people’s christenings, and turned away from other folks’ doors. I have
seen some people spoilt by good fortune, and others, as I hope, improved
by hardship. I advise you to stay at the town where the coach stops for
the night. Stay there and study, and remember your old friend to whom you
were kind.”
“And who is my old friend?” asked Giglio. “When you want anything,” says
the lady, “look in this bag, which I leave to you as a present, and be
grateful to—”
“To whom, madam?” says he.
“To the Fairy Blackstick,” says the lady, flying out of the window. And
when Giglio asked the conductor if he knew where the lady was?
“What lady?” says the man; “there has been no lady in this coach, except
the old woman, who got out at the last stage.” And Giglio thought he had
been dreaming. But there was the bag which Blackstick had given him lying
on his lap; and when he came to the town he took it in his hand and went
into the inn.
They gave him a very bad bedroom, and Giglio, when he woke in the
morning, fancying himself in the Royal Palace at home, called, “John,
Charles, Thomas! My chocolate—my dressing-gown—my slippers”; but nobody
came. There was no bell, so he went and bawled out for waiter on the top
of the stairs.
The landlady came up, looking—looking like this—
[Illustration]
“What are you a hollaring and a bellaring for here, young man?” says she.
“There’s no warm water—no servants; my boots are not even cleaned.”
“He, he! Clean ’em yourself,” says the landlady. “You young students give
yourselves pretty airs. I never heard such impudence.”
“I’ll quit the house this instant,” says Giglio.
“The sooner the better, young man. Pay your bill and be off. All my rooms
is wanted for gentlefolks, and not for such as you.”
“You may well keep the Bear Inn,” said Giglio. “You should have yourself
painted as the sign.”
The landlady of the Bear went away _growling_. And Giglio returned to
his room, where the first thing he saw was the fairy bag lying on the
table, which seemed to give a little hop as he came in. “I hope it
has some breakfast in it,” says Giglio, “for I have only a very little
money left.” But on opening the bag, what do you think was there? A
blacking-brush and a pot of Warren’s jet, and on the pot was written—
Poor young men their boots must black:
Use me and cork me and put me back.
So Giglio laughed and blacked his boots, and put back the brush and the
bottle into the bag.
When he had done dressing himself, the bag gave another little hop, and
he went to it and took out—
1. A tablecloth and a napkin.
2. A sugar-basin full of the best loaf-sugar.
4, 6, 8, 10. Two forks, two teaspoons, two knives, and a pair of
sugar-tongs, and a butter-knife, all marked G.
11, 12, 13. A teacup, saucer, and slop-basin.
14. A jug full of delicious cream.
15. A canister with black tea and green.
16. A large tea-urn and boiling water.
17. A saucepan, containing three eggs nicely done.
18. A quarter of a pound of best Epping butter.
19. A brown loaf.
And if he hadn’t enough now for a good breakfast, I should like to know
who ever had one?
Giglio, having had his breakfast, popped all the things back into the
bag, and went out looking for lodgings. I forgot to say that this
celebrated university town was called Bosforo.
He took a modest lodging opposite the Schools, paid his bill at the inn,
and went to his apartment with his trunk, carpet-bag, and not forgetting,
we may be sure, his _other_ bag.
When he opened his trunk, which the day before he had filled with his
best clothes, he found it contained only books. And in the first of them
which he opened there was written—
Clothes for the back, books for the head:
Read and remember them when they are read.
And in his bag, when Giglio looked in it, he found a student’s cap and
gown, a writing-book full of paper, an inkstand, pens, and a Johnson’s
dictionary, which was very useful to him, as his spelling had been sadly
neglected.
So he sat down and worked away, very, very hard for a whole year, during
which “Mr. Giles” was quite an example to all the students in the
University of Bosforo. He never got into any riots or disturbances. The
Professors all spoke well of him, and the students liked him too; so
that, when at examination, he took all the prizes, viz.—
The Spelling Prize
The Writing Prize
The History Prize
The Catechism Prize
The French Prize
The Arithmetic Prize
The Latin Prize
The Good Conduct Prize,
all his fellow-students said, “Hurray! Hurray for Giles! Giles is the
boy—the student’s joy! Hurray for Giles!” And he brought quite a quantity
of medals, crowns, books, and tokens of distinction home to his lodgings.
One day after the Examinations, as he was diverting himself at a
coffee-house with two friends—(Did I tell you that in his bag, every
Saturday night, he found just enough to pay his bills, with a guinea
over, for pocket-money? Didn’t I tell you? Well, he did, as sure as twice
twenty makes forty-five)—he chanced to look in the _Bosforo Chronicle_,
and read off, quite easily (for he could spell, read, and write the
longest words now), the following;—
“ROMANTIC CIRCUMSTANCE.—One of the most extraordinary
adventures that we have ever heard has set the neighboring
country of Crim Tartary in a state of great excitement.
