So one day, he made up his mind to go to see the princess. He bade his servants deck him out in regal splendor, and put on him his royal robes and his jeweled crown.
“How do I look?” he asked his valet. “Did I ever appear more handsome?”
“Oh, no, your majesty,” replied the valet. “If you will look in the long mirror, you will see that.”
When the king looked in the glass, he saw a wonderful reflection. His robe was of velvet and satin in royal purple and green, jeweled, trimmed, and embroidered—nothing was wanting in the costume. Then he saw his own face—all seamed with frowns and hard, cruel lines.
“Oh,” he thought, “such a face will frighten the lovely princess! What shall I do? She will never be willing to marry me!”
And he sent all his servants away, and sat down in a fit of melancholy; or, as some people say, “in a fit of the blues.”
For hours he just sat and glowered. Once a page approached him to say that his luncheon was served, but he told him to be gone before he ordered his head chopped off. You can imagine how fast the page ran away. When the page told the other servants, they said, “We must not go near him until he rings for us when he comes out of his angry mood.”
After a while the bell did ring, and in fear and trembling the valet went to see what the king wished.
“Tell the groom to saddle my best steed and have it at the palace steps within ten minutes, and do you undress me and put me in my riding suit.”
Quickly the change was made, quickly the horse was saddled, quickly the king was mounted and riding away.