quite sulky.
“We shall have a war, Sire, depend on it,” says the Minister. “His
father, King Padella.…”
“His father, King _who_?” says the King. “King Padella is not Giglio’s
father. My brother, King Savio, was Giglio’s father.”
“It’s Prince Bulbo they are hanging, Sire, not Prince Giglio,” says the
Prime Minister.
“You told me to hang the Prince, and I took the ugly one,” says Hedzoff.
“I didn’t, of course, think Your Majesty intended to murder your own
flesh and blood!”
The King for all reply flung the plate of sausages at Hedzoff’s head. The
Princess cried out “Hee-karee-karee!” and fell down in a fainting fit.
“Turn the cock of the urn upon Her Royal Highness,” said the King, and
the boiling water gradually revived her. His Majesty looked at his watch,
compared it by the clock in the parlor, and by that of the church in the
square opposite; then he wound it up; then he looked at it again. “The
great question is,” says he, “am I fast or am I slow? If I’m slow, we
may as well go on with breakfast. If I’m fast, why, there is just the
possibility of saving Prince Bulbo. It’s a doosid awkward mistake, and
upon my word, Hedzoff, I have the greatest mind to have you hanged too.”
“Sire, I did but my duty; a soldier has but his orders. I didn’t expect
after forty-seven years of faithful service that my sovereign would think
of putting me to a felon’s death!”
“A hundred thousand plagues upon you! Can’t you see that while you are
talking my Bulbo is being hung?” screamed the Princess.
“By Jove! she’s always right, that girl, and I’m so absent,” says the
King, looking at his watch again. “Ha! there go the drums! What a doosid
awkward thing though!”
“Oh, papa, you goose! Write the reprieve, and let me run with it,” cries
the Princess—and she got a sheet of paper, and pen and ink, and laid them
before the King.
“Confound it! where are my spectacles?” the Monarch exclaimed. “Angelica!
go up into my bedroom, look under my pillow, not your mamma’s; there
you’ll see my keys. Bring them down to me, and—Well, well! what impetuous
things these girls are!” Angelica was gone, and had run up panting to
the bedroom, and found the keys, and was back again before the King had
finished a muffin. “Now, love,” says he, “you must go all the way back
for my desk, in which my spectacles are. If you would but have heard me
out.… Be hanged to her! There she is off again. Angelica! ANGELICA!”
When His Majesty called in his _loud_ voice, she knew she must obey, and
came back.
“My dear, when you go out of a room, how often have I told you, _shut
the door_. That’s a darling. That’s all.” At last the keys and the desk
and the spectacles were got, and the King mended his pen, and signed his
name to a reprieve, and Angelica ran with it as swift as the wind. “You’d
better stay, my love, and finish the muffins. There’s no use going. Be
sure it’s too late. Hand me over that raspberry jam, please,” said the
Monarch. “Bong! Bawong! There goes the half-hour. I knew it was.”
Angelica ran, and ran, and ran, and ran. She ran up Fore Street, and
down High Street, and through the Market-place, and down to the left,
and over the bridge, and up the blind alley, and back again, and round
by the Castle, and so along by the Haberdasher’s on the right, opposite
the lamppost, and round the square, and she came—she came to the
_Execution place_, where she saw Bulbo laying his head on the block!!!
The executioner raised his axe, but at that moment the Princess came
panting up and cried “Reprieve!” “Reprieve!” screamed the Princess.
“Reprieve!” shouted all the people. Up the scaffold stairs she sprang,
with the agility of a lighter of lamps; and flinging herself in Bulbo’s
arms, regardless of all ceremony, she cried out, “Oh, my Prince! my lord!
my love! my Bulbo! Thine Angelica has been in time to save thy precious
existence, sweet rosebud; to prevent thy being nipped in thy young bloom!
Had aught befallen thee, Angelica too had died, and welcomed death that
joined her to her Bulbo.”
“H’m! there’s no accounting for tastes,” said Bulbo, looking so very
much puzzled and uncomfortable that the Princess, in tones of tenderest
strain, asked the cause of his disquiet.
“I tell you what it is, Angelica,” said he, “since I came here yesterday,
there has been such a row, and disturbance, and quarrelling, and
fighting, and chopping of heads off, and the deuce to pay, that I am
inclined to go back to Crim Tartary.”
“But with me as thy bride, my Bulbo! Though wherever thou art is Crim
Tartary to me, my bold, my beautiful, my Bulbo!”