“It will be remembered that when the present revered sovereign
of Crim Tartary, His Majesty King _Padella_, took possession
of the throne, after having vanquished, in the terrific battle
of Blunderbusco, the late King _Cavolfiore_, that Prince’s
only child, the Princess Rosalba, was not found in the royal
palace, of which King Padella took possession, and, it was
said, had strayed into the forest (being abandoned by all her
attendants), where she had been eaten up by those ferocious
lions, the last pair of which were captured some time since,
and brought to the Tower, after killing several hundred persons.
“His Majesty King Padella, who has the kindest heart in
the world, was grieved at the accident which had occurred
to the harmless little Princess, for whom His Majesty’s
known benevolence would certainly have provided a fitting
establishment. But her death seemed to be certain. The mangled
remains of a cloak, and a little shoe, were found in the
forest, during a hunting-party, in which the intrepid sovereign
of Crim Tartary slew two of the lion’s cubs with his own spear.
And these interesting relics of an innocent little creature
were carried home and kept by their finder, the Baron Spinachi,
formerly an officer in Cavolfiore’s household. The Baron was
disgraced in consequence of his known legitimist opinions, and
has lived for some time in the humble capacity of a woodcutter,
in a forest on the outskirts of the Kingdom of Crim Tartary.
“Last Tuesday week Baron Spinachi and a number of gentlemen,
attached to the former dynasty, appeared in arms, crying, ‘God
save Rosalba, the first Queen of Crim Tartary!’ and surrounding
a lady whom report describes as ‘_beautiful exceedingly_.’ Her
history _may_ be authentic, is certainly most romantic.
“The personage calling herself Rosalba states that she was
brought out of the forest, fifteen years since, by a lady in a
car drawn by dragons (this account is certainly _improbable_),
that she was left in the Palace Garden of Blombodinga, where
Her Royal Highness the Princess Angelica, now married to His
Royal Highness Bulbo, Crown Prince of Crim Tartary, found the
child, and, with _that elegant benevolence_ which has always
distinguished the heiress of the throne of Paflagonia, gave the
little outcast a _shelter and a home_! Her parentage not being
known, and her garb very humble, the foundling was educated in
the Palace in a menial capacity, under the name of _Betsinda_.
“She did not give satisfaction, and was dismissed carrying
with her, certainly, part of a mantle and a shoe, which she had
on when first found. According to her statement she quitted
Blombodinga about a year ago, since which time she has been
with the Spinachi family. On the very same morning the Prince
Giglio, nephew to the King of Paflagonia, a young Prince whose
character for _talent_ and _order_ were, to say truth, _none of
the highest_, also quitted Blombodinga, and has not been since
heard of!”
“What an extraordinary story!” said Smith and Jones, two young students,
Giglio’s especial friends.
“Ha! what is this?” Giglio went on, reading—
“SECOND EDITION, EXPRESS.—We hear that the troop under Baron
Spinachi has been surrounded, and utterly routed, by General
Hogginarmo, and the _soi-disant_ Princess is sent a prisoner to
the capital.
“UNIVERSITY NEWS.—Yesterday, at the Schools, the distinguished
young student, Mr. Giles, read a Latin oration, and was
complimented by the Chancellor of Bosforo, Dr. Prugnaro, with
the highest University honor—the wooden spoon.”
“Never mind that stuff,” says Giles, greatly disturbed. “Come home
with me, my friends. Gallant Smith! intrepid Jones! friends of my
studies—partakers of my academic toils—I have that to tell shall astonish
your honest minds.”
“Go it, old boy!” cried the impetuous Smith.
“Talk away, my buck!” says Jones, a lively fellow.
With an air of indescribable dignity, Giglio checked their natural, but
no more seemly, familiarity. “Jones, Smith, my good friends,” said the
Prince, “disguise is henceforth useless; I am no more the humble student
Giles, I am the descendant of a royal line.”
“_Atavis edite regibus_, I know, old co—,” cried Jones. He was going to
say old cock, but a flash from THE ROYAL EYE again awed him.
