Once there was a poor Prince.He had a kingdom;it was very tiny.Still it was large enough to marry upon,and on marriage his heart was set.
Now it was certainly rather bold of him to say,“Will you have me?”to the Emperor's own daughter.But he did,for his name was famous,and far and near there were hundreds of Princesses who would have said,“Yes!”and “Thank you!”too.But what did the Emperor's daughter say?Well,we'll soon find out.
A rose tree grew over the grave of the Prince's father.It was such a beautiful tree.It bloomed only once in five long years,and then it bore but a single flower.Oh,that was a rose indeed!The fragrance of it would make a man forget all of his sorrows and his cares.The Prince had a nightingale too.It sang as if all the sweet songs of the world were in its little throat.The nightingale and the rose were to be gifts to the Princess.So they were sent to her in two large silver cases.
The Emperor ordered the cases carried before him,to the great hall where the Princess was playing at “visitors,”with her maids-in-waiting.They seldom did anything else.As soon as the Princess saw that the large cases contained presents,she clapped her hands in glee.“Oh,”she said,“I do hope I get a little pussy-cat.”She opened a casket and there was the splendid rose.
“Oh,how pretty it is,”said all the maids-in-waiting.
“It's more than pretty,”said the Emperor.“It's superb.”
But the Princess poked it with her finger,and she almost started to cry.“Oh fie!Papa,”she said,“it isn't artificial.It is natural.”
“Oh,fie,”said all her maids-in-waiting,“it's only natural.”
“Well,”said the Emperor,“before we fret and pout,let's see what's in the other case.”He opened it,and out came the nightingale,which sang so sweetly that for a little while no one could think of a single thing to say against it.
“Superbe!”“Charmant!”said the maids-in-waiting with their smattering of French,each one speaking it worse than the next.
“How the bird does remind me of our lamented Empress's music box,”said one old courtier.“It has just the same tone,and the very same way of trilling.”
The Emperor wept like a child.“Ah me,”he said.
“Bird?”said the Princess.“You mean to say it's real?”
“A real live bird,”the men who had brought it assured her.
“Then let it fly and begone,”said the Princess,who refused to hear a word about the Prince,much less to see him.
But it was not so easy to discourage him.He darkened his face both brown and black,pulled his hat down over his eyes,and knocked at the door.
“Hello,Emperor,”he said.“How do you do?Can you give me some work about the palace?”
“Well,”said the Emperor,“people are always looking for jobs,but let me see.I do need somebody to tend the pigs,because we've got so many of them.”
So the Prince was appointed “Imperial Pig Tender.”He was given a wretched little room down by the pigsties,and there he had to live.All day long he sat and worked,as busy as could be,and by evening he had made a neat little kettle with bells all around the brim of it.When the kettle boiled,the bells would tinkle and play the old tune:
Oh,dear Augustin,
All is lost,lost,lost.
But that was the least of it.If anyone put his finger in the steam from this kettle he could immediately smell whatever there was for dinner in any cooking-pot in town.No rose was ever like this!
Now the Princess happened to be passing by with all of her maids-in-waiting.When she heard the tune she stopped and looked pleased,for she too knew how to play “Oh,dear Augustin.”It was the only tune she did know,and she played it with one finger.
“Why,that's the very same tune I play.Isn't the swineherd highly accomplished?I say,”she ordered,“go and ask him the price of the instrument.”
So one of the maids had to go,in among the pigsties,but she put on her overshoes first.
“What will you take for the kettle?”she asked.
“I'll take ten kisses from the Princess,”said the swineherd.
“Oo,for goodness'sakes!”said the maid.
“And I won't take less,”said the swineherd.
“Well,what does he say?”the Princess wanted to know.
“I can't tell you,”said the maid.“He's too horrible.”
