too, the Emperor
commanded: and they did hear it, and were as much pleased as if they had
all got tipsy upon tea, for that's quite the Chinese fashion, and they
all said, "Oh!" and held up their forefingers and nodded. But the poor
fisherman, who had heard the real Nightingale, said:

"It sounds pretty enough, and the melodies resemble each other, but
there's something wanting, though I know not what!"

The real Nightingale was banished from the country and empire. The
artificial bird had its place on a silken cushion close to the
Emperor's bed; all the presents it had received, gold and precious
stones, were ranged about it; in title it had advanced to be the High
Imperial After-Dinner-Singer, and in rank to Number One on the left
hand; for the Emperor considered that side the most important on which
the heart is placed, and even in an Emperor the heart is on the left
side; and the playmaster wrote a work of five and twenty volumes about
the artificial bird; it was very learned and very long, full of the most
difficult Chinese words; but yet all the people declared that they had
read it and understood it, for fear of being considered stupid, and
having their bodies trampled on.

So a whole year went by. The Emperor, the Court, and all the other
Chinese knew every little twitter in the artificial bird's song by
heart. But just for that reason it pleased them best--they could sing
with it themselves, and they did so. The street boys sang,
"Tsi-tsi-tsi-glug-glug!" and the Emperor himself sang it too. Yes, that
was certainly famous.

But one evening, when the artificial bird was singing its best, and the
Emperor lay in bed listening to it, something inside the bird said,
"Whizz!" Something cracked. "Whir-r-r!" All the wheels ran round, and
then the music stopped.

The Emperor immediately sprang out of bed, and caused his body physician
to be called; but what could _he_ do? Then they sent for a watchmaker,
and after a good deal of talking and investigation, the bird was put
into something like order, but the watchmaker said that the bird must be
carefully treated, for the barrels were worn, and it would be impossible
to put new ones in in such a manner that the music would go. There was a
great lamentation; only once in the year was it permitted to let the
bird sing, and that was almost too much. But then the playmaster made a
little speech full of heavy words, and said this was just as good as
before--and so of cour