“Friends,” continued the Prince, “I am that Giglio, I am, in fact,
Paflagonia. Rise, Smith, and kneel not in the public street. Jones,
thou true heart! My faithless uncle, when I was a baby filched from me
that brave crown my father left me, bred me, all young and careless of
my rights, like unto hapless Hamlet, Prince of Denmark; and had I any
thoughts about my wrongs, soothed me with promises of near redress. I
should espouse his daughter, young Angelica; we two indeed should reign
in Paflagonia. His words were false—false as Angelica’s heart!—false as
Angelica’s hair, color, front teeth! She looked with her skew eyes upon
young Bulbo, Crim Tartary’s stupid heir, and she preferred him. ’Twas
then I turned my eyes upon Betsinda—Rosalba, as she now is. And I saw in
her the blushing sum of all perfection; the pink of maiden modesty; the
nymph that my fond heart had ever woo’d in dreams,” etc., etc.
(I don’t give this speech, which was very fine, but very long; and though
Smith and Jones knew nothing about the circumstances, my dear reader
does, so I go on.)
The Prince and his young friends hastened home to his apartment, highly
excited by the intelligence, as no doubt by the _royal narrator’s_
admirable manner of recounting it, and they ran up to his room where he
had worked so hard at his books.
On his writing-table was his bag, grown so long that the Prince could not
help remarking it. He went to it, opened it, and what do you think he
found in it?
A splendid long, gold-handled, red-velvet-scabbarded, cut-and-thrust
sword, and on the sheath was embroidered “ROSALBA FOR EVER!”
He drew out the sword, which flashed and illuminated the whole room, and
called out “Rosalba for ever!” Smith and Jones following him, but quite
respectfully this time, and taking the time from His Royal Highness.
And now his trunk opened with a sudden pong, and out there came three
ostrich feathers in a gold crown, surrounding a beautiful shining steel
helmet, a cuirass, a pair of spurs, finally a complete suit of armor.
The books on Giglio’s shelves were all gone. Where there had been some
great dictionaries, Giglio’s friends found two pairs of jack-boots
labelled, “Lieutenant Smith,” “—Jones, Esq.,” which fitted them to a
nicety. Besides, there were helmets, back and breast plates, swords,
etc., just like in Mr. G. P. R. James’s novels; and that evening three
cavaliers might have been seen issuing from the gates of Bosforo, in
whom the porters, proctors, etc., never thought of recognizing the young
Prince and his friends.
They got horses at a livery stable-keeper’s, and never drew bridle until
they reached the last town on the frontier before you come to Crim
Tartary. Here, as their animals were tired, and the cavaliers hungry,
they stopped and refreshed at an hostel. I could make a chapter of this
if I were like some writers, but I like to cram my measure tight down,
you see, and give you a great deal for your money, and, in a word, they
had some bread and cheese and ale upstairs on the balcony of the inn. As
they were drinking, drums and trumpets sounded nearer and nearer, the
market-place was filled with soldiers, and His Royal Highness looking
forth, recognized the Paflagonian banners, and the Paflagonian national
air which the bands were playing.
The troops all made for the tavern at once, and as they came up Giglio
exclaimed, on beholding their leader, “Whom do I see? Yes! No! It is,
it is! Phoo! No, it can’t be! Yes! It is my friend, my gallant faithful
veteran, Captain Hedzoff! Ho! Hedzoff! Knowest thou not thy Prince, thy
Giglio? Good Corporal, methinks we once were friends. Ha, Sergeant, an my
memory serves me right, we have had many a bout at singlestick.”
“I’ faith, we have a many, good my Lord,” says the Sergeant.
“Tell me, what means this mighty armament,” continued His Royal Highness
from the balcony, “and whither march my Paflagonians?”
Hedzoff’s head fell. “My Lord,” he said, “we march as the allies of
great Padella, Crim Tartary’s monarch.”
“Crim Tartary’s usurper, gallant Hedzoff? Crim Tartary’s grim tyrant,
honest Hedzoff!” said the Prince, on the balcony, quite sarcastically.
“A soldier, Prince, must needs obey his orders: mine are to help His
Majesty Padella. And also (though alack that I should say it!) to seize
wherever I should light upon him—”
“First catch your hare! ha, Hedzoff!” exclaimed His Royal Highness.
“—On the body of _Giglio_, whilome Prince of Paflagonia,” Hedzoff went
on, with indescribable emotion. “My Prince, give up your sword without
ado. Look! we are thirty thousand men to one!”
