Emperor's Nightingale, The (1949)

[bunniefuu]

Once upon a time, in another country...

...there lived a boy who should

have been as happy as a king.

His house was grand as a palace,

set among spacious lawns.

And the old aunts who

were his guardians...

...saw to it that he received

every advantage.

But sometimes, when outside his window

the sun shone and the woods glittered...

...he wasn't nearly happy as a king.

He wasn't really happy at all.

For there was a high wall around the

house and the gates were always shut.

On a beautiful golden day, what

good were the expensive toys...

...sent him by a father

always away on his travels?

The woods called to him, and

the breeze whistled an invitation...

...to the boy and his toy sailor.

Even if he escaped into the sunlight,

he was still closed in by rules...

...rules as strong as


the gates themselves.

"Wear your hat in the sun. A little

gentleman always wears his hat."

What a lucky little girl.

Nobody to cry "Stop!" when she

splashed herself in the water.

Oh, she'd make a fine playmate!

And no one was watching.

"Keep off the grass!"

And if he lost himself in

the joy of making a friend...

...there was always a


summons back to the house.

Even on his birthday.

Now, a birthday is a

really special occasion.

There was a package from China.

His father hadn't entirely forgotten.

A nightingale!

A music box that sang


like a nightingale.

Wonderful!

Even better than the mechanical cymbal

player, who came from China too.

He should be proud and happy,

his guardians always pointed out.

There was scarcely a toy

in the world that he lacked.

What was it he missed?

The mandarin might have told him,


for he was very old and wise.

Too bad about the little girl. She

could have come to his birthday.

He'd have let her share his toys.

But there was a rule against that.

How did real nightingales sound?

Oh, it was alright to own a music-box

bird that stayed obediently in its cage.

But you tired of it after a while.

In the world outside, there must be


real fish, jumping in the rivers.

There must be real swans that did

not sail forever on a lake of glass.

He certainly felt very odd.

Was he going to be ill?

Fine way to end a birthday,

going to bed with a headache.

Yes, the doctor came with his grim black


bag full of unpleasant-tasting medicine.

But what did the old doctor know

about curing a lonely boy?

A spoonful of this, a dozen drops of

that for the headache and the fever.

But no medicine's strong enough

to dissolve the walls of routine...

...to bring the free and living

world into this shuttered house.

Oh, there was a prescription

he might have written.

"A spoonful of laughter

every 10 minutes."

"No rules at all for a whole week. A

bottle of friendship to be taken daily."

But the doctor's skill was as mechanical

as the song of the bird in the music box.

Even the little girl could have told him

his medicines would do no good.

Later, as the boy lay in his room,

everything was suddenly strange.

Were the dolls trying to speak?

Would the mechanical man

clash his cymbals?

Why did the toys stare at him?

It must be cool in the woods

where real nightingales sang.

Better than medicine,

to hear the nightingale.

But she couldn't sing!

She was in a cage, and...

...and the gates were shut.

No.

No, the nightingale had flown away.

To China.

To the woods by the river in China.

And her song was the

sweetest in the world.

The nightingale.

She sang to the fisherman,

who loved her song.

But perhaps even in China there was

someone who'd never heard her...

...had never heard her because he had

never known anything true or real.

For all his possessions

were artificial things.

Like the glass flowers of his garden,

which tinkled, but had no fragrance.

He believed what he was told: that he

was too grand for ordinary things.

For he was the emperor of China.

Good morning!

Lord of all he surveys.

To be an emperor must be magnificent.

But who wants to be magnificent

before breakfast?

Let's have some fun.

Uh-oh.

Here they come.

The lord chamberlain.

Clang, the ruler of routine.

And all the fawning courtiers.

Gracious!

The window open?

Time to get up... officially.

The royal slippers.

Where are they?

Scurry, scurry! Run around.

Look about. They must be found!

Well, of all places!

On the emperor's feet.

How ever could that happen?

Scandalous.

Preposterous.

Irregular.

Unheard of.

Time to be dressed.

Time to get out of bed.

But not without the royal trousers.

Time now for royal recreation.

But something elegant,

something befitting an emperor.

Like feeding glass swans

upon their lake of mirrors.

Enough of that.

Time for something more diverting.

A turn in the garden, and

a bit of wholesome sport.

What fresh excitement

were they planning now?

He enjoyed that. Too bad it was stopped

so soon. But royal schedules are rigid.

And the ruler of routine was unbending.

Only the little kitchen maid

seemed to understand.

Such a busy day, such a busy day.

And now to the next entertainment:

the fabulous philharmonic fish.