“Well, well, I suppose we must be married,” says Bulbo. “Doctor, you came
to read the Funeral Service—read the Marriage Service, will you? What
must be, must. That will satisfy Angelica, and then, in the name of peace
and quietness, do let us go back to breakfast.”
Bulbo had carried a rose in his mouth all the time of the dismal
ceremony. It was a fairy rose, and he was told by his mother that he
ought never to part with it. So he had kept it between his teeth, even
when he laid his poor head upon the block, hoping vaguely that some
chance would turn up in his favor. As he began to speak to Angelica, he
forgot about the rose, and of course it dropped out of his mouth. The
romantic Princess instantly stooped and seized it. “Sweet rose!” she
exclaimed, “that bloomed upon my Bulbo’s lip, never, never will I part
from thee!” and she placed it in her bosom. And you know Bulbo _couldn’t_
ask her to give the rose back again. And they went to breakfast; and as
they walked, it appeared to Bulbo that Angelica became more exquisitely
lovely every moment.
He was frantic until they were married; and now, strange to say, it was
Angelica who didn’t care about him! He knelt down, he kissed her hand, he
prayed and begged; he cried with admiration; while she for her part said
she really thought they might wait; it seemed to her he was not handsome
any more—no, not at all, quite the reverse; and not clever, no, very
stupid; and not well bred, like Giglio; no, on the contrary, dreadfully
vul—
What, I cannot say, for King Valoroso roared out “_Pooh_, stuff!” in a
terrible voice. “We will have no more of this shilly-shallying! Call the
Archbishop, and let the Prince and Princess be married offhand!”
So, married they were, and I am sure for my part I trust they will be
happy.
XII
HOW BETSINDA FLED, AND WHAT BECAME OF HER
Betsinda wandered on and on, till she passed through the town gates,
and so on the great Crim Tartary road, the very way on which Giglio too
was going. “Ah!” thought she, as the diligence passed her, of which the
conductor was blowing a delightful tune on his horn, “how I should like
to be on that coach!” But the coach and the jingling horses were very
soon gone. She little knew who was in it, though very likely she was
thinking of him all the time. Then came an empty cart, returning from
market; and the driver being a kind man, and seeing such a very pretty
girl trudging along the road with bare feet, most good-naturedly gave her
a seat. He said he lived on the confines of the forest, where his old
father was a woodman, and, if she liked, he would take her so far on her
road. All roads were the same to little Betsinda, so she very thankfully
took this one.
And the carter put a cloth round her bare feet, and gave her some bread
and cold bacon, and was very kind to her. For all that she was very
cold and melancholy. When after travelling on and on, evening came, and
all the black pines were bending with snow, and there, at last, was
the comfortable light beaming in the woodman’s windows; and so they
arrived, and went into his cottage. He was an old man, and had a number
of children, who were just at supper, with nice hot bread-and-milk, when
their elder brother arrived with the cart. And they jumped and clapped
their hands; for they were good children; and he had brought them toys
from the town. And when they saw the pretty stranger, they ran to her,
and brought her to the fire, and rubbed her poor little feet, and brought
her bread-and-milk.
“Look, father!” they said to the old woodman, “look at this poor girl,
and see what pretty cold feet she has. They are as white as our milk!
And look and see what an odd cloak she has, just like the bit of velvet
that hangs up in our cupboard, and which you found that day the little
cubs were killed by King Padella, in the forest! And look, why, bless us
all! she has got round her neck just such another little shoe as that you
brought home, and have shown us so often—a little blue velvet shoe!”
“What,” said the old woodman, “what is all this about a shoe and a cloak?”
And Betsinda explained that she had been left, when quite a little child,
at the town with this cloak and this shoe. And the persons who had taken
care of her had—had been angry with her, for no fault, she hoped, of her
own. And they sent her away with her old clothes—and here, in fact, she
was. She remembered having been in a forest—and perhaps it was a dream—it
was so very odd and strange—having lived in a cave with lions there; and,
before that, having lived in a very, very fine house, as fine as the
King’s, in the town.
[Illustration]
When the woodman heard this, he was so astonished, it was quite curious
to see how astonished he was. He went to his cupboard, and took out of
a stocking a five-shilling piece of King Cavolfiore, and vowed it was
exactly like the young woman. And then he produced the shoe and piece of
velvet which he had kept so long, and compared them with the things which
Betsinda wore. In Betsinda’s little shoe was written, “Hopkins, maker
to the Royal Family”; so in the other shoe was written, “Hopkins, maker
to the Royal Family.” In the inside of Betsinda’s piece of cloak was
embroidered, “Prin Rosal”; in the other piece of cloak was embroidered
“cess Ba. No. 246.” So that when put together you read, “Princess
Rosalba. No. 246.”
