Hedzoff gravely. “He and his ex-minister, Glumboso, are now in prison
waiting the sentence of my royal master. After the battle of Bombardaro—”
“Of what?” asked the surprised Padella.
“Of Bombardaro, where my liege, his present Majesty, would have performed
prodigies of valor, but that the whole of his uncle’s army came over to
our side, with the exception of Prince Bulbo.”
“Ah! my boy, my boy, my Bulbo was no traitor!” cried Padella.
“Prince Bulbo, far from coming over to us, ran away, sir; but I caught
him. The Prince is a prisoner in our army, and the most terrific tortures
await him if a hair of the Princess Rosalba’s head is injured.”
“Do they?” exclaimed the furious Padella, who was now perfectly _livid_
with rage. “Do they indeed? So much the worse for Bulbo. I’ve twenty
sons as lovely each as Bulbo. Not one but is as fit to reign as Bulbo.
Whip, whack, flog, starve, rack, punish, torture Bulbo—break all his
bones—roast him or flay him alive—pull all his pretty teeth out one by
one! But justly dear as Bulbo is to me—joy of my eyes, fond treasure of
my soul!—Ha, ha, ha, ha! revenge is dearer still. Ho! torturers, rackmen,
executioners—light up the fires and make the pincers hot! get lots of
boiling lead!—Bring out Rosalba!”
XVI
HOW HEDZOFF RODE BACK AGAIN TO KING GIGLIO
Captain Hedzoff rode away when King Padella uttered this cruel command,
having done his duty in delivering the message with which his royal
master had entrusted him. Of course he was very sorry for Rosalba, but
what could he do?
So he returned to King Giglio’s camp, and found the young monarch
in a disturbed state of mind, smoking cigars in the royal tent. His
Majesty’s agitation was not appeased by the news that was brought by his
ambassador. “The brutal ruthless ruffian royal wretch!” Giglio exclaimed.
“As England’s poesy has well remarked, ‘The man that lays his hand upon a
woman, save in the way of kindness, is a villain.’ Ha, Hedzoff!”
“That he is, your Majesty,” said the attendant.
“And didst thou see her flung into the oil? and didn’t the soothing
oil—the emollient oil, refuse to boil, good Hedzoff—and to spoil the
fairest lady ever eyes did look on?”
“Faith, good my liege, I had no heart to look and see a beauteous lady
boiling down; I took your royal message to Padella, and bore his back to
you. I told him you would hold Prince Bulbo answerable. He only said
that he had twenty sons as good as Bulbo, and forthwith he bade the
ruthless executioners proceed.”
“O cruel father—O unhappy son!” cried the King. “Go, some of you, and
bring Prince Bulbo hither.”
Bulbo was brought in chains, looking very uncomfortable. Though a
prisoner, he had been tolerably happy, perhaps because his mind was at
rest, and all the fighting was over, and he was playing at marbles with
his guards when the King sent for him.
“Oh, my poor Bulbo,” said His Majesty, with looks of infinite compassion,
“hast thou heard the news?” (for you see Giglio wanted to break the thing
gently to the Prince), “thy brutal father has condemned Rosalba-p-p-p-ut
her to death, P-p-p-prince Bulbo!”
“What, killed Betsinda! Boo-hoo-hoo,” cried out Bulbo. “Betsinda! pretty
Betsinda! dear Betsinda! She was the dearest little girl in the world. I
love her better twenty thousand times even than Angelica,” and he went on
expressing his grief in so hearty and unaffected a manner that the King
was quite touched by it, and said, shaking Bulbo’s hand, that he wished
he had known Bulbo sooner.
Bulbo, quite unconsciously, and meaning for the best, offered to come
and sit with his Majesty, and smoke a cigar with him, and console him.
The _royal kindness_ supplied Bulbo with a cigar; he had not had one, he
said, since he was taken prisoner.
And now think what must have been the feelings of the most _merciful of
monarchs_, when he informed his prisoner that, in consequence of King
Padella’s _cruel and dastardly behavior_ to Rosalba, Prince Bulbo must
instantly be executed! The noble Giglio could not restrain his tears, nor
could the Grenadiers, nor the officers, nor could Bulbo himself, when the
matter was explained to him, and he was brought to understand that His
Majesty’s promise, of course, was _above every_ thing, and Bulbo must
submit. So poor Bulbo was led out, Hedzoff trying to console him, by
pointing out that if he had won the battle of Bombardaro, he might have
hanged Prince Giglio. “Yes! But that is no comfort to me now!” said poor
Bulbo; nor indeed was it, poor fellow!
