So five years passed , and then a great sorrow came to the nation . The Chinese look upon their Emperor as everything , and now he was ill , and not likely to live it was said . Already a new Emperor had been chosen , and the people stood outside in the street and asked the First Lord how the old Emperor was . ` P ! ' said he , and shook his head . Cold and pale lay the Emperor in his splendid great bed ; the whole Court believed him dead , and one after the other left him to pay their respects to the new Emperor . Everywhere in the halls and corridors cloth was laid down so that no footstep could be heard , and everything was still -- very , very still . And nothing came to break the silence . The Emperor longed for something to come and relieve the monotony of this deathlike stillness . If only someone would speak to him ! If only someone would sing to him . Music would carry his thoughts away , and would break the spell lying on him . The moon was streaming in at the open window ; but that , too , was silent , quite silent . ` Music ! music ! ' cried the Emperor . ` You little bright golden bird , sing ! do sing ! I gave you gold and jewels ; I have hung my gold slipper round your neck with my own hand -- sing ! do sing ! '
But the XXXXX was silent .
Cold bird jewels look monotony music nation sorrow stillness street