On seeing this, the dear old woodman fell down on his knee, saying,
“O my Princess, O my gracious royal lady, O my rightful Queen of Crim
Tartary,—I hail thee—I acknowledge thee—I do thee homage!” And in token
of his fealty, he rubbed his venerable nose three times on the ground,
and put the Princess’s foot on his head.
“Why,” said she, “my good woodman, you must be a nobleman of my royal
father’s Court!” For in her lowly retreat, and under the name of
Betsinda, Her Majesty, Rosalba, Queen of Crim Tartary, had read of the
customs of all foreign courts and nations.
“Marry, indeed, am I, my gracious liege—the poor Lord Spinachi once—the
humble woodman these fifteen years syne. Ever since the tyrant Padella
(may ruin overtake the treacherous knave!) dismissed me from my post of
First Lord.”
“First Lord of the Toothpick and Joint Keeper of the Snuffbox? I mind
me! Thou heldest these posts under our royal Sire. They are restored to
thee, Lord Spinachi! I make thee knight of the second class of our Order
of the Pumpkin (the first class being reserved for crowned heads alone).
Rise, Marquis of Spinachi!” And with indescribable majesty, the Queen,
who had no sword handy, waved the pewter spoon with which she had been
taking her bread-and-milk, over the bald head of the old nobleman, whose
tears absolutely made a puddle on the ground, and whose dear children
went to bed that night Lords and Ladies Bartolomeo, Ubaldo, Catarina,
and Ottavia degli Spinachi!
The acquaintance Her Majesty showed with the history, and _noble
families_ of her empire, was wonderful. “The House of Broccoli should
remain faithful to us,” she said; “they were ever welcome at our Court.
Have the Articiocchi, as was their wont, turned to the Rising Sun? The
family of Sauerkraut must sure be with us—they were ever welcome in the
halls of King Cavolfiore.” And so she went on enumerating quite a list
of the nobility and gentry of Crim Tartary, so admirably had Her Majesty
profited by her studies while in exile.
The old Marquis of Spinachi said he could answer for them all; that the
whole country groaned under Padella’s tyranny, and longed to return
to its rightful sovereign; and late as it was, he sent his children,
who knew the forest well, to summon this nobleman and that; and when
his eldest son, who had been rubbing the horse down and giving him his
supper, came into the house for his own, the Marquis told him to put his
boots on, and a saddle on the mare, and ride hither and thither to such
and such people.
When the young man heard who his companion in the cart had been, he too
knelt down and put her royal foot on his head; he too bedewed the ground
with his tears; he was frantically in love with her, as everybody now
was who saw her; so were the young Lords Bartolomeo and Ubaldo, who
punched each other’s little heads out of jealousy; and so, when they
came from east and west at the summons of the Marquis degli Spinachi,
were the Crim Tartar Lords who still remained faithful to the House of
Cavolfiore. They were such very old gentlemen for the most part that Her
Majesty never suspected their absurd passion, and went among them quite
unaware of the havoc her beauty was causing, until an old blind Lord
who had joined her party told her what the truth was; after which, for
fear of making the people too much in love with her, she always wore a
veil. She went about privately, from one nobleman’s castle to another;
and they visited among themselves again, and had meetings, and composed
proclamations and counter-proclamations, and distributed all the best
places of the kingdom amongst one another, and selected who of the
opposition party should be executed when the Queen came to her own. And
so in about a year they were ready to move.
The party of Fidelity was in truth composed of very feeble old fogies for
the most part; they went about the country waving their old swords and
flags, and calling “God save the Queen!” and King Padella happening to
be absent upon an invasion, they had their own way for a little, and to
be sure the people were very enthusiastic whenever they saw the Queen;
otherwise the vulgar took matters very quietly, for they said, as far as
they could recollect, they were pretty well as much taxed in Cavolfiore’s
time, as now in Padella’s.
