ng to her waltz tune, when there was a _snap_ and _whir-r-r_
inside the bird, and the music stopped. The Emperor ran to his doctor,
but he could not do anything. Then he ran to his clock-maker, but he
could not do much. Nobody could do much. The best they could do was to
patch the gold nightingale up so that it could sing once a year; even
that was almost too much, and the tune was very shaky. Still, the
Emperor kept the gold nightingale on the perch in his own room.

A long time went by, and then, at last, the Emperor grew very ill, and
was about to die. When it was sure that he could not live much longer,
the people chose a new emperor and waited for the old one to die. The
poor Emperor lay, quite cold and pale, in his great big bed, with velvet
curtains and tall candlesticks all about. He was quite alone, for all
the courtiers had gone to congratulate the new emperor, and all the
servants had gone to talk it over.

When the Emperor woke up, he felt a terrible weight on his chest. He
opened his eyes, and there was Death, sitting on his heart. Death had
put on the Emperor's gold crown, and he had the gold sceptre in one
hand, and the silken banner in the other; and he looked at the Emperor
with his great hollow eyes. The room was full of shadows, and the
shadows were full of faces. Everywhere the Emperor looked, there were
faces. Some were very, very ugly, and some were sweet and lovely; they
were all the things the Emperor had done in his life, good and bad. And
as he looked at them they began to whisper. They whispered, "_Do you
remember this?_" "_Do you remember that?_" The Emperor remembered so
much that he cried out loud, "Oh, bring the great drum! Make music, so
that I may not hear these dreadful whispers!" But there was nobody there
to bring the drum.

Then the Emperor cried, "You little gold nightingale, can you not sing
something for me? I have given you gifts of gold and jewels, and kept
you always by my side; will you not help me now?" But there was nobody
to wind the little gold nightingale up, and of course it could not sing.

The Emperor's heart grew colder and colder where Death crouched upon it,
and the dreadful whispers grew louder and louder, and the Emperor's life
was almost gone. Suddenly, through the open window, there came a most
lovely song. It was so sweet and so loud that the whispers died quite
away. Presently the Emperor felt his heart grow warm, then he felt the
blood flow through his lim