Blombodinga, who should be in waiting, in her carriage there with her
lady of honor by her side, but the Princess Angelica! She rushed into her
husband’s arms, scarcely stopping to make a passing curtsey to the King
and Queen. She had no eyes but for Bulbo, who appeared perfectly lovely,
to her on account of the fairy ring which he wore; whilst she herself,
wearing the magic rose in her bonnet, seemed entirely beautiful to the
enraptured Bulbo.
A splendid luncheon was served to the Royal party, of which the
Archbishop, the Chancellor, Duke Hedzoff, Countess Gruffanuff, and
all our friends partook, the Fairy Blackstick being seated on the left
of King Giglio, with Bulbo and Angelica beside her. You could hear the
joy-bells ringing in the capital, and the guns which the citizens were
firing off in honor of their Majesties.
“What can have induced that hideous old Gruffanuff to dress herself up in
such an absurd way? Did you ask her to be your bridesmaid, my dear?” says
Giglio to Rosalba. “What a figure of fun Gruffy is!”
Gruffy was seated opposite their Majesties, between the Archbishop and
the Lord Chancellor, and a figure of fun she certainly was, for she was
dressed in a low white silk dress, with lace over, a wreath of white
roses on her wig, a splendid lace veil, and her yellow old neck was
covered with diamonds. She ogled the King in such a manner that His
Majesty burst out laughing.
“Eleven o’clock!” cries Giglio, as the great Cathedral bell of
Blombodinga tolled that hour. “Gentlemen and ladies, we must be starting.
Archbishop, you must be at church, I think, before twelve?”
“We must be at church before twelve,” sighs out Gruffanuff in a
languishing voice, hiding her old face behind her fan.
“And then I shall be the happiest man in my dominions,” cries Giglio,
with an elegant bow to the blushing Rosalba.
“Oh, my Giglio! Oh, my dear Majesty!” exclaims Gruffanuff; “and can it be
that this happy moment at length has arrived—”
“Of course it has arrived,” says the King.
“—And that I am about to become the enraptured bride of my adored
Giglio!” continues Gruffanuff. “Lend me a smelling-bottle, somebody. I
certainly shall faint with joy.”
“_You_ my bride?” roars out Giglio.
“_You_ marry my Prince?” cried poor little Rosalba.
“Pooh! Nonsense! The woman’s mad!” exclaims the King. And all the
courtiers exhibited by their countenances and expressions, marks of
surprise, or ridicule, or incredulity, or wonder.
“I should like to know who else is going to be married if I am not?”
shrieks out Gruffanuff. “I should like to know if King Giglio is a
gentleman, and if there is such a thing as justice in Paflagonia? Lord
Chancellor! my Lord Archbishop! will your Lordships sit by and see a
poor, fond, confiding, tender creature put upon? Has not Prince Giglio
promised to marry his Barbara? Is not this Giglio’s signature? Does not
this paper declare that he is mine, and only mine?” And she handed to his
Grace the Archbishop the document which the Prince signed that evening
when she wore the magic ring, and Giglio drank so much champagne. And the
old Archbishop, taking out his eyeglasses, read—“This is to give notice,
that I, Giglio, only son of Savio, King of Paflagonia, hereby promise to
marry the charming Barbara Griselda, Countess Gruffanuff, and widow of
the late Jenkins Gruffanuff, Esq.’”
“H’m,” says the Archbishop, “the document is certainly a—a document.”
“Phoo!” says the Lord Chancellor, “the signature is not in His Majesty’s
handwriting.” Indeed, since his studies at Bosforo, Giglio had made an
immense improvement in caligraphy.
“Is it your handwriting, Giglio?” cries the Fairy Blackstick, with an
awful severity of countenance.
“Y—y—y—es,” poor Giglio gasps out, “I had quite forgotten the confounded
paper: she can’t mean to hold me by it. You old wretch, what will you
take to let me off? Help the Queen, some one—Her Majesty has fainted.”
“Chop her head off!” } exclaim the impetuous Hedzoff,
“Smother the old witch!” } the ardent Smith, and the
“Pitch her into the river!” } faithful Jones.
