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put into large silver caskets, and sent to her.

The Emperor had them brought into a large hall, where the Princess was playing
at "Visiting," with the ladies of the court; and when she saw the caskets with
the presents, she clapped her hands for joy.

"Ah, if it were but a little pussy-cat!" said she; but the rose tree, with its
beautiful rose came to view.

"Oh, how prettily it is made!" said all the court ladies.

"It is more than pretty," said the Emperor, "it is charming!"

But the Princess touched it, and was almost ready to cry.

"Fie, papa!" said she. "It is not made at all, it is natural!"

"Let us see what is in the other casket, before we get into a bad humor," said
the Emperor. So the nightingale came forth and sang so delightfully that at
first no one could say anything ill-humored of her.

"Superbe! Charmant!" exclaimed the ladies; for they all used to chatter French,
each one worse than her neighbor.

"How much the bird reminds me of the musical box that belonged to our blessed
Empress," said an old knight. "Oh yes! These are the same tones, the same
execution."

"Yes! yes!" said the Emperor, and he wept like a child at the remembrance.

"I will still hope that it is not a real bird," said the Princess.

"Yes, it is a real bird," said those who had brought it. "Well then let the
bird fly," said the Princess; and she positively refused to see the Prince.

However, he was not to be discouraged; he daubed his face over brown and
black; pulled his cap over his ears, and knocked at the door.

"Good day to my lord, the Emperor!" said he. "Can I have employment at the
palace?"

"Why, yes," said the Emperor. "I want some one to take care of the pigs, for
we have a great many of them."

So the Prince was appointed "Imperial Swineherd." He had a dirty little room
close by the pigsty; and there he sat the whole day, and worked. By the
evening he had made a pretty little kitchen-pot. Little bells were hung all
round it; and when the pot was boiling, these bells tinkled in the most
charming manner, and played the old melody,

"Ach! du lieber Augustin,
Alles ist weg, weg, weg!"*

* "Ah! dear Augustine!
All is gone, gone, gone!"


But what was still more curious, whoever held his finger in the smoke of the
kitchen-pot, immediately smelt all the dishes that were cooking on every
hearth in the city--this, you see, was something quite different from the
rose.

Now the Princess happened to walk that way; and when she heard the tune, she
stood quite still, and seemed pleased; for she could play "Lieber Augustine";
it was the only piece she knew; and she played it with one finger.

"Why there is my piece," said the Princess. "That swineherd must certainly
have been well educated! Go in and ask him the price of the instrument."

So one of the court-ladies must run in; however, she drew on wooden slippers
first.

"What will you take for the kitchen-pot?" said the lady.

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