Everyone is asking if the nightingale in the book exists. They think the marvelous bird is the writer’s invention, but I know better. I hear the nightingale singing in the woods when I take meals home to my sick mother, and, at the end of the day when I rest under a tree, the nightingale sings to me. She brings tears to my eyes, and I feel as if my poor old mother were kissing me.

Little Kitchenmaid in The Nightingale, Hans Christian Andersen