have still the best bird!' they said and the
artificial bird had to sing again, and that was the thirty-fourth time
they had heard the same piece. But they did not yet know it by heart;
it was much too difficult. And the bandmaster praised the bird
tremendously; yes, he assured them it was better than a real
nightingale, not only because of its beautiful plumage and diamonds, but
inside as well. 'For see, my Lords and Ladies and your Imperial Majesty,
with the real Nightingale one can never tell what will come out, but all
is known about the artificial bird! You can explain it, you can open it
and show people where the waltzes lie, how they go, and how one follows
the other!'

'That's just what we think!' said everyone; and the bandmaster received
permission to show the bird to the people the next Sunday. They should
hear it sing, commanded the Emperor. And they heard it, and they were
as pleased as if they had been intoxicated with tea, after the Chinese
fashion, and they all said 'Oh!' and held up their forefingers and
nodded time. But the poor fishermen who had heard the real Nightingale
said: 'This one sings well enough, the tunes glide out; but there is
something wanting--I don't know what!'

The real Nightingale was banished from the kingdom.

The artificial bird was put on silken cushions by the Emperor's bed, all
the presents which it received, gold and precious stones, lay round
it, and it was given the title of Imperial Night-singer, First from the
left. For the Emperor counted that side as the more distinguished, being
the side on which the heart is; the Emperor's heart is also on the left.

And the bandmaster wrote a work of twenty-five volumes about the
artificial bird. It was so learned, long, and so full of the hardest
Chinese words that everyone said they had read it and understood it; for
once they had been very stupid about a book, and had been trampled under
foot in consequence. So a whole year passed. The Emperor, the Court, and
all the Chinese knew every note of the artificial bird's song by heart.
But they liked it all the better for this; they could even sing with
it, and they did. The street boys sang 'Tra-la-la-la-la, and the Emperor
sang too sometimes. It was indeed delightful.

But one evening, when the artificial bird was singing its best, and the
Emperor lay in bed listening to it, something in the bird went crack.
Something snapped! Whir-r-r! all the wheels ran down and then the music