XIII
HOW QUEEN ROSALBA CAME TO THE CASTLE OF THE BOLD COUNT HOGGINARMO
Her Majesty, having indeed nothing else to give, made all her followers
Knights of the Pumpkin, and Marquises, Earls, and Baronets; and they had
a little court for her, and made her a little crown of gilt paper, and a
robe of cotton velvet; and they quarrelled about the places to be given
away in her court, and about rank and precedence and dignities—you can’t
think how they quarrelled! The poor Queen was very tired of her honors
before she had had them a month, and I dare say sighed sometimes even to
be a lady’s-maid again. But we must all do our duty in our respective
stations, so the Queen resigned herself to perform hers.
We have said how it happened that none of the Usurper’s troops came out
to oppose this Army of Fidelity; it pottered along as nimbly as the
gout of the principal commanders allowed: it consisted of twice as many
officers as soldiers: and at length passed near the estates of one of
the most powerful noblemen of the country, who had not declared for the
Queen, but of whom her party had hopes, as he was always quarrelling with
King Padella.
When they came close to his park gates, this nobleman sent to say he
would wait upon Her Majesty: he was a most powerful warrior, and his name
was Count Hogginarmo, whose helmet it took two strong negroes to carry.
He knelt down before her and said, “Madam and liege lady! it becomes the
great nobles of the Crimean realm to show every outward sign of respect
to the wearer of the Crown, whoever that may be. We testify to our own
nobility in acknowledging yours. The bold Hogginarmo bends the knee to
the first of the aristocracy of his country.”
Rosalba said, “The bold Count of Hogginarmo was uncommonly kind.” But she
felt afraid of him, even while he was kneeling, and his eyes scowled at
her from between his whiskers, which grew up to them.
“The first Count of the Empire, madam,” he went on, “salutes the
Sovereign. The Prince addresses himself to the not more noble lady!
Madam, my hand is free, and I offer it, and my heart and my sword to
your service! My three wives lie buried in my ancestral vaults. The
third perished but a year since; and this heart pines for a consort!
Deign to be mine, and I swear to bring to your bridal table the head of
King Padella, the eyes and nose of his son Prince Bulbo, the right hand
and ears of the usurping Sovereign of Paflagonia, which country shall
thenceforth be an appanage to your—to _our_ Crown! Say yes; Hogginarmo is
not accustomed to be denied. Indeed I cannot contemplate the possibility
of a refusal: for frightful will be the result; dreadful the murders;
furious the devastations; horrible the tyranny; tremendous the tortures,
misery, taxation, which the people of this realm will endure, if
Hogginarmo’s wrath be aroused! I see consent in your Majesty’s lovely
eyes—their glances fill my soul with rapture!”
“Oh, sir!” Rosalba said, withdrawing her hand in great fright. “Your
Lordship is exceedingly kind; but I am sorry to tell you that I have a
prior attachment to a young gentleman by the name of—Prince—Giglio—and
never—never can marry any one but him.”
Who can describe Hogginarmo’s wrath at this remark? Rising up from the
ground, he ground his teeth so that fire flashed out of his mouth,
from which at the same time issued remarks and language, so _loud,
violent, and improper_, that this pen shall never repeat them!
“R-r-r-r-r-r—Rejected! Fiends and perdition! The bold Hogginarmo
rejected! All the world shall hear of my rage; and you, madam, you above
all shall rue it!” And kicking the two negroes before him, he rushed
away, his whiskers streaming in the wind.
Her Majesty’s Privy Council was in a dreadful panic when they saw
Hogginarmo issue from the royal presence in such a towering rage, making
footballs of the poor negroes—a panic which the events justified. They
marched off from Hogginarmo’s park very crestfallen; and in another
half-hour they were met by that rapacious chieftain with a few of his
followers, who cut, slashed, charged, whacked, banged, and pommelled
amongst them, took the Queen prisoner, and drove the Army of Fidelity to
I don’t know where.
Poor Queen! Hogginarmo, her conqueror, would not condescend to see her.
“Get a horse-van!” he said to his grooms, “clap the hussy into it, and
send her, with my compliments, to His Majesty King Padella.”
[Illustration]
Along with his lovely prisoner, Hogginarmo sent a letter full of servile
compliments and loathsome flatteries to King Padella, for whose life, and
that of his royal family, the _hypocritical humbug_ pretended to offer
the most fulsome prayers. And Hogginarmo promised speedily to pay his
humble homage at his august master’s throne, of which he begged leave to
be counted the most loyal and constant defender. Such a _wary_ old _bird_
as King Padella was not to be caught by Master Hogginarmo’s _chaff_, and
we shall hear presently how the tyrant treated his upstart vassal. No,
no; depend on’t, two such rogues do not trust one another.