But Gruffanuff flung her arms round the Archbishop’s neck, and bellowed
out, “Justice, justice, my Lord Chancellor!” so loudly, that her piercing
shrieks caused everybody to pause. As for Rosalba, she was borne away
lifeless by her ladies; and you may imagine the look of agony which
Giglio cast towards that lovely being, as his hope, his joy, his darling,
his all in all, was thus removed, and in her place the horrid old
Gruffanuff rushed up to his side, and once more shrieked out, “Justice,
justice!”
“Won’t you take that sum of money which Glumboso hid?” says Giglio; “two
hundred and eighteen thousand millions, or thereabouts. It’s a handsome
sum.”
“I will have that and you too!” says Gruffanuff.
“Let us throw the crown jewels into the bargain,” gasps out Giglio.
“I will wear them by my Giglio’s side!” says Gruffanuff.
“Will half, three-quarters, five-sixths, nineteen-twentieths, of my
kingdom do, Countess?” asks the trembling monarch.
“What were all Europe to me without _you_, my Giglio?” cries Gruff,
kissing his hand.
“I won’t, I can’t, I shan’t—I’ll resign the crown first,” shouts Giglio,
tearing away his hand; but Gruff clung to it.
“I have a competency, my love,” she says, “and with thee and a cottage
thy Barbara will be happy.”
Giglio was half mad with rage by this time. “I will not marry her,” says
he. “Oh, Fairy, Fairy, give me counsel?” And as he spoke he looked wildly
round at the severe face of the Fairy Blackstick.
“‘Why is Fairy Blackstick always advising me, and warning me to keep my
word? Does she suppose that I am not a man of honor?’” said the Fairy,
quoting Giglio’s own haughty words. He quailed under the brightness
of her eyes; he felt that there was no escape for him from that awful
inquisition.
“Well, Archbishop,” said he in a dreadful voice, that made his Grace
start, “since this Fairy has led me to the height of happiness but to
dash me down into the depths of despair, since I am to lose Rosalba, let
me at least keep my honor. Get up, Countess, and let us be married; I can
keep my word, but I can die afterwards.”
“Oh, dear Giglio,” cries Gruffanuff, skipping up, “I knew, I knew I could
trust thee—I knew that my Prince was the soul of honor. Jump into your
carriages, ladies and gentlemen, and let us go to church at once; and
as for dying, dear Giglio, no, no:—thou wilt forget that insignificant
little chambermaid of a Queen—thou wilt live to be consoled by thy
Barbara! She wishes to be a Queen, and not a Queen Dowager, my gracious
Lord!” And hanging upon poor Giglio’s arm, and leering and grinning in
his face in the most disgusting manner, this old wretch tripped off in
her white satin shoes, and jumped into the very carriage which had been
got ready to convey Giglio and Rosalba to church.
The cannons roared again, the bells pealed triple-bobmajors, the
people came out flinging flowers upon the path of the royal bride and
bridegroom, and Gruff looked out of the gilt coach window and bowed and
grinned to them. Phoo! the horrid old wretch!
XIX
AND NOW WE COME TO THE LAST SCENE IN THE PANTOMIME
The many ups and downs of her life had given the Princess Rosalba
prodigious strength of mind, and that highly principled young woman
presently recovered from her fainting-fit, out of which Fairy Blackstick,
by a precious essence which the Fairy always carried in her pocket,
awakened her. Instead of tearing her hair, crying, and bemoaning
herself, and fainting again, as many young women would have done, Rosalba
remembered that she owed an example of firmness to her subjects; and
though she loved Giglio more than her life, was determined, as she told
the Fairy, not to interfere between him and justice, or to cause him to
break his royal word.
“I cannot marry him, but I shall love him always,” says she to
Blackstick; “I will go and be present at his marriage with the Countess,
and sign the book, and wish them happy with all my heart. I will see,
when I get home, whether I cannot make the new Queen some handsome
presents. The Crim Tartary crown diamonds are uncommonly fine, and I
shall never have any use for them. I will live and die unmarried like
Queen Elizabeth, and, of course, I shall leave my crown to Giglio when I
quit this world. Let us go and see them married, my dear Fairy, let me
say one last farewell to him; and then, if you please, I will return to
my own dominions.”