He was told the business would be done the next morning at eight, and
was taken back to his dungeon, where every attention was paid to him.
The gaoler’s wife sent him tea, and the turnkey’s daughter begged him
to write his name in her album, where a many gentlemen had wrote it on
like occasions! “Bother your album!” says Bulbo. The Undertaker came and
measured him for the handsomest coffin which money could buy—even this
didn’t console Bulbo. The Cook brought him dishes which he once used to
like; but he wouldn’t touch them: he sat down and began writing an adieu
to Angelica, as the clock kept always ticking, and the hands drawing
nearer to next morning. The Barber came in at night, and offered to shave
him for the next day. Prince Bulbo kicked him away, and went on writing a
few words to Princess Angelica, as the clock kept always ticking, and the
hands hopping nearer and nearer to next morning. He got up on the top of
a hat-box, on the top of a chair, on the top of his bed, on the top of
his table, and looked out to see whether he might escape, as the clock
kept always ticking and the hands drawing nearer, and nearer, and nearer.
But looking out of the window was one thing, and jumping another: and the
town clock struck seven. So he got into bed for a little sleep, but the
gaoler came and woke him, and said, “Git up, your Royal Ighness, if you
please, it’s _ten minutes to eight_!”
So poor Bulbo got up: he had gone to bed in his clothes (the lazy boy),
and he shook himself, and said he didn’t mind about dressing, or having
any breakfast, thank you; and he saw the soldiers who had come for him.
“Lead on!” he said; and they led the way, deeply affected; and they came
into the courtyard, and out into the square, and there was King Giglio
come to take leave of him, and His Majesty most kindly shook hands with
him, and the _gloomy procession_ marched on—when hark!
Haw—wurraw—wurraw—aworr!
A roar of wild beasts was heard. And who should come riding into the
town, frightening away the boys, and even the beadle and policeman, but
Rosalba!
The fact is, that when Captain Hedzoff entered into the court of
Snapdragon Castle, and was discoursing with King Padella, the lions made
a dash at the open gate, gobbled up the six beef-eaters in a jiffy, and
away they went with Rosalba on the back of one of them, and they carried
her, turn and turn about, till they came to the city where Prince
Giglio’s army was encamped.
When the King heard of the Queen’s arrival, you may think how he rushed
out of his breakfast-room to hand Her Majesty off her lion! The lions
were grown as fat as pigs now, having had Hogginarmo and all those
beef-eaters, and were so tame anybody might pat them.
While Giglio knelt (most gracefully) and helped the Princess, Bulbo,
for his part, rushed up and kissed the lion. He flung his arms round
the forest monarch; he hugged him, and laughed and cried for joy. “Oh,
you darling old beast, oh, how glad I am to see you, and the dear, dear
Bets—that is, Rosalba.”
[Illustration]
“What, is it you? poor Bulbo!” said the Queen. “Oh, how glad I am to see
you,” and she gave him her hand to kiss. King Giglio slapped him most
kindly on the back, and said, “Bulbo, my boy, I am delighted, for your
sake, that Her Majesty has arrived.”
“So am I,” said Bulbo; “and _you know why_.” Captain Hedzoff here came
up. “Sire, it is half-past eight: shall we proceed with the execution?”
“Execution! what for?” asked Bulbo.
“An officer only knows his orders,” replied Captain Hedzoff, showing his
warrant, on which His Majesty King Giglio smilingly said, “Prince Bulbo
was reprieved this time,” and most graciously invited him to breakfast.
XVII
HOW A TREMENDOUS BATTLE TOOK PLACE, AND WHO WON IT
As soon as King Padella heard, what we know already, that his victim,
the lovely Rosalba, had escaped him, His Majesty’s fury knew no bounds,
and he pitched the Lord Chancellor, Lord Chamberlain, and every officer
of the Crown whom he could set eyes on, into the cauldron of boiling oil
prepared for the Princess.
Then he ordered out his whole army, horse, foot, and artillery; and set
forth at the head of an innumerable host, and I should think twenty
thousand drummers, trumpeters, and fifers.
King Giglio’s advanced guard, you may be sure, kept that monarch
acquainted with the enemy’s dealings, and he was in no wise disconcerted.
He was much too polite to alarm the Princess, his lovely guest, with
any unnecessary rumors of battles impending; on the contrary, he did
everything to amuse and divert her; gave her a most elegant breakfast,
dinner, lunch, and got up a ball for her that evening, when he danced
with her every single dance.
Poor Bulbo was taken into favor again, and allowed to go quite free now.
