trees and deep lakes. The wood went straight down to the sea, which was
blue and deep; great ships could sail to and fro beneath the branches of
the trees; and in the trees lived a Nightingale, which sang so finely
that even the poor Fisherman, who had many other things to do, stopped
still and listened, when he had gone out at night to throw out his nets,
and heard the Nightingale.

"How beautiful that is!" he said; but he had to attend to his work, and
so he forgot the bird. But the next night, when the bird sang again, and
the Fisherman heard it, he said as before, "How beautiful that is!"

From all the countries of the world travelers came to the city of the
Emperor, and admired it, and the palace, and the garden; but when they
heard the Nightingale, they all said, "That is the best of all!"

And the travelers told of it when they came home; and the learned men
wrote many books about the town, the palace, and the garden. But they
did not forget the Nightingale; that was spoken of most of all; and all
those who were poets wrote great poems about the Nightingale in the wood
by the deep lake.

The books went all over the world, and a few of them once came to the
Emperor. He sat in his golden chair, and read, and read; every moment he
nodded his head, for it pleased him to hear the fine things that were
said about the city, the palace, and the garden. "But the Nightingale is
the best of all!"--it stood written there.

"What's that?" exclaimed the Emperor. "The Nightingale? I don't know
that at all! Is there such a bird in my empire, and in my garden to
boot? I've never heard of that. One has to read about such things."