“Give up my sword! Giglio give up his sword!” cried the Prince; and
stepping well forward on to the balcony, the royal youth, _without
preparation_, delivered a speech so magnificent that no report can do
justice to it. It was all in blank verse (in which, from this time, he
invariably spoke, as more becoming his majestic station). It lasted for
three days and three nights, during which not a single person who heard
him was tired, or remarked the difference between daylight and dark. The
soldiers only cheering tremendously, when occasionally, once in nine
hours, the Prince paused to suck an orange, which Jones took out of the
bag. He explained, in terms which we say we shall not attempt to convey,
the whole history of the previous transaction, and his determination not
only not to give up his sword, but to assume his rightful crown; and at
the end of this extraordinary, this truly _gigantic_ effort, Captain
Hedzoff flung up his helmet, and cried, “Hurray! Hurray! Long live King
Giglio!”
Such were the consequences of having employed his time well at College.
When the excitement had ceased, beer was ordered out for the army, and
their Sovereign himself did not disdain a little! And now it was with
some alarm that Captain Hedzoff told him his division was only the
advanced guard of the Paflagonian contingent, hastening to King Padella’s
aid; the main force being a day’s march in the rear under His Royal
Highness Prince Bulbo.
“We will wait here, good friend, to beat the Prince,” His Majesty said,
“and _then_ will make his royal father wince.”
XV
WE RETURN TO ROSALBA
King Padella made very similar proposals to Rosalba to those which she
had received from the various princes who, as we have seen, had fallen in
love with her. His Majesty was a widower, and offered to marry his fair
captive that instant, but she declined his invitation in her usual polite
gentle manner, stating that Prince Giglio was her love, and that any
other union was out of the question. Having tried tears and supplications
in vain, this violent-tempered monarch menaced her with threats and
tortures; but she declared she would rather suffer all these than accept
the hand of her father’s murderer, who left her finally, uttering
the most awful imprecations, and bidding her prepare for death on the
following morning.
All night long the King spent in advising how he should get rid of this
obdurate young creature. Cutting off her head was much too easy a death
for her; hanging was so common in His Majesty’s dominions that it no
longer afforded him any sport; finally, he bethought himself of a pair
of fierce lions which had lately been sent to him as presents, and he
determined, with these ferocious brutes, to hunt poor Rosalba down.
Adjoining his castle was an amphitheatre where the Prince indulged in
bull-baiting, rat-hunting, and other ferocious sports. The two lions
were kept in a cage under this place; their roaring might be heard over
the whole city, the inhabitants of which, I am sorry to say, thronged in
numbers to see a poor young lady gobbled up by two wild beasts.
The King took his place in the royal box, having the officers of his
Court around and the Count Hogginarmo by his side, upon whom His Majesty
was observed to look very fiercely; the fact is, royal spies had told the
monarch of Hogginarmo’s behavior, his proposals to Rosalba, and his offer
to fight for the crown. Black as thunder looked King Padella at this
proud noble, as they sat in the front seats of the theatre waiting to see
the tragedy whereof poor Rosalba was to be the heroine.
At length that Princess was brought out in her nightgown, with all her
beautiful hair falling down her back, and looking so pretty that even the
beef-eaters and keepers of the wild animals wept plentifully at seeing
her. And she walked with her poor little feet (only luckily the arena was
covered with sawdust), and went and leaned up against a great stone in
the center of the amphitheatre, round which the Court and the people were
seated in boxes, with bars before them, for fear of the great, fierce,
red-maned, black-throated, long-tailed, roaring, bellowing, rushing
lions. And now the gates were opened, and with a wurrawarrurawarar two
great lean, hungry, roaring lions rushed out of their den, where they had
been kept for three weeks on nothing but a little toast-and-water and
dashed straight up to the stone where poor Rosalba was waiting. Commend
her to your patron saints, all you kind people, for she is in a dreadful
state!
[Illustration]
There was a hum and a buzz all through the circus, and the fierce King
Padella even felt a little compassion. But Count Hogginarmo, seated by
His Majesty, roared out “Hurray! Now for it! Soo-soo-soo!” that nobleman
being uncommonly angry still at Rosalba’s refusal of him.
[Illustration: BULBO WAS BROUGHT IN CHAINS, LOOKING VERY
UNCOMFORTABLE—page 489
_From the drawing by Wm. Makepeace Thackeray_]
But O strange event! O remarkable circumstance! O extraordinary
coincidence, which I am sure none of you could _by any possibility_ have
divined! When the lions came to Rosalba, instead of devouring her with
their great teeth, it was with kisses they gobbled her up! They licked
her pretty feet, they nuzzled their noses in her lap, they moo’d, they
seemed to say, “Dear, dear sister, don’t you recollect your brothers in
the forest?” And she put her pretty white arms round their tawny necks,
and kissed them.
[Illustration]
King Padella was immensely astonished. The Count Hogginarmo was extremely
disgusted. “Pooh!” the Count cried. “Gammon!” exclaimed his Lordship.
