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 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 grey Nightingale.

“Yes,” said Death; and the little Nightingale bought the Emperor’s sceptre for another song.

Once more Death begged for a song, and this time the little Nightingale obtained the banner for her singing.  Then she sang one more song, so sweet and so sad that it made Death think of his garden in the churchyard, where he always liked best to be.  And he rose from the Emperor’s heart and floated away through the window.

When Death was gone, the Emperor said to the little Nightingale, “Oh, dear little Nightingale, you have saved me from Death!  Do not leave me again.  Stay with me on this little gold perch, and sing to me always!”