Chapter 12 12 Nightingale Concert

We took a place on the bank of the river.In front of it is a steep brown soil bank, and behind it is a large dark forest.We lay prone on the green tender grass, with our fists supporting our chins, and our legs stretched freely: please, please do as you please.We also took off our spring coats, and we didn't have to pay the twenty-kopeck fee for keeping them, because, thank God, there were no theater ushers in our neighbourhood.The woods, the sky, and the endless fields were all bathed in moonlight; and in the distance, a red lamp flickered and flickered faintly.The air is quiet, clean, and fragrant, all of which are conducive to the singer's performance.As long as it, the nightingale, doesn't abuse our patience, get out quickly.But it hasn't moved for a long time. In anticipation, we had to listen to other singers' singing according to the program list.

The evening began with a cuckoo solo.It cooed lazily in the depths of the woods, and after a dozen times, it stopped.Just then, two red-footed falcons flew over our heads with piercing screeches.Then the well-known bass singer Huang Li began to sing seriously.We listened to it and felt so happy, we would have listened to it, if it hadn't been for a flock of rooks flying back to the woods to spend the night, a dark cloud appeared in the distance, and the dark cloud moved towards us, and fell into the woods with a hoarse cry superior.This black crowd of crows did not subside for a long time.

While the rooks were making noise, countless frogs living in the reeds came and went, and the grasshoppers made noise.For half an hour, the vast music hall was filled with various and integrated sounds.Somewhere, a sleepy thrush began to cry, accompanied by pheasant and reed warbler.Then there was an intermission, and there was silence all around.Occasionally, a cricket resting in the grass next to the auditorium sang, breaking the silence around it.During the intermission, our patience was stretched to the limit: we were already complaining about the singer.It wasn't until the night fell to the earth and the moon climbed to the sky above the forest that it was the protagonist's turn to appear.The nightingale was perched on a young maple tree, flew into a clump of blackthorns with a sound, turned its tail for a while, and then stood still.It is dressed in gray plumage. Generally speaking, it is indifferent to the audience, and even when facing the audience, it is always dressed in the vulgar attire of a gray sparrow. (Shame on you, young singer! The audience does not exist for you, but you exist for the audience!) For about three minutes, the nightingale remained silent, motionless, but you listen, the treetops begin to rustle, the breeze blows, The crickets sang more happily. With the accompaniment of this band, our singer just tried his singing voice and made his first vibrato.It starts singing.I'm not going to describe its singing, I just want to say that when the singer gently opened his warbler's beak and sang softly, making the whole forest resound with his clear and sweet singing, even the accompaniment band was excited I had to forget to play, and listened with bated breath.There is strength and tenderness in the song of the nightingale.However, I have no intention of competing for the poet's bread, let them describe it.The nightingale sang, and there was an attentive silence all around.Only once did the woods growl angrily and the wind hiss, for an owl suddenly hooted to overwhelm our singer

When the sky grew white, the stars faded, and the song of the nightingale became softer, at the edge of the woods appeared the cook of the duke's landowner.He bent over and arched his back, pressing his hat with his left hand, and sneaked quietly.In his right hand he holds a wicker basket.His figure appeared and disappeared in the bushes, and soon disappeared into the dense forest. The nightingale sang for a while, and suddenly fell silent.At this point we were about to leave. Look at the little rascal!We heard someone say this, and soon saw the cook.The duke's cook came up to us, beaming with joy, and showed us his fists.Showing in his fists the little head and tail of the nightingale he just caught Poor singer!God bless, may no one have such a bad luck.

Why are you catching it?we asked him. Put it in the cage! A mournful cry of the crake ushered in the dawn, and the woods, which had lost their singers, began to clamor.The cook stuffed Rose's lover into a wicker basket, and ran happily back to the village.We also went home.