So the Fairy kissed Rosalba with peculiar tenderness, and at once changed
her wand into a very comfortable coach-and-four, with a steady coachman,
and two respectable footmen behind, and the Fairy and Rosalba got into
the coach, which Angelica and Bulbo entered after them. As for honest
Bulbo, he was blubbering in the most pathetic manner, quite overcome by
Rosalba’s misfortune.
She was touched by the honest fellow’s sympathy, promised to restore to
him the confiscated estates of Duke Padella his father, and created him,
as he sat there in the coach, Prince, Highness, and First Grandee of the
Crim Tartar Empire. The coach moved on, and, being a fairy coach, soon
came up with the bridal procession.
Before the ceremony at the church it was the custom in Paflagonia, as it
is in other countries, for the bride and bridegroom to sign the Contract
of Marriage, which was to be witnessed by the Chancellor, Minister, Lord
Mayor, and principal officers of state. Now, as the royal palace was
being painted and furnished anew, it was not ready for the reception of
the King and his bride, who proposed at first to take up their residence
at the Prince’s palace, that one which Valoroso occupied when Angelica
was born, and before he usurped the throne.
[Illustration]
So the marriage party drove up to the palace: the dignitaries got out of
their carriages and stood aside: poor Rosalba stepped out of her coach,
supported by Bulbo, and stood almost fainting up against the railings so
as to have a last look of her dear Giglio.
As for Blackstick, she, according to her custom, had flown out of the
coach window in some inscrutable manner, and was now standing at the
palace door.
Giglio came up the steps with his horrible bride on his arm, looking
as pale as if he was going to execution. He only frowned at the Fairy
Blackstick—he was angry with her, and thought she came to insult his
misery.
“Get out of the way, pray,” says Gruffanuff haughtily. “I wonder why you
are always poking your nose into other people’s affairs?”
“Are you determined to make this poor young man unhappy?” says Blackstick.
“To marry him, yes? What business is it of yours? Pray, madam, don’t say
‘you’ to a Queen,” cried Gruffanuff.
“You won’t take the money he offered you?”
“No.”
“You won’t let him off his bargain, though you know you cheated him when
you made him sign the paper?”
“Impudence! Policemen, remove this woman!” cries Gruffanuff. And the
policemen were rushing forward, but with a wave of her wand the Fairy
struck them all like so many statues in their places.
“You won’t take anything in exchange for your bond, Mrs. Gruffanuff,”
cries the Fairy, with awful severity. “I speak for the last time.”
“No!” shrieks Gruffanuff, stamping with her foot. “I’ll have my husband,
my husband, my husband!”
“You SHALL HAVE YOUR HUSBAND!” the Fairy Blackstick cried; and advancing
a step, laid her hand upon the nose of the Knocker.
* * * * *
As she touched it, the brass nose seemed to elongate, the open mouth
opened still wider, and uttered a roar which made everybody start. The
eyes rolled wildly; the arms and legs uncurled themselves, writhed about,
and seemed to lengthen with each twist; the Knocker expanded into a
figure in yellow livery, six feet high; the screws by which it was fixed
to the door unloosed themselves, and Jenkins Gruffanuff once more trod
the threshold off which he had been lifted more than twenty years ago!
“Master’s not at home,” says Jenkins, just in his old voice; and Mrs.
Jenkins, giving a dreadful _youp_, fell down in a fit, in which nobody
minded her.
For everybody was shouting, “Huzzay! Huzzay!” “Hip, hip, hurray!” “Long
live the King and Queen!”
“Were such things ever seen?” “No, never, never, never!” “The Fairy
Blackstick for ever!”
The bells were ringing double peals, the guns roaring and banging most
prodigiously. Bulbo was embracing everybody; the Lord Chancellor was
flinging up his wig and shouting like a madman; Hedzoff had got the
Archbishop round the waist, and they were dancing a jig for joy; and as
for Giglio, I leave you to imagine what _he_ was doing, and if he kissed
Rosalba once, twice—twenty thousand times, I’m sure I don’t think he was
wrong.
So Gruffanuff opened the hall door with a low bow, just as he had been
accustomed to do, and they all went in and signed the book, and then they
went to church and were married, and the Fairy Blackstick sailed away on
her cane, and was never more heard of in Paflagonia.
AND HERE ENDS THE FIRESIDE PANTOMIME.