It happened, however, that in traversing a forest he heard a most fearful squalling of cats. The worthy equerry did not know what to think of such a commencement of an adventure. All the stories of sorcerers that he had ever seen came into his head. As to the King, he was unmoved by it. Courage and curiosity combined to induce him to wait and see what would follow this strange and disagreeable interruption. The noise coming nearer and nearer, they at length saw an hundred Spanish cats rush by them through the Forest. You might have covered them all with a cloak, so well did they run together and so perfectly were they on the scent. They were closely followed by two of the largest monkeys that ever were seen. They were dressed in amaranth-coloured coats. Their boots were the prettiest and best made in the world. They were mounted on two superb English bull-dogs, and rode at full speed, blowing little toy-trumpets. The King, surprised at such a sight, gazed at them with great attention, when a score of tiny dwarfs appeared, some mounted on lynxes and leading relays of them, others on foot with cats in couples. They were dressed in amaranth like the huntsmen, which colour seemed to be the livery of the equipage. A moment afterwards he perceived a young female as remarkable for her beauty as for the proud air with which she rode a large tiger, whose paces were admirable.
She passed the King full gallop, without stopping or even saluting him; but though she hardly looked at him, he was enchanted with her, and his heart was gone like a flash of lightning.
All in agitation, he perceived a dwarf who had lagged behind the rest of the company. He addressed him with all that eagerness which the curiosity of love to obtain some information respecting the object of its admiration would naturally occasion. The dwarf informed him that the lady he had just seen was the Princess Mutine, daughter of King Prudent, in whose dominions they were at that moment. He told him, also, that the Princess was exceedingly fond of the chase, and that the pack he had seen pass was what she hunted rabbits with. The King asked nothing further, except the nearest road to the Court of King Prudent. The dwarf pointed it out to him, and spurred on his lynx to rejoin the hunt, and the King, with the impatience of a new-born passion, gave the spurs to his horse, and in less than two hours found himself in the capital of King Prudent's dominions. He was presented to the King and Queen, who received him with open arms, the more graciously on learning his name and that of his empire.
The beautiful Mutine returned from the chase shortly after this presentation. Hearing that the Princess had killed two rabbits, he ventured to compliment her on so fine a day's sport, but the Princess made no reply. He was rather surprised at her silence, but he was still more so when he observed that during supper she was equally taciturn. He noticed only that there were moments when she appeared about to say something, but that either King Prudent or the Queen (who never drank at the same time) immediately commenced speaking. This silence, however, did not prevent the increase of his passion for Mutine. The King retired to the handsome apartment which had been assigned to him, and his worthy Equerry did not appear overjoyed when he found his royal master so deeply in love. He did not even conceal from him that he was sorry for it. "And why are you sorry?" inquired the King. "The Princess is so beautiful; surely she is all I could desire." "She is beautiful, I admit," replied the Equerry. "But to be happy, something is required besides beauty. Pardon me, sire, but there is something harsh in the expression of her features." "It is pride," said the King, "and very becoming in so beautiful a woman." "Pride or ill-nature, whichever you please; but the taste she exhibits in her amusements, and her choice of so many mischievous animals, are to my mind convincing proofs of a cruel disposition. Moreover, the care that is taken to prevent her speaking is to me a very suspicious circumstance. The King, her father, is not called Prudent for nothing. I don't fancy even her own name of Mutine. It appears to me only a softening down or a diminutive of the appellation which would truly be applied to her from the impression she has made on me. For you know better than I do, that it is too common a practice to gloss over the faults of persons of her rank."
The observations of the worthy Equerry were sensible enough, but as objections only increase love in the hearts of all men, and particularly in those of kings, who dislike being contradicted, this monarch the very next morning demanded the hand of the Princess in marriage. As the previous indifference of the King had become notorious, the triumph of the charms of Mutine was complete. Her hand was accorded to him—but on two conditions. The first, that the marriage should take place the very next morning; the second, that he should not speak to the Princess until she was his wife. On this occasion the pretext for her silence was a solemn vow she had taken in consequence of—the first thing that came into their heads: and the enamoured King only saw in this circumstance the proof of a truly religious feeling. Those great precautions formed a new theme for the arguments of the Equerry, but they made no more impression than the former did. The King, after listening to them, closed the conversation by saying, "It has cost me a great deal of trouble to fall in love. I have done so at last. What the deuce wouldst thou have? I mean to remain in love."
The rest of that day and all the following was passed in dancing and feasting. The Princess was present, and took her part in all the entertainments without uttering a single word, and the first he heard her pronounce was the fatal "Yes," which bound her to him for life. As soon as she was married she threw off all restraint, and the first day did not pass without her having very liberally distributed a volley of abuse and a host of impertinences amongst her maids of honour. In short, the mildest expressions she made use of in return for the most particular services were characterized by rudeness and ill-temper. Even the King, her husband, was not exempted from this sort of language; but as he was very much in love, and, moreover, a good-natured man, he bore it all patiently.
A few days after their marriage the newly-wedded pair took the road to their own kingdom, and Mutine's departure was not regretted by any one in her Father's. The cordial reception King Prudent had always given to foreigners had no other motive than the hope of such a love as his daughter's charms had succeeded in inspiring—a passion which was too strong to pause for a better acquaintance with her mind and character.
The worthy Equerry had had too much reason for his remonstrances, and the King perceived it too late. All the time the new Queen was on the road she filled the hearts of her attendants with grief, anger, and despair. But once arrived in her kingdom, her ill-temper and ill-nature were redoubled. By the time she had been a month on her throne her reputation was perfect. She was acknowledged unanimously as the worst Queen in the world.