The Swineherd

The Swineherd

Once there was a young prince whose kingdom was small, but green, tidy, and wonderfully peaceful. He loved music, flowers, and simple things with something genuine in them. One day he heard of a princess in a great neighboring country and decided to ask for her hand. He did not want to approach the palace empty-handed. Beside his father's grave grew a remarkable rosebush. It bloomed only once every few years, but its flower smelled so sweet that even sorrow seemed lighter in its fragrance. The prince also had a nightingale. When it sang, it seemed that every spring morning, running stream, and quiet evening had found a home inside that little throat. He placed the rose in a silver casket and the nightingale in another, and sent both gifts to the princess. They caused quite a stir at court. “What a lovely rose!” the ladies exclaimed. The princess touched its petals carefully. “Is it real?” “Of course.” She frowned. “Then take it away. I thought it was some very expensive mechanical flower.” They opened the second casket, and the nightingale began to sing. The princess's father, the king, even wiped away a tear. “What a beautiful song!” But the princess asked: “Is that real too?” “Yes.” “Then let it fly away.” She would not even meet the prince who had sent the gifts. The prince was saddened, but before long his sadness gave way to curiosity. Perhaps she simply doesn't know how to notice real beauty, he thought. I want to understand what she actually likes. He put on plain clothes, smudged soot on his face, pulled down a cap, and knocked at the palace gates. “Is there any work for me here?” The king happened to need someone to look after the pigs. So the prince became the palace swineherd. He was given a little room beside the farmyard. There he made whatever curious things came into his head. On the very first evening, he made an unusual pot. When the water boiled, little bells around the lid played a merry tune. Anyone who held a hand above the steam could discover what was cooking in kitchens throughout the town. The next day the princess passed nearby and heard the music. “What's playing?” she asked at once. A lady went to the swineherd. “What is the price of your pot?” The prince thought for a moment. “Ten kisses on the cheek from the princess.” The lady gasped. At first the princess was outraged. “Me? Kiss the swineherd? Certainly not!” But the bells chimed again, and curiosity won. “Very well,” she said. “If it is truly ten quick kisses on the cheek, and nothing more.” She agreed to the bargain herself. The ladies gathered around, and soon the magical pot was hers. All evening she amused herself discovering where pancakes were frying, where soup was simmering, and where someone was making sweet porridge. A few days later, the swineherd made another wonder: a rattle that could play any dance tune the world had ever heard. The princess could hardly contain her delight. “I want it!” A lady was sent to ask the price. “One hundred kisses on the cheek from the princess,” he replied. “A hundred!” cried the princess. “That's ridiculous!” She walked away. But the music followed her—one tune, then another, then another. She stopped. “Well... if we do it very quickly,” she muttered. The ladies exchanged glances. “Your Highness, perhaps this isn't wise.” “I shall decide for myself,” said the princess. They gathered around again, and one lady began to count. “Seventy-nine... eighty... eighty-one...” At that very moment the king looked down from his balcony. “What's that crowd doing beside the pigsty?” He went down into the yard, drew closer, and saw everything. “Enough!” he said so loudly that the ladies stepped aside. He did not punish anyone, but he was deeply disappointed. “You rejected a real rose and a living nightingale. Yet for amusing toys, you're willing to do something you didn't want to do in the first place. I think it's time you considered what truly matters to you.” The princess blushed. The king ordered the swineherd to leave the palace. He told his daughter to spend a few days without balls or amusements, so she could think quietly. Outside the gates, the swineherd stepped behind a tree, wiped the soot from his face, removed his plain clothes, and became a prince again. The princess, who had followed him, stared in astonishment. “It was you?” “Yes.” “Why did you do it?” The prince was silent for a moment. “I wanted to find out whether you could value something that didn't glitter or entertain you. But now I see that we look at the world very differently.” The princess lowered her eyes. “I behaved foolishly.” “Perhaps,” he said. “But that doesn't mean you can't change.” He did not mock or scold her. He simply bowed and set off for his little kingdom. The princess watched him go for a long time. Then she returned to the palace and asked for the rose she had once ordered taken away. It had withered, but a faint fragrance remained. She stood thinking. For the first time, she wondered not how much something cost or how rare it was, but whether it held life, beauty, and sincerity. From that day she listened more often to birdsong, walked in the garden, and asked for fewer new toys. The pot's cheerful tune was hummed in the palace for a long time afterward. But now it reminded the princess of more than an amusing purchase. It reminded her that what is genuine is not always the most expensive—and is often the hardest thing to replace.

May this story leave a little light in your heart ✨