was an old state-carriage, the seats were taken out of it, the wheels taken off, and thus it stood, without further ceremony, on its own bottom, and four swine were shut in there.  If these were the first that had been in it one could not determine; but that it was once a state-carriage everything about it bore witness, even to the strip of morocco that hung from the roof inside, all bore witness of better days.  It is true, every word of it.

“Uff,” said the occupiers within, and the carriage creaked and complained—­it was a sorrowful end it had come to.

“The beautiful is past!” so it sighed; so it said, or it might have said so.

We returned here in the autumn.  The carriage, or rather the body of the carriage, stood in its old place, but the swine were gone:  they were lords in the forests; rain and drizzle reigned there; the wind tore the leaves off all the trees, and allowed them neither rest nor quiet:  the birds of passage were gone.

“The beautiful is past!” said the carriage, and the same sigh passed through the whole of nature, and from the human heart it sounded:  “The beautiful is past! with the delightful green forest, with the warm sunshine, and the song of birds—­past! past!” So it said, and so it creaked in the trunks of the tall trees, and there was heard a sigh, so inwardly deep, a sigh direct from the heart of the wild rose-bush, and he who sat there was the rose-king.  Do you know him! he is of a pure breed, the finest red-green breed:  he is easily known.  Go to the wild rose hedges, and in autumn, when all the flowers are gone, and the red hips alone remain, one often sees amongst these a large red-green moss-flower:  that is the rose-king.  A little green leaf grows out of his head—­that is his feather:  he is the only male person of his kind on the rose-bush, and he it was who sighed.

“Past! past! the beautiful is past!  The roses are gone; the leaves of the trees fall off!—­it is wet here, and it is cold and raw!—­The birds that sang here are now silent; the swine live on acorns; the swine are lords in the forest!”

They were cold nights, they were gloomy days; but the raven sat on the bough and croaked nevertheless:  “brah, brah!” The raven and the crow sat on the topmost bough:  they have a large family, and they all said:  “brah, brah! caw, caw!” and the majority is always right.

There was a great miry pool under the tall trees in the hollow, and here lay the whole herd of swine, great and small—­they found the place so excellent.  “Oui! oui!” said they, for they knew no more French, but that, however, was something.  They were so wise, and so fat, and altogether lords in the forest.