“These lions are tame beasts come from Wombwell’s or Astley’s. It is
a shame to put people off in this way. I believe they are little boys
dressed up in doormats. They are no lions at all.”
“Ha!” said the King, “you dare to say ‘gammon’ to your Sovereign, do you?
These lions are no lions at all, aren’t they? Ho! my beef-eaters! Ho! my
bodyguard! Take this Count Hogginarmo and fling him into the circus! Give
him a sword and buckler, let him keep his armor on, and his weather-eye
out and fight these lions.”
The haughty Hogginarmo laid down his opera-glass, and looked scowling
round at the King and his attendants. “Touch me not, dogs!” he said,
“or by St. Nicholas the Elder, I will gore you! Your Majesty thinks
Hogginarmo is afraid? No, not of a hundred thousand lions! Follow me
down into the circus, King Padella, and match thyself against one of yon
brutes. Thou darest not. Let them both come on, then!” And opening a
grating of the box, he jumped lightly down into the circus.
_Wurra wurra wurra wur-aw-aw-aw!!!_
In about two minutes
The Count Hogginarmo was
GOBBLED UP
by
those lions,
bones, boots, and all,
and
There was an
End of him
At this, the King said, “Serve him right, the rebellious ruffian! And
now, as those lions won’t eat that young woman—”
“Let her off!—let her off!” cried the crowd.
“NO!” roared the King. “Let the beef-eaters go down and chop her into
small pieces. If the lions defend her, let the archers shoot them to
death. That hussy shall die in tortures!”
“A-a-ah!” cried the crowd. “Shame! shame!”
“Who dares cry out shame?” cried the furious potentate (so little can
tyrants command their passions). “Fling any scoundrel who says a word
down among the lions!”
I warrant you there was a dead silence then, which was broken by a Pang
arang pang pangkarangpang, and a Knight and a Herald rode in at the
further end of the circus: the Knight, in full armor, with his vizor up,
and bearing a letter on the point of his lance.
“Ha!” exclaimed the King, “by my fay, ’tis Elephant and Castle,
pursuivant of my brother of Paflagonia; and the Knight, an my memory
serves me, is the gallant Captain Hedzoff! What news from Paflagonia,
gallant Hedzoff? Elephant and Castle, beshrew me, thy trumpeting must
have made thee thirsty. What will my trusty herald like to drink?”
“Bespeaking first safe conduct from your Lordship,” said Captain Hedzoff,
“before we take a drink of anything, permit us to deliver our King’s
message.”
“My Lordship, ha!” said Crim Tartary, frowning terrifically. “That title
soundeth strange in the anointed ears of a crowned King. Straightway
speak out your message, Knight and Herald!”
Reining up his charger in a most elegant manner close under the King’s
balcony, Hedzoff turned to the Herald, and bade him begin.
Elephant and Castle, dropping his trumpet over his shoulder, took a large
sheet of paper out of his hat, and began to read:
“O Yes! O Yes! O Yes! Know all men by these presents, that we, Giglio,
King of Paflagonia, Grand Duke of Cappadocia, Sovereign Prince of Turkey
and the Sausage Islands, having assumed our rightful throne and title,
long time falsely borne by our usurping Uncle, styling himself King of
Paflagonia—”
“Ha!” growled Padella.
“Hereby summon the false traitor, Padella, calling himself King of Crim
Tartary—”
The King’s curses were dreadful. “Go on, Elephant and Castle!” said the
intrepid Hedzoff.
“—To release from cowardly imprisonment his liege lady and rightful
Sovereign, Rosalba, Queen of Crim Tartary, and restore her to her royal
throne: in default of which I, Giglio, proclaim the said Padella sneak,
traitor, humbug, usurper, and coward. I challenge him to meet me, with
fists or with pistols, with battle-axe or sword, with blunderbuss or
singlestick, alone or at the head of his army, on foot or on horseback;
and will prove my words upon his wicked ugly body!”
“God save the King!” said Captain Hedzoff, executing a demivolte, two
semilunes, and three caracols.
“Is that all?” said Padella, with the terrific calm of concentrated fury.
“That, sir, is all my royal master’s message. Here is His Majesty’s
letter in autograph, and here is his glove, and if any gentleman of Crim
Tartary chooses to find fault with His Majesty’s expressions, I, Tuffskin
Hedzoff, Captain of the Guard, am very much at his service,” and he waved
his lance, and looked at the assembly all round.
“And what says my good brother of Paflagonia, my dear son’s
father-in-law, to this rubbish?” asked the King.