Cold and pale lay the emperor in his royal bed; the whole court thought
he was dead, and every one ran away to pay homage to his successor. The
chamberlains went out to have a talk on the matter, and the ladies’-maids
invited company to take coffee. Cloth had been laid down on the halls and
passages, so that not a footstep should be heard, and all was silent and still.
But the emperor was not yet dead, although he lay white and stiff on his
gorgeous bed, with the long velvet curtains and heavy gold tassels. A
window stood open, and the moon shone in upon the emperor and the
artificial bird. The poor emperor, finding he could scarcely breathe with a
strange weight on his chest, opened his eyes, and saw Death sitting there.
He had put on the emperor’s golden crown, and held in one hand his sword
of state, and in the other his beautiful banner. All around the bed and
peeping through the long velvet curtains, were a number of strange heads,
some very ugly, and others lovely and gentle-looking. These were the
emperor’s good and bad deeds, which stared him in the face now Death sat
at his heart.
“Do you remember this?” “Do you recollect that?” they asked one after
another, thus bringing to his remembrance circumstances that made the
perspiration stand on his brow.
“I know nothing about it,” said the emperor. “Music! music!” he cried;
“the large Chinese drum! that I may not hear what they say.” But they still
went on, and Death nodded like a Chinaman to all they said. “Music!
music!” shouted the emperor. “You little precious golden bird, sing, pray
sing! I have given you gold and costly presents; I have even hung my
golden slipper round your neck. Sing! sing!” But the bird remained silent.
There was no one to wind it up, and therefore it could not sing a note.
Death continued to stare at the emperor with his cold, hollow eyes, and
the room was fearfully still. Suddenly there came through the open window
the sound of sweet music. Outside, on the bough of a tree, sat the living
nightingale. She had heard of the emperor’s illness, and was therefore come
to sing to him of hope and trust. And as she sung, the shadows grew paler
and paler; the blood in the emperor’s veins flowed more rapidly, and gave
