"Of course; don't you know the story of Prince Mathias?"
"No," replied the young man.
"Well, then, as we have nothing to do just now, listen, and I'll tell it to you."
Once, in those long bygone times when rats fought with frogs, tortoises ran races with hares and won them, pussies went about in boots, and—I was going to add—women wore breeches, but, then, that would not be such an extraordinary occurrence even now-a-days; well, in those remote times, there lived a King who had a beautiful daughter, as fair as the dawning sun, and as wise as an old rabbi versed in the Kabala. In fact, she was so handsome and so learned that her reputation had spread far and wide, and many a Prince had come from far away beyond the sea to offer his hand and heart to this wonderful Princess. She, however, would have none of them, for she found that, although they—as a rule—rode like jockeys, drove like cabmen and swore like carters, they were, on the whole, slow-coaches; none of them, for instance, were good at repartee, none could discuss German pessimism, and all—on the contrary—found that life was worth living; so she would have nothing to do with them.
She, therefore, send heralds to all the Courts of Chivalry to proclaim that she would only wed the Prince who, for three successive nights, could sit up and watch in her room, without falling asleep and allowing her to escape.
Every Prince who heard of the proclamation thought it a good joke, and the candidates for the Princess's hand greatly increased. A host of Durchlauchten from the most sacred Protestant empire of Germany, flocked—Armen-reisender fashion—and offered to sit up in the Princess's room for three nights, or even more if she desired it.
Alas, for the poor Highnesses! every one paid the trial with his life. The Princess—who knew a thing or two—provided for their entertainment an unlimited supply of Lager Bier, and, moreover—it was a cruel joke—she had a few pages read to them of the very book each one had written, for, in those literary times, every Prince was bound to write a book. At the end of the first chapter every Prince snored.
It happened that Prince Mathias—the only son and heir of a queen who reigned in an out-of-the-way island, which was believed by its inhabitants to be the centre of the world—heard of this strange proclamation. He was the very flower of chivalry in those days, strong as a bull, handsome as a stag—though rather inclined to be corpulent—brave as a falcon, and as amorous as a cat in spring-time. He at once resolved to risk his head, and go and spend the three nights in the Princess's bedroom.
His mother—a pious old lady, an excellent housekeeper, much attached to her domestics, and known throughout the world as an elegant writer of diaries—did her utmost to dissuade her son from his foolish project; but all her wise remonstrances were in vain. Prince Mathias, who was not the most dutiful of sons, allowed his mother to jaw away till she was purple in the face, but her words went in by one ear and out by the other; he remained steadfast to his purpose. Seeing at last that praying and preaching were of no avail, Her Gracious Majesty consented to her son's departure with royal grace. She doled out to him a few ducats, stamped with her own effigy, and, knowing his unthrifty ways, she said to herself: "He'll not go very far with that." Then she presented him with a shawl to keep him warm at nights, and she blessed him with her chubby hands, begging him to try and keep out of mischief now that he had reached the years of discretion.
Mathias, wrapped up in his shawl, went off to seek his fortune. As he was tramping along the high-road, he happened to meet a stout, sleek-headed man who was lounging on the roadside.