Christian Chaudet's interpretation of the opera begins as the waking dream of a child in the land of Chinese art - and of mobile phones and webcams. The Child (Hugo Simcic) slips into his grandfather's pottery workshop at night and finds an unusually large vase. He feels the still-warm material which changes into a magnificent piece of Chinese porcelain. Presently, from behind its great blue-enameled trees, there appears a fisherman in his sampan. The Fisherman (Vsevolod Grivnov) sings of the Nightingale and the beauty of the night, echoing the Child's delight. The Nightingale (Natalie Dessay) joins in, as the pottery in the workshop changes, piece by piece, into Chinese porcelain. As the vision unfolds, in a cyber-pagoda many leagues away the Little Cook (Marie McLaughlin) has been chosen to find the Nightingale to sing for the Emperor's enjoyment. Sought by computer and reached by cellphone, the bird accepts the invitation. Amid much pomp and splendor, the Nightingale sings for the Emperor and an adoring public. Moved to tears, the Emperor (Albert Schaguidullin) offers the Nightingale his gold slipper in token of his gratitude. "You are crying, Great Emperor," replies the bird, "There is no greater gift than that." All is not well, however, when an artificial nightingale is presented to the Emperor as a gift from the Emperor of Japan. A vulgar display of lecherous smiles and obscene gestures, the automaton proves a great hit with the crowd, if not with the Emperor himself. Insulted, the real Nightingale flies away and the Emperor is incensed. He banishes the bird from China, naming the wind-up nightingale First Musician in the Empire in its place. Several years later, the Emperor lies dying, calling "Musicians! Quickly, musicians with big drums!" Suddenly, a beautiful song is heard as the Nightingale returns, without umbrage, to the Emperor's call. Even Death (Violeta Urmana), who sits in a white coat waiting for the Emperor's demise, is wooed by the Nightingale?s song. "I love to hear your song. Why do you stop?" she asks. "Give the crown back to the Emperor and I will sing again," replies the bird. Death obeys and, swayed the beauty of the song, fades into the rising light of dawn. The Nightingale vows to sing for the Emperor every night, and joy is restored. As his dream ends, the Child is held in the arms of the jubilant Emperor, but when he awakens it is his grandfather's face he sees. The Child lets himself slide to the ground and walks hand in hand with his grandfather to his bicycle. We hear from somewhere the song of a fisherman taking to the sea.