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 limbs again; he listened
to the song until the tears ran down his
cheeks; he knew that it was the little real
Nightingale who had flown away from him
when the gold nightingale came.
Death was listening to the song, too;
and when it was done and the Emperor
begged for more, Death, too, said, "Please
sing again, little Nightingale!"
"Will you give me the Emperor's gold
crown for a song?" said the little Nightingale.
"Yes," said Death; and the little Nightingale
bought the Emperor's crown for a song.
"Oh, sing again, little Nightingale,"
begged Death.
"Will you give me the Emperor's sceptre
for another song?" said the little gray
Nightingale.
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