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.