And such others as we may appoint.
GIVEN AT OUR COURT AT LUCKINGHAM ON THE 32ND OF APRIL 8177, IN
THE ONE HUNDRED AND THIRTY-NINTH YEAR OF OUR REIGN.
[Sidenote: A BLOW FOR NO BLOW.]
[Illustration]
[Sidenote: STICKY.]
[Sidenote: AN EXTRA HAND.]
[Sidenote: HONOUR BRIGHT.]
The herald having completed the reading of the proclamation, evidently
expected that, the proper time having now arrived, his trumpeters
would blow a vigorous flourish, as in duty bound; but instead of this
there was dead silence, all the trumpeters standing stock-still, with
their hands hanging at their sides, and mouths wide open. At this the
herald got white with passion, the choler rose so at his throat that he
could bear it no longer, but cut up rough, the cuffs flying from him
in showers, till at last he burst the bladder with a terrific bang on
the nose of No. 1, who took no more notice than if he had been made of
gutta-percha. The herald calmed down as suddenly as he had flared up, and
after looking at the motionless figures for a moment, quietly remarked,
“Oh, I’m in no hurry, I can wait,” produced from the pocket of one of
his many trouser-legs a copy of ‘Enquire within upon Everything’—a book
much studied in Blunderland—and commenced reading, evidently in the hope
that he might in course of time come upon a receipt that would enable him
to settle the hash of his saucy attendants. The trumpeters could have
borne any amount of violence, but the herald’s tactics were too much for
them; so before he could get his spectacles adjusted to commence reading,
they all placed their trumpets to their mouths, and blew a most elegant
tootle-ootle, at which the herald, smiling sweetly, turned and said,
“Thanks, thanks, my children!” and producing a box from another pocket,
handed each of them a stick of barley-sugar. Now no one will think it
surprising that the sight of a free distribution of barley-sugar should
be rather exciting to three small boys like our heroes. And although they
had been well taught that little men should not thrust themselves on
people to ask for things, still, being in Blunderland, it is not strange
that they should be a little infected by the character of the country,
and do what would have been not at all good manners anywhere else. So
Jaques, taking advantage of his long arms, unwound one of them, and
passing it round to the back of the trumpeters, thrust it out between
two of them. The herald, quite unsuspecting, placed in it a stick of
barley-sugar, when it was instantly withdrawn, and Jaques handed the
barley-sugar to his elder brother. Repeating the process, he succeeded
in getting sticks for Ranulf and for himself, the herald being in great
astonishment, as he found that though he had given out more than six
sticks, and the trumpeters were all sucking away furiously, there was
always an empty hand stretched out from some quarter or another for more.
Looking behind the trumpeters, all he could see was what he took to be
a garden watering-pipe lying on the ground, but which was in reality
Jaques’ arm. Not to be beaten, he muttered to himself that he would go on
till he found it out; so, to the boys’ great delight, kept putting sticks
into Jaques’ hand, until his box was empty and their pockets full. They
felt, however, when all was over, that while it might not be of great
consequence, still, to be little gentlemen as they ought, they must not
leave matters unexplained; so, after a short consultation how it was to
be done, Jaques’ hand again appeared between the trumpeters holding all
the sticks of barley-sugar, minus one little bit that Ranulf, with a
haste excusable at six years, but no longer, had nibbled off, and a voice
behind the herald said, “Please sir, may we have them?” Turning round,
he saw the three boys, and gazing at them with their coils, exclaimed in
amazement—
“Why, you must be three rolls of endless wax-taper out for a walk!”
[Sidenote: WHAT’S YOUR LITTLE GAME?]
[Illustration]
“Oh no; we aren’t tapirs,” said Ranulf, who, having a recollection
of a beast with a long snout in his animals-book, thought this was a
reflection on his nose. He felt very much inclined to put his fingers to
it; but a sense of propriety, and a difficulty in finding the point of it
among the folds, combined to restrain him.
“Then if you’re not tapers,” said the herald, “you must be sons of a gun,
built on the coil system—Armstrong’s patent, eh? or perhaps you are in
the still line?”
“Nurse never thinks so,” said Jaques. “She says she would like to see a
little more of the still about us—that we are too full of good spirits.”
[Sidenote: A POSER.]
“And what is the still business for, except to produce good spirits;
but,” said the herald, suddenly assuming a tremendous air of official
dignity, “we must tarry no longer; the games are about to commence.”
“Oh, but please, sir, may we keep the barley-sugar?”
“Yes,” said he, and was going to add “but” something, only he did not get
time, for his Yes was instantly followed by three Thank-yous, and three
enormous bites at the barley-sugar.
“Stop, stop, stop!” he cried. “I thought you wanted to keep it.”
The boys knew that they should not speak with their mouths full; and
having as much in them as good manners allow, they were compelled to nod.
“And how can you both eat your lollypop and keep it? There’s a poser for
you,” said the herald, folding his arms, throwing back his head, and
planting his right foot forward in a manner which plainly meant, “I poses
for a reply.”
[Sidenote: CONFLICTING DUTIES.]
It was a poser in one way, for no answer could be given to it by nod or
shake; and as the mouths were still full, it remained unanswered, the
boys wavering between—
“Speak when you are spoken to”
and
“Don’t speak with your mouth full.”
The herald’s notion of his own dignity seemed to be greatly increased by
there being apparently no answer to his question, which was just as well,
for as he got full of importance he got empty of everything else (on the
well-known principle of natural philosophy, that two things cannot occupy
the same space at the same time), and so forgot all about his question.
While he was still posing, a mounted disorderly galloped on to the
ground, shouting—
“Here, hi, hollo, you there! What’s yer name? How long d’ye mean to keep
the king waiting?”
