se it was as good as before.

Now five years had gone by, and a real grief came upon the whole nation.
The Chinese were really fond of their Emperor, and now he was ill, and
could not, it was said, live much longer. Already a new Emperor had been
chosen, and the people stood out in the street and asked the cavalier
how the Emperor did.

"P!" said he, and shook his head.

Cold and pale lay the Emperor in his great, gorgeous bed; the whole
Court thought him dead, and each one ran to pay homage to the new ruler.
The chamberlains ran out to talk it over, and the ladies' maids had a
great coffee party. All about, in all the halls and passages, cloth had
been laid down so that no footstep could be heard, and therefore it was
quiet there, quite quiet. But the Emperor was not dead yet; stiff and
pale he lay on the gorgeous bed, with the long velvet curtains and the
heavy gold tassels; high up, a window stood open, and the moon shone in
upon the Emperor and the artificial bird.

The poor Emperor could scarcely breathe; it was just as if something lay
upon his chest; he opened his eyes, and then he saw that it was Death
who sat upon his chest, and had put on his golden crown, and held in one
hand the Emperor's sword, in the other his beautiful banner. And all
around, from among the folds of the splendid velvet curtains, strange
heads peered forth; a few very ugly, the rest quite lovely and mild.
These were all the Emperor's bad and good deeds, that stood before him
now that Death sat upon his heart.

"Do you remember this?" whispered one to the other. "Do you remember
that?" and then they told him so much that the perspiration ran from his
forehead.

"I did not know that!" said the Emperor. "Music! music! the great
Chinese drum!" he cried, "so that I need not hear all they say!"

And they continued speaking, and Death nodded like a Chinaman to all
they said.

"Music! music!" cried the Emperor. "You little precious golden bird,
sing, sing! I have given you gold and costly presents; I have even hung
my golden slipper around your neck--sing now, sing!"

But the bird stood still; no one was there to wind him up, and he could
not sing without that; but Death continued to stare at the Emperor with
his great, hollow eyes, and it was quiet, fearfully quiet.

Then there sounded from the window, suddenly, the most lovely song. It
was the little live Nightingale, that sat outside on a spray. It had
heard of the Emperor's sad pli