the emperor of china is a chinaman, as you most likely know, and everyone around him is a chinaman too. it's been a great many years since this story happened in china, but that's all the more reason for telling it before it gets forgotten.
the emperor's palace was the wonder of the world. it was made entirely of fine porcelain, extremely expensive but so delicate that you could touch it only with the greatest of care. in the garden the rarest flowers bloomed, and to the prettiest ones were tied little silver bells which tinkled so that no one could pass by without noticing them. yes, all things were arranged according to plan in the emperor's garden, though how far and wide it extended not even the gardener knew. if you walked on and on, you came to a fine forest where the trees were tall and the lakes were deep. the forest ran down to the deep blue sea, so close that tall ships could sail under the branches of the trees. in these trees a nightingale lived. his song was so ravishing that even the poor fisherman, who had much else to do, stopped to listen on the nights when he went out to cast his nets, and heard the nightingale.
"how beautiful that is," he said, but he had his work to attend to, and he would forget the bird's song. but the next night, when he heard the song he would again say, "how beautiful."
from all the countries in the world travelers came to the city of the emperor. they admired the city. they admired the palace and its garden, but when they heard the nightingale they said, "that is the best of all."
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