So this poor Queen was laid in the straw like Margery Daw, and driven
along in the dark ever so many miles to the Court, where King Padella had
now arrived, having vanquished all his enemies, murdered most of them,
and brought some of the richest into captivity with him for the purpose
of torturing them and finding out where they had hidden their money.
Rosalba heard their shrieks and groans in the dungeon in which she was
thrust; a most awful black hole, full of bats, rats, mice, toads, frogs,
mosquitoes, bugs, fleas, serpents, and every kind of horror. No light was
let into it, otherwise the gaolers might have seen her and fallen in love
with her, as an owl that lived up in the roof of the tower did, and a
cat, you know, who can see in the dark, and having set its green eyes on
Rosalba, never would be got to go back to the turnkey’s wife to whom it
belonged. And the toads in the dungeon came and kissed her feet, and the
vipers wound round her neck and arms, and never hurt her, so charming was
this poor Princess in the midst of her misfortunes.
At last, after she had been kept in this place _ever so long_, the door
of the dungeon opened, and the terrible King Padella came in.
But what he said and did must be reserved for another chapter, as we must
now go back to Prince Giglio.
XIV
WHAT BECAME OF GIGLIO
The idea of marrying such an old creature as Gruffanuff frightened Prince
Giglio so, that he ran up to his room, packed his trunks, fetched in a
couple of porters, and was off to the diligence office in a twinkling.
It was well that he was so quick in his operations, did not dawdle over
his luggage, and took the early coach, for as soon as the mistake about
Prince Bulbo was found out, that cruel Glumboso sent up a couple of
policemen to Prince Giglio’s room, with orders that he should be carried
to Newgate, and his head taken off before twelve o’clock. But the coach
was out of the Paflagonian dominions before two o’clock; and I dare say
the express that was sent after Prince Giglio did not ride very quick,
for many people in Paflagonia had a regard for Giglio, as the son of
their old sovereign; a Prince who, with all his weaknesses, was very
much better than his brother, the usurping, lazy, careless, passionate,
tyrannical, reigning monarch. That Prince busied himself with the balls,
fêtes, masquerades, hunting-parties, and so forth, which he thought
proper to give on the occasion of his daughter’s marriage to Prince
Bulbo; and let us trust was not sorry in his own heart that his brother’s
son had escaped the scaffold.
It was very cold weather, and the snow was on the ground, and Giglio, who
gave his name as simple Mr. Giles, was very glad to get a comfortable
place in the coupé of the diligence, where he sat with the conductor
and another gentleman. At the first stage from Blombodinga, as they
stopped to change horses, there came up to the diligence a very ordinary,
vulgar-looking woman, with a bag under her arm, who asked for a place.
All the inside places were taken, and the young woman was informed that
if she wished to travel, she must go upon the roof; and the passenger
inside with Giglio (a rude person, I should think), put his head out
of the window, and said, “Nice weather for travelling outside! I wish
you a pleasant journey, my dear.” The poor woman coughed very much, and
Giglio pitied her. “I will give up my place to her,” says he, “rather
than she should travel in the cold air with that horrid cough.” On which
the vulgar traveller said, “_You’d_ keep her warm, I am sure, if it’s a
_muff_ she wants.” On which Giglio pulled his nose, boxed his ears, hit
him in the eye, and gave this vulgar person a warning never to call him
_muff_ again.
Then he sprang up gaily on to the roof of the diligence, and made himself
very comfortable in the straw. The vulgar traveller got down only at the
next station, and Giglio took his place again, and talked to the person
next to him. She appeared to be a most agreeable, well-informed, and
entertaining female. They travelled together till night, and she gave
Giglio all sorts of things out of the bag which she carried, and which
indeed seemed to contain the most wonderful collection of articles. He
was thirsty—out there came a pint bottle of Bass’s pale ale, and a silver
mug! Hungry—she took out a cold fowl, some slices of ham, bread, salt,
and a most delicious piece of cold plum-pudding, and a little glass of
brandy afterwards.
As they travelled, this plain-looking, queer woman talked to Giglio on
a variety of subjects, in which the poor Prince showed his ignorance as
much as she did her capacity. He owned, with many blushes, how ignorant
he was; on which the lady said, “My dear Gigl—my good Mr. Giles, you are
a young man, and have plenty of time before you. You have nothing to do
but to improve yourself. Who knows but that you may find use for your
knowledge some day? When—when you may be wanted at home, as some people
may be.” “Good heavens, madam!” says he, “do you know me?”