He had new clothes given him, was called “My good cousin” by His Majesty,
and was treated with the greatest distinction by everybody. But it was
easy to see he was very melancholy. The fact is, the sight of Betsinda,
who looked perfectly lovely in an elegant new dress, set poor Bulbo
frantic in love with her again. And he never thought about Angelica, now
Princess Bulbo, whom he had left at home, and who, as we know, did not
care much about him.
The King, dancing the twenty-fifth polka with Rosalba, remarked with
wonder the ring she wore; and then Rosalba told him how she had got it
from Gruffanuff, who no doubt had picked it up when Angelica flung it
away.
“Yes,” says the Fairy Blackstick, who had come to see the young people,
and who had very likely certain plans regarding them. “That ring I gave
the Queen, Giglio’s mother, who was not, saving your presence, a very
wise woman; it is enchanted, and whoever wears it looks beautiful in the
eyes of the world. I made poor Prince Bulbo, when he was christened, the
present of a rose which made him look handsome while he had it; but he
gave it to Angelica, who instantly looked beautiful again, whilst Bulbo
relapsed into his natural plainness.”
“Rosalba needs no ring, I am sure,” says Giglio, with a low bow. “She is
beautiful enough, in my eyes, without any enchanted aid.”
“Oh, sir!” said Rosalba.
“Take off the ring and try,” said the King, and resolutely drew the ring
off her finger. In _his_ eyes she looked just as handsome as before!
The King was thinking of throwing the ring away, as it was so dangerous
and made all the people so mad about Rosalba; but being a Prince of great
humor, and good humor too, he cast eyes upon a poor youth who happened to
be looking on very disconsolately, and said—
“Bulbo, my poor lad! come and try on this ring. The Princess Rosalba
makes it a present to you.”
The magic properties of this ring were uncommonly strong, for no sooner
had Bulbo put it on, but lo and behold, he appeared a personable,
agreeable young Prince enough—with a fine complexion, fair hair, rather
stout, and with bandy legs; but these were encased in such a beautiful
pair of yellow morocco boots that nobody remarked them. And Bulbo’s
spirits rose up almost immediately after he had looked in the glass, and
he talked to their Majesties in the most lively, agreeable manner, and
danced opposite the Queen with one of the prettiest maids of honor, and
after looking at Her Majesty, could not help saying—
“How very odd! she is very pretty, but not so _extraordinarily_ handsome.”
“Oh no, by no means!” says the Maid of Honor.
“But what care I, dear sir,” says the Queen, who overheard them, “if
_you_ think I am good-looking enough?”
His Majesty’s glance in reply to this affectionate speech was such that
no painter could draw it. And the Fairy Blackstick said, “Bless you,
my darling children! Now you are united and happy; and now you see what
I said from the first, that a little misfortune has done you both good.
_You_, Giglio, had you been bred in prosperity, would scarcely have
learned to read or write—you would have been idle and extravagant, and
could not have been a good King as now you will be. You, Rosalba, would
have been so flattered, that your little head might have been turned like
Angelica’s, who thought herself too good for Giglio.”
“As if anybody could be good enough for _him_,” cried Rosalba.
“Oh, you, you darling!” says Giglio. And so she was! and he was just
holding out his arms in order to give her a hug before the whole company,
when a messenger came rushing in, and said, “My Lord, the enemy!”
“To arms!” cries Giglio.
“Oh, mercy!” says Rosalba, and fainted of course.
He snatched one kiss from her lips, and rushed _forth to the field_ of
battle!
* * * * *
The Fairy had provided King Giglio with a suit of armor, which was not
only embroidered all over with jewels, and blinding to your eyes to look
at, but was water-proof, gun-proof, and sword-proof; so that in the midst
of the very hottest battles His Majesty rode about as calmly as if he
had been a British Grenadier at Alma. Were I engaged in fighting for my
country, _I_ should like such a suit of armor as Prince Giglio wore; but,
you know, he was a Prince of a fairy tale, and they always have these
wonderful things.
Besides the fairy armor, the Prince had a fairy horse, which would
gallop at any pace you please; and a fairy sword, which would lengthen
and run through a whole regiment of enemies at once. With such a weapon
at command, I wonder, for my part, he thought of ordering his army out;
but forth they all came, in magnificent new uniforms, Hedzoff and the
Prince’s two college friends each commanding a division, and His Majesty
prancing in person at the head of them all.
Ah! if I had the pen of a Sir Archibald Alison, my dear friends, would
I not now entertain you with the account of a most tremendous shindy?
