The Emperor's Nightingale (1949) - full transcript

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 gay 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.

subtitles by adimond @ kg