When I was in a little town among the mountainesses, I heard a sound like the voice of nightingales,— —it was in the evening, when the sun was declining, and the whole landscape seemed to be dissolved in a golden mist. I thought of the nightingales, and of their songs, and of the sweetness of the air; and I said to myself, "It is very pleasant to be alone in such a place."
But presently there came a company of ladies and gentlemen, who had been travelling together, and they took their places upon the grass, and they began to sing and play. They sang songs of love, and of the past, and of the future; and their voices were like the voices of the nightingales.
Among them there was a man named Sweeney, who was coarse and vulgar, and who had been drinking. He laughed loudly at the songs, and he said rude things to the ladies. Yet the ladies laughed and smiled, and one of them sang more sweetly than the rest.
Sweeney grew angry when he found that his jests had no effect upon the company; and he determined to show his power by a rudeness. He took off his hat, and he danced with heavy feet upon the grass; and the dancers stopped, and the music ceased.
Then Sweeney seized a nightingale that was singing upon a branch, and he crushed it in his hand. The nightingale died with a little cry, and the ladies screamed, and the gentlemen hurried away. There was silence for a moment, and then Sweeney laughed again.
He said, "You see, I can do with your nightingales as I will. I can make them sing, and I can make them die." And he looked round with a sort of triumphant face, as one who has won a petty victory.
But a little child, who had been playing near, came forward and struck Sweeney with a small stone. The stone did not hurt him much, but it made him angry. He seized the child, and shook him, and threw him down.
Then the ladies and gentlemen took courage, and they called the servants, and they bound Sweeney with cords, and they led him away to the house of the magistrate. There he was questioned, and he said nothing but coarse words and blasphemies.
They condemned him to be imprisoned for a time, and to be whipped. He was taken away through the streets; and as he passed, the people looked at him with hatred and disgust. He laughed still, but it was a bitter laugh, and there were tears in his eyes.
In the prison he lay upon the straw, and he thought of the nightingales, and of the little child, and of the faces of the ladies. He felt ashamed, but he could not change his nature. He would always be Sweeney,—coarse, brutal, and yet alive with some fierce joy in destruction.
At last his term expired, and he came forth again into the light. He walked back to the little town among the mountainesses; and upon a branch he heard another nightingale beginning to sing. He stood a moment and listened, and then he put out his hand to seize it.