Should not fine blows be struck? dreadful wounds be delivered? arrows
darken the air? cannon balls crash through the battalions? cavalry charge
infantry? infantry pitch into cavalry? bugles blow; drums beat; horses
neigh; fifes sing; soldiers roar, swear, hurray; officers shout out
“Forward, my men!” “This way, lads!” “Give it ’em, boys!” “Fight for King
Giglio, and the cause of right!” “King Padella for ever!” Would I not
describe all this, I say, and in the very finest language too? But this
humble pen does not possess the skill necessary for the description of
combats. In a word, the overthrow of King Padella’s army was so complete,
that if they had been Russians you could not have wished them to be more
utterly smashed and confounded.
As for that usurping monarch, having performed acts of valor much more
considerable than could be expected of a royal ruffian and usurper, who
had such a bad cause, and who was so cruel to women—as for King Padella,
I say, when his army ran away, the King ran away too, kicking his first
general, Prince Punchikoff, from his saddle, and galloping away on the
Prince’s horse, having, indeed, had twenty-five or twenty-six of his own
shot under him. Hedzoff coming up, and finding Punchikoff down, as you
may imagine, very speedily disposed of _him_. Meanwhile King Padella
was scampering off as hard as his horse could lay legs to ground. Fast
as he scampered, I promise you somebody else galloped faster; and that
individual, as no doubt you are aware, was the Royal Giglio, who kept
bawling out, “Stay, traitor! Turn, miscreant, and defend thyself! Stand,
tyrant, coward, ruffian, royal wretch, till I cut thy ugly head from thy
usurping shoulders!” And, with his fairy sword, which elongated itself
at will, His Majesty kept poking and prodding Padella in the back, until
that wicked monarch roared with anguish.
[Illustration]
When he was fairly brought to bay, Padella turned and dealt Prince Giglio
a prodigious crack over the sconce with his battle-axe, a most enormous
weapon, which had cut down I don’t know how many regiments in the course
of the afternoon. But, Law bless you! though the blow fell right down
on His Majesty’s helmet, it made no more impression than if Padella had
struck him with a pat of butter: his battle-axe crumpled up in Padella’s
hand, and the Royal Giglio laughed for very scorn at the impotent efforts
of that atrocious usurper.
[Illustration: AND THE GLOOMY PROCESSION MARCHED ON—page 491
_From the drawing by J. H. Tinker_]
At the ill success of his blow the Crim Tartar monarch was justly
irritated. “If,” says he to Giglio, “you ride a fairy horse, and wear
fairy armor, what on earth is the use of my hitting you? I may as well
give myself up a prisoner at once. Your Majesty won’t, I suppose, be so
mean as to strike a poor fellow who can’t strike again?”
The justice of Padella’s remark struck the magnanimous Giglio. “Do you
yield yourself a prisoner, Padella?” says he.
“Of course I do,” says Padella.
“Do you acknowledge Rosalba as your rightful Queen, and give up the crown
and all your treasures to your rightful mistress?”
“If I must, I must,” says Padella, who was naturally very sulky.
By this time King Giglio’s aides-de-camp had come up, whom His Majesty
ordered to bind the prisoner. And they tied his hands behind him, and
bound his legs tight under his horse, having set him with his face to the
tail; and in this fashion he was led back to King Giglio’s quarters, and
thrust into the very dungeon where young Bulbo had been confined.
Padella (who was a very different person in the depth of his distress
to Padella the proud wearer of the Crim Tartary crown), now most
affectionately and earnestly asked to see his son—his dear eldest boy—his
darling Bulbo; and that good-natured young man never once reproached his
haughty parent for his unkind conduct the day before, when he would have
left Bulbo to be shot without any pity, but came to see his father, and
spoke to him through the grating of the door, beyond which he was not
allowed to go; and brought him some sandwiches from the grand supper
which His Majesty was giving above stairs, in honor of the brilliant
victory which had just been achieved.
“I cannot stay with you long, sir,” says Bulbo, who was in his best ball
dress, as he handled his father in the prog, “I am engaged to dance the
next quadrille with Her Majesty Queen Rosalba, and I hear the fiddles
playing at this very moment.”
So Bulbo went back to the ball-room, and the wretched Padella ate his
solitary supper in silence and tears.
* * * * *
All was now joy in King Giglio’s circle. Dancing, feasting, fun,
illuminations, and jollifications of all sorts ensued. The people
through whose villages they passed were ordered to illuminate their
cottages at night, and scatter flowers on the roads during the day.