Delightful, to watch the

perfumed bubbles rise and burst!

But what's this?

Who is this odd-looking stranger,

dropping from the sky without warning?

The sailor had never seen an emperor.

And the emperor was delighted

to welcome a visitor.

The welcome was accepted;

the acceptance was welcomed.

And the formality continued

through dinner time.

But the emperor was very

pleased with his guest.

And when it was time for leave-taking,

there was a friendly exchange of gifts.

"Goodbye," waved the emperor, half

wishing he were free to fly away too.

A picture book of China's wonders.

All of the emperor's

favorite possessions.

The porcelain palace.

The jeweled butterfly.

The glass swans, drifting

on their lake of mirrors.

The fabulous philharmonic fish.

And even Clang.

Yes, there was Clang,

the ruler of routine.

"But there is nothing, in all China..."

"...so wonderful as the

nightingale," the book said.

What in the world is this?

The nightingale?

Have you ever heard of

such a thing in my empire?

Truly, one can learn

something from books!

Find her!

She must sing in the

palace this evening.

But how was she to be found?

The lord chamberlain asked everywhere.

He went from chamber to chamber, through

halls, up passages, down corridors....

But not one person, of all he met,

had ever heard of the nightingale.

She'd never been presented at court.

She must certainly be an invention

of the man who wrote the book.

Many were the questions asked, but

everywhere the answer was the same.

For who in that artificial court

would know the nightingale?

Of course! The court professor.

Why hadn't they thought of him before?

One million six...

...seven, eight...

...nine, ten.

But the court professor was

too busy counting the stars.

Look outside the palace.

No one there but a kitchen maid?

Well, ask her! Don't bother me.

The nightingale? I know

her well. I'll lead you to her.

So they followed the kitchen maid toward

the green woods where the nightingale...

...was accustomed to sing.

It was a strange and disturbing

journey for the courtiers...

...who'd never set foot

outside the palace grounds.

They felt lost in a world where

the flowers smelled sweet...

...but did not tinkle like bells.

Each of the courtiers, as was his

custom, held his nose high in the air...

...and paid for his snobbishness

with a stubbed toe.

Even the sounds of the world outside

were strange to their ears.

And they listened to the

most unlikely noises...

...thinking it might be the

voice of the nightingale.

The kitchen maid was tactful,

and she won the argument.

The courtiers were in a maze,

bamboozled, and this would never do.

They seem to have lost their heads...

...and if the nightingale is not found

by evening, then perhaps they will!

But fortunately, the kitchen maid

discovered a practical use for pigtails.

At last, they came by the riverbank...

...where the fisherman cast

his line by moonlight.

And up in the branches,

above the water...

...a simple, gray bird filled

the evening with her song.

"I'd be delighted to sing for the

emperor," said the nightingale...

"...although my song sounds far

better among the green trees."

Yes, to be sure,

indubitably: a nightingale!

Meanwhile at the palace, the emperor

paced about in a fever of impatience.

The court stood waiting with him.

And at the very top

of the palace tower...

...the old professor kept

watch with his telescope.

The inside of the palace glittered

with a thousand golden lamps.

The loveliest flowers,

with the merriest...

...tinkling bells, were

placed in the passages.

And an air of expectancy

ran through the corridors.

There she was.

There was the nightingale, securely

tied with eight silken ribbons.

She was coming to sing for the emperor!

The celebration could now begin.

No one remembered the kitchen

maid. She had played her part.

Others now claimed to

have found the bird.

At first, there was some doubt.

Surely this plain simple creature wasn't

the famous minstrel of the picture book!

But the resemblance was close

enough. Let her perform.

"Sing," ordered the lord chamberlain.

But the nightingale had never

sung to order in her life.

And the chattering crowd offended her.

"I sing only for love," she said.

And then she sang of her home, of the

willow trees leaning to the water...

...of the fishermen in their boats, of

the cool river where the lilies drifted.

She sang of beauty, and of love.

And the nightingale sang so sweetly...

...that unaccustomed tears

came to the emperor's eyes.

And the nightingale sang more

sweetly still, and for a moment...

...the emperor understood her song.

And his heart went soaring with it

far beyond the porcelain wall.

As the lights were turned down

in the palace that night...

...everyone agreed that the little

bird had been a great success.

The emperor left full instructions

for his new treasure.

She was to remain at court,

to have her own cage...

...and with permission to promenade

twice in the day and once in the night.

Twelve attendants were allotted her,

and they were to keep good watch...

...lest she fly away.

And when two courtiers

met in the palace yard...

