝。其所有的黃金和珠寶禮物打下它，和它的標題是現在“帝豪歌手- - 的 - 皇帝到睡眠。” 在等級是站在左一，為皇帝賜給因為心臟傑出的左側。即使是皇帝的心臟是在左邊。

音樂大師寫了關於人工鳥一25卷書。據了解，囉嗦，而且到處是堅硬中國話，但大家都表示，他們閱讀並理解它，免得他們展示自己愚蠢的，然後將被拳打在他們的肚子。

經過一年的皇帝，他在球場上，和所有其他中國佬知道的人造歌曲心臟每嘰嘰喳喳。他們喜歡就更好了，現在他們會唱它自己。他們做到了。街頭頑童唱，“Zizizi！KLUK，KLUK，KLUK，”和皇帝唱了這一點。這就是它的受歡迎程度了。

但有一天晚上，當人工鳥唱他最好由皇帝的床上，什麼鳥裡面打破了一個鼻音。呼呼-RR，所有的輪子跑下來，音樂停了下來。從床上跳下皇帝並找來自己的醫生，但他能怎麼辦？然後，他找來一個鐘錶匠，誰賦予的，和調查，並修補了一個時尚的後鳥。但鐘錶匠說，鳥必須避免過分操勞，為的齒輪磨損嚴重，如果他取代了他們那不就前功盡棄了調子。這是可怕的。一個一年只開一次會，他們讓小鳥歌唱，那幾乎是太多了。但音樂大師做了一個小演講充滿艱辛中國話這意味著該鳥是好，因為它曾經是。這樣，使得它不如以往。

五年過去了，和一個真正的悲哀降臨整個國家。在中國佬愛他們的皇帝，現在他病倒了。病得要死，有人說。一個新的皇帝被選擇的準備。人站在宮殿街道，並要求閣下在等待它如何與他們的皇帝去了。

“P，”他說，搖了搖頭。

冷，面色蒼白躺在皇帝在他的偉大壯麗的床。所有的臣子以為他死了，就去做頂禮膜拜的新皇帝。的走狗去了交易流言，而女服務員給了咖啡黨，因為它是這樣一個特殊的場合。深墊被放置在所有的房間和通道，以馬弗每個足跡。這是安靜的宮殿，死靜。但皇帝還沒有死。僵硬而蒼白，他躺著，在他華麗的床與長天鵝絨窗簾和沉甸甸的金流蘇。在高牆上是一個開放的窗口，通過它的月光落在皇帝和他的人造鳥。

可憐的皇帝幾乎不能呼吸。這是因為如果什麼都坐在他的胸口。睜開眼睛，他看到是誰死坐在那裡，穿著皇帝的王冠，處理皇帝的黃金劍，並攜帶皇帝的錦旗。在這些偉大的天鵝絨窗簾的褶皺有奇怪的熟悉的面孔。有些人太可怕了，別人溫柔善良。他們是皇帝的事蹟，好的和壞的，誰回來他現在死坐在他的心臟。

“你不記得了 - ？” 他們低聲一前一後。“你不記得了 - ？” 他們告訴的東西，使冷汗跑在他的額頭上他。

“不，我不記得了！” 皇帝說。“音樂，音樂，聲音中國的偉大鼓免得我聽到他們在說什麼！” 但他們去竊竊私語，和死亡地點了點頭，中國時尚，在每一個字。

“音樂，音樂！” 皇帝叫。“唱，我的寶貝小金鳥，唱！我已經給你黃金和珍貴的禮物，我已經掛我的金拖鞋掛在脖子上，唱歌，我求你了，哼！”

但鳥兒默默地站在那裡。有沒有人來風呢，沒事讓它唱歌。死亡一直在他偉大的空洞的眼睛盯著，它是安靜的，致命的安靜。

突然，透過窗戶傳來了一陣歌聲。這是活的小夜鶯誰在噴霧坐在外面。他聽說皇帝的困境，並已經到了唱的安慰和希望。當他唱，幻影變得蒼白，更蒼白，血液流動越來越快，通過皇帝的虛弱的身體。甚至死亡聽了，說：“走吧，小夜鶯，下去吧！”

“但是，說：”小夜鶯，“你還給那一劍，這面旗幟，是皇帝的王冠呢？”

和死亡還給這些寶物的一首歌。夜鶯唱的。它唱安靜的墓地，其中白玫瑰生長，這裡的老花使空氣甜甜的，那裡的草總是綠，濕與那些誰仍然活著的淚水。死亡渴望他的花園。透過窗戶飄冷灰色的​​霧氣，因為死亡離開。

“謝謝你，謝謝你！” 皇帝說。“從天上一隻小鳥，我知道你的老了，我從我的土地一旦被驅逐你，而你們又唱離我的床邪惡的臉，從我的心臟死亡，我該怎樣報答你？”

“你已經報答我，說：”夜鶯。“我帶了淚水給你的眼睛，當我第一次唱歌給你。要歌手那些比任何寶石更珍貴的心臟，但現在睡覺，和成長新鮮和強烈，而我唱歌。” 他唱，直到皇帝陷入了聲音，清爽的睡眠，甜美舒緩的睡眠。

陽光直射在他的窗口，當皇帝醒來，恢復和好。不是他的一個僕人回到了他，因為他們以為他已經死了，但仍然夜鶯唱。

“你必須留在我身邊，”皇帝說。“唱歌對我來說，只有當你請，我會打破人為的鳥了一千塊。”

“不，”夜鶯。“它努力了。保持它在你身邊。我不能建立我在這裡築巢，或住在宮殿裡，所以讓我來照我的意思，然後我就坐在噴由你的窗口，並且唱的東西，這將使你快樂和周到了。我會唱那些誰是同性戀，和那些誰是悲愴的。我的歌會告訴所有的善惡，你看不到有一點唱歌鳥飛遠弗屆，到漁夫的你小屋，到了農民的家中，和其他很多地方很長的路要走你和你告上法庭。我愛你的心臟比我做你的王冠，但王冠已經祝福了。我去唱歌給你聽，如果你能答應我一件事。“

“所有這一切我已經是你的了，叫道：”皇帝，誰在他的帝后妃嬪站著，他已經把在自己身上，並舉行了他沉重的黃金劍到他的心臟。

“只有一件事，”夜鶯問。“你不能讓任何人知道你有一隻小鳥誰告訴你的一切，然後一切都會變得更好。” 和走他飛。

僕人進來要照顧他們的死皇帝和立在那兒。和皇帝說，“早上好。”