They were requested, and I promise you they did not like to refuse, to
serve the troops liberally with eatables and wine; besides, the army
was enriched by the immense quantity of plunder which was found in King
Padella’s camp, and taken from his soldiers; who (after they had given
up everything) were allowed to fraternise with the conquerors; and the
united forces marched back by easy stages towards King Giglio’s capital,
his royal banner and that of Queen Rosalba being carried in front of the
troops. Hedzoff was made a Duke and a Field-Marshal. Smith and Jones
were promoted to be Earls; the Crim Tartar Order of the Pumpkin and the
Paflagonian decoration of the Cucumber were freely distributed by their
Majesties to the army. Queen Rosalba wore the Paflagonian Ribbon of the
Cucumber across her riding-habit, whilst King Giglio never appeared
without the grand Cordon of the Pumpkin. How the people cheered them as
they rode along side by side! They were pronounced to be the handsomest
couple ever seen: that was a matter of course; but they really _were_
very handsome, and, had they been otherwise, would have looked so, they
were so happy! Their Majesties were never separated during the whole day,
but breakfasted, dined and supped together always, and rode side by side,
interchanging elegant compliments, and indulging in the most delightful
conversation. At night, Her Majesty’s ladies of honor (who had all
rallied round her the day after King Padella’s defeat) came and conducted
her to the apartments prepared for her; whilst King Giglio, surrounded
by his gentlemen, withdrew to his own royal quarters. It was agreed they
should be married as soon as they reached the capital, and orders were
despatched to the Archbishop of Blombodinga, to hold himself in readiness
to perform the interesting ceremony. Duke Hedzoff carried the message,
and gave instructions to have the Royal Castle splendidly refurnished and
painted afresh. The Duke seized Glumboso, the Ex-Prime Minister, and made
him refund that considerable sum of money which the old scoundrel had
secreted out of the late King’s treasure. He also clapped Valoroso into
prison (who, by the way, had been dethroned for some considerable period
past), and when the Ex-Monarch weakly remonstrated, Hedzoff said, “A
soldier, sir, knows but his duty; my orders are to lock you up along with
the Ex-King Padella, whom I have brought hither a prisoner under guard.”
So these two Ex-Royal personages were sent for a year to the House of
Correction, and thereafter were obliged to become monks of the severest
Order of Flagellants, in which state, by fasting, by vigils, by flogging
(which they administered to one another, humbly but resolutely), no doubt
they exhibited a repentance for their past misdeeds, usurpations, and
private and public crimes.
As for Glumboso, that rogue was sent to the galleys, and never had an
opportunity to steal any more.
XVIII
HOW THEY ALL JOURNEYED BACK TO THE CAPITAL
The Fairy Blackstick, by whose means this young King and Queen had
certainly won their respective crowns back, would come not unfrequently,
to pay them a little visit—as they were riding in their triumphal
progress towards Giglio’s capital—change her wand into a pony, and travel
by their Majesties’ side, giving them the very best advice. I am not sure
that King Giglio did not think the Fairy and her advice rather a bore,
fancying it was his own valor and merits which had put him on his throne,
and conquered Padella: and, in fine, I fear he rather gave himself airs
towards his best friend and patroness. She exhorted him to deal justly
by his subjects, to draw mildly on the taxes, never to break his promise
when he had once given it—and in all respects to be a good King.
“A good King, my dear Fairy!” cries Rosalba. “Of course he will. Break
his promise! can you fancy my Giglio would ever do anything so improper,
so unlike him? No! never!” And she looked fondly towards Giglio, whom she
thought a pattern of perfection.
“Why is Fairy Blackstick always advising me, and telling me how to manage
my government, and warning me to keep my word? Does she suppose that I am
not a man of sense, and a man of honor?” asks Giglio testily. “Methinks
she rather presumes upon her position.”
“Hush! dear Giglio,” says Rosalba. “You know Blackstick has been very
kind to us, and we must not offend her.” But the Fairy was not listening
to Giglio’s testy observations, she had fallen back, and was trotting
on her pony now, by Master Bulbo’s side, who rode a donkey, and made
himself generally beloved in the army by his cheerfulness, kindness, and
good-humor to everybody. He was eager to see his darling Angelica. He
thought there never was such a charming being. Blackstick did not tell
him it was the possession of the magic rose that made Angelica so lovely
in his eyes. She brought him the very best accounts of his little wife,
whose misfortunes and humiliations had indeed very greatly improved
her; and, you see, she could whisk off on her wand a hundred miles in a
minute, and be back in no time, and so carry polite messages from Bulbo
to Angelica, and from Angelica to Bulbo, and comfort that young man upon
his journey.