...one was to say, "night,"

and the other answer, "gale."

In the morning, the emperor's first

thought was of his newest possession.

All went well, at first.

The trouble was, nightingales

know nothing about rules.

Treading on the imperial lawn?

What a catastrophe!

But the nightingale

had no need for lawns.

And as she looked out in the free air,

she longed to return to her home.

"Please come back," called the emperor.

And, seeing his tears, the

tender-hearted nightingale...

...returned to the little prison

they had made for her.

So delighted was the emperor...

...that he gave her his gold

medallion as a sign of his favor.

Even the lord chamberlain had to

concede that things had gone well.

Now, an emperor in one respect is

no different from ordinary people:

Once a year he celebrates that

great occasion, a birthday.

And when it's an emperor's birthday...

...you can imagine how grand

are the preparations.

Of course, the lord chamberlain tried to

keep everything as formal as possible.

But everyone else had

a g*y and festive time.

The congratulations, the speeches: the

emperor almost swooned with pleasure.

And such a host of

amusing, original gifts.

Everyone wished to please

the little sovereign...

...and something in the shape of a

nightingale was bound to be unique.

The sailor had remembered the birthday.

Another nightingale!

But this time, a bird

of gold and jewels.

And willing to sing

at the turn of a key.

The court was overjoyed.

This was music they could understand.

Nothing here to bring tears...

...to disturb the heart with

thoughts of green forests.

The artificial bird was much

prettier than the living bird.

When it sang, it glittered.

And so pleased was the emperor

with its readiness to entertain, that...

...he ordered the imperial medallion

bestowed upon the new favorite.

There was only one who dissented.

But no one would listen to the

kitchen maid's warning of something...

...that might be lost forever.

At bedtime that night...

...the whole court buzzed with

admiration for the mechanical bird.

Three and thirty times it had sung

its selfsame song, all in perfect time.

The lord chamberlain was

particularly high in his praise.

For not only did the newcomer's

exterior sparkle with diamonds...

...but its clockwork insides ensured

that the song would never vary...

...not even in one mechanical trill.

And so enraptured were they all, that no

one noticed that the real nightingale...

...had flown out of the open window,

back to her own green woods.

Over and over, the same tinkling song.

What ails the emperor, that suddenly

he cannot bear to hear another note?

It is perfect music.

Everyone has told him so.

Why should he long for the voice

of the little bird that flew away?

Oh, for a shelter from that ceaseless

music without life, without meaning!

There was a refuge.

In a far corner of the palace, in a

dusty room filled with forgotten things.

There the emperor could

shut the door, and hide.

But although he wished very hard...

...although he waited

all through the day...

...the nightingale did not come back.

His call could not reach her.

And he was unhappier than

ever in all his royal life.

Night fell.

And a darkness fell on

the heart of the emperor.

And for the first time, he knew he hated

the walls that shut him away from...

...a world of woods,

and trees, and birds.

The nightingale. The nightingale!

How lonely, without the nightingale.

And, as ordinary people, an emperor

too can become ill with loneliness.

So ill that medicine alone

cannot cure him.

For there was not one in the kingdom who

had skill enough to heal a broken heart.

And the court? Well, the court

could only follow rules.

But there was no rule for

this occasion, except one:

Curry favor with the person who

would soon take the emperor's place.

What good now were

the royal possessions?

They were only imitations of life.

And it was life itself the emperor had

once held in his hand, and let fly away.

Could anything save him now from death?

So, for a song, Death gave up

the crown and the scepter.

The living nightingale

had returned in time.

She'd come back for love, and because

she remembered the emperor's tears.

And she sang so sweetly that she

touched even the heart of Death.

Then he forgot his errand and departed.

Back he went, to tend his own garden.

For death is not so strong as life.

But life is nothing at all

if it is lived in a prison.

Even a prison made of

rules and ceremony.

The emperor would live.

But he would live no

more behind walls...

...that shut him away

from the living world.

The nightingale had

opened the gates for him.

He had learned that love is

strong, that freedom is good...

...and that custom is made to break.

Ceremony? Away with it!

Rules for everything? Nonsense!

Routine? Bah!

Clang, clang, let the cymbals

clang. They had no power now.

Yes, once upon a time, there was a boy.

And the boy, waking from his fever,

remembered something he'd learned in...

...was it a dream?

Something that a nightingale

had taught an emperor.

There, as before, was the garden.

There stood the gates

that were always shut.

But today they were no barrier at all...

...for a boy who knew that

the real world lay beyond.

Perhaps?who can tell??he might

even learn to live happily ever after.