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 ceased. The Emperor sprang up, and had his physician
summoned, but what could _he_ do! Then the clockmaker came, and, after
a great deal of talking and examining, he put the bird somewhat in
order, but he said that it must be very seldom used as the works were
nearly worn out, and it was impossible to put in new ones. Here was a
calamity! Only once a year was the artificial bird allowed to sing,
and even that was almost too much for it. But then the bandmaster made
a little speech full of hard words, saying that it was just as good as
before. And so, of course, it _was_ just as good as before. So five
years passed, and then a great sorrow came to the nation. The Chinese
look upon their Emperor as everything, and now he was ill, and not
likely to live it was said.

Already a new Emperor had been chosen, and the people stood outside in
the street and asked the Fi