The Nightingale [AUDIOBOOK] read by Michael Ball - GivingTales

Once upon a time, the Emperor of China lived in the most beautiful palace in the whole world. The palace was built of porcelain, and in its gardens were exotic flowers hung with silver bells. Everyone noticed them when they walked by. Nearby was a dark forest that sloped down to the sea, where ships passed under the branches of trees. In the trees lived a nightingale with a song so exquisite that even the busy fishermen stopped to listen. The bird's fame grew. Travelers to the kingdom praised its song more highly than the Emperor's palace. They wrote books and poems about the nightingale in the forest by the sea. The Emperor read one of these books and demanded to see the nightingale. Bring him to my palace. He will sing for me tonight, he commanded. But his courtiers had no idea where the bird was. Eventually, they found a little kitchen maid who said she would take them to it. The kitchen maid led them through the forest to a very tall tree. There, in the highest branches, was a small grey bird. Little nightingale, will you sing for the Emperor? the kitchen maid asked. I would be delighted, the bird said, and began to sing. He flew down from his perch. But my song sounds best in the woods. Back at the palace, the nightingale sang so sweetly that tears fell from the Emperor's eyes. He sang even more beautifully and the Emperor's heart melted. He offered the bird his own golden slipper as a present. But the nightingale said that seeing tears in the Emperor's eyes was the greatest reward. The Emperor commanded that the nightingale should stay at court and have his own cage. He was allowed to go for a walk twice a day and once at night, accompanied by twelve footmen. But they tied ribbons to his legs to stop him flying away. So the poor nightingale was trapped and miserable. One day, the Emperor received a large parcel. Inside was a golden clockwork nightingale studded with diamonds, rubies and sapphires. When wound up with the key, it wagged its glittering tail and sang one of the nightingale's songs. The Emperor ordered the birds to sing together. But it didn't work, because the real nightingale sang whatever song he liked, while the clockwork bird had only one song. But he was so pretty with his jewels that they made him sing it thirty times. When the clockwork bird finally stopped, the Emperor discovered that the real nightingale had flown out of the window. He had returned to his forest home. What an ungrateful bird, the courtiers said. So they made the clockwork bird sing again and again, always the same song. It was given a cushion beside the Emperor's bed. They titled it Grand Imperial Singer of the Emperor to Sleep. The palace music master even arranged for the bird to give a concert. It sang perfectly, but some fishermen who heard it were disappointed. There is something lacking, they said. After a year, the Emperor, his courtiers and all the people knew every trill of the song by heart. The whole country rejoiced at the clockwork nightingale's music. They loved to sing the song themselves. But then disaster struck. One night while mid-song there was a twang and a whirr and the bird broke down. The music stopped. A watchmaker was called to repair the bird, but he said its cogs and wheels were badly worn. If he replaced them, it would spoil the tune. So from now on, the bird must only sing once a year. Five years went by and the whole country was in sorrow. The Emperor fell ill and it was feared he would die. He lay stiff and pale in his magnificent bed with velvet curtains and gold tassels. The moonlight streamed through the open window onto the Emperor and his broken clockwork bird. And the Emperor thought that he saw death sitting on his bed, wearing the Emperor's crown and wielding his golden sword and banner. Strange and terrible faces appeared around the bed whispering the Emperor's deeds, both good and bad. Sing, my precious golden bird, sing, he cried. Drown out these awful voices. But the bird stood silent. There was no one to wind it or make it sing. Death kept staring at the Emperor with cold, hollow eyes. Meanwhile, the phantom faces continued their terrible whispering. Suddenly, a beautiful burst of song came through the open window. It was the real Nightingale who had returned. He sang of comfort and hope. The phantom faces grew pale and started to fade away. As they did, the Emperor felt blood beginning to flow more quickly through his veins again. Sing on, little Nightingale, said Death. I will give the Emperor his crown, sword and banner back for a song. So the Nightingale sang of the quiet churchyard where white roses grow, with green grass wet with the tears of the living. Death longed for his garden. He drifted away through the window as a cold, grey mist. The phantom faces vanished and the Emperor was strong and well once more. How can I ever repay you, the Emperor said to the Nightingale. You have already repaid me, the bird replied. I saw the tears in your eyes the first time I sang. The Emperor wanted the bird to stay with him always, but the Nightingale refused. I cannot build my nest here or live in a palace. I will visit your window and sing to you of everything in your kingdom, but you must promise not to tell anyone that a little bird comes and sings to you. When the courtiers came in to look after the dead Emperor, they were amazed to see him standing up, healthy and well. From then on, the Nightingale sang to him of his people, those who were happy and those who needed help. And the Emperor became a better and more beloved ruler.