[Sidenote: TAKEN ABACK.]
In a moment all the herald’s dignity was gone. He trembled till his
trouser-legs were fluttering all round him, like a cock’s feathers when
he shakes himself, and cried—
“The king waiting! oh, oh dear!” gathered his trouser-legs about him, and
fled through the gateway, like an old woman running in a shower of rain.
The trumpeters, thus relieved of the dread of the gilded bladder, blew a
tremendous flourish, threw their trumpets in the air, and then the end
one giving a back, they set off in leap-frog after the herald.
[Sidenote: RACE-COURSE NOT COARSE.]
[Sidenote: DELICATE SHADE.]
[Illustration]
The boys made after them as fast as they could, soon outstripping them
with their young legs, and on passing through the gate found the people
assembled for the games. It was indeed a lovely sight. Unlike such
gatherings among those who do not blunder, there were no thimble-riggers;
no dismal niggers; no men with two black cards and a red; no shouts of
four to one, bar one; no little girls with careworn faces and work-worn
tights, faded and patched, performing on stilts to a consumptive drum and
a time-defying flageolet; no display of paint, false hair, and falser
smiles; no pouring in of sparkling gooseberry; no pouring out of wild
and wicked words; no reeling and staggering; no shouting and brawling;
no fingers in other people’s pockets, and fists in other people’s eyes.
Such things are only to be witnessed in countries where the people have
grown out of the condition of blundering, and have reached an advanced
stage of civilisation and intelligence. Here in this yet unenlightened
country things were quite different. The sight was lovely. The ladies
and gentlemen whom the boys had seen before on the lawn, were here
assembled, along with a host of other people of humbler rank, the rich
costumes of the ladies and gentlemen contrasting with the less costly
dresses of the lower classes, grouped as they were with the most charming
harmony and accommodation of colours too beautiful for description,
forming a sight never to be forgotten. The effect was made still more
charming by the flowers that had sheltered the groups on the lawn being
formed into a vast sun-shade above—a gigantic white lily, with its bell
turned downwards, being the centre, and the circles going out from it
in the most delicate gradations of colour through all the tints of the
rainbow; the edges of this gigantic and gorgeous _ombrelle_ being formed
of enormous bright fern-leaves, the points of which, bending towards the
ground, were by some unseen means kept gently waving, wafting the air
charged with the fragrance of the flowers in delicious coolness over the
whole assemblage.
In rather incongruous contrast to the elegance and luxurious refinement
of the scene was the conduct of one individual, who, although he had a
crown on his head, was rushing about with an apron on and a napkin under
his arm, carrying dishes and bottles in all directions.
[Sidenote: WEIGHTY.]
“_Waiter!_” shouted a voice on one side.
_The King._ “Yessir.”
“Four sausage rolls, a hice, and three pops.”
[Illustration]
_The King._ “Yessir.”
“_Waiter!_” cried another.
_The King._ “Yessir.”
“Two ’alfs ’alf-and-’alf, an’ ’alf a sandwich.”
[Sidenote: THE CORRECT TIP.]
_The King._ “Yessir.”
“_Waiter!_” roared a third.
_The King._ “Yessir.”
“Cold beef and pickles, two brandies, and a split.”
_The King._ “Yessir.”
“Come along, king,” said a fourth, “attend to the comforts of your
subjects.”
_The King._ “Yessir.”
“Two churchwardens and a screw of tobacco.”
_The King._ “Yessir.”
The poor king did his very best, and rushed about most energetically. He
managed, like a good waiter, to keep up a considerable fire of chaff.
A man having offered him a tip of 2s. 6d., he exclaimed, “Oh, sir, you
cannot give a king less than a crown!” To a party who gave him 15s., he
objected, “This won’t do, sir; I must have five more.”
“Why?”
“Three crowns is the Pope’s allowance. It takes four to make a real
sovereign, sir.”
[Sidenote: NO SPEAKING BACK.]
But although trying to be as merry and lively as possible, he found it
very hard work, and the moment the herald appeared, dropped his napkin,
six plates of lamb and salad and eight pewter pots he was carrying, tore
off his apron, changed a crown, and picking up his robe of state and his
sceptre and ball, gave a royal wave of his hand.
[Illustration]
The herald was at once seized and brought forward, and, addressing him,
the king said, “What, ho, thou caitiff! say, how hast thou dared so long
to keep thy sovereign waiting?”
[Sidenote: 10 CARRIED FORWARD.]
If the herald had been a log, he could not have remained more stolidly
immovable. There was dead silence for a few moments, and then the king
again spoke, “’Tis well thou knowest thou shouldest not dare to answer
back to a king, for this is half thine offence pardoned. Canst thou bring
forward anything why punishment should not overtake thee for the other
half?” At this the herald did bring something forward, for he brought
up one hand, and placing the thumb to the end of his nose, he slowly
extended the fingers as far out as he could, and waggled them about,
then he placed the thumb of the other hand to the little finger already
stretched out, and extending his other fingers, waggled them too. The
boys were aghast at thus seeing a subject making a long nose at a king,
and still more when he finished by bringing his hand sharply up against
his open mouth, producing a sound like the popping of a well-fitted cork.
[Illustration]
The king, however, seemed not at all struck in the way they were by the
herald’s conduct, but turning to an attendant said, “Bring forward the
whys man, that we may get the interpretation of these heraldic emblems.”
[Sidenote: VERY QUEER EH?]
The whys man was, as might have been expected, the querist man that
ever was seen. Nobody could fail to see that he was a man of mark of
interrogation, for when you looked at him you saw a great deal of curl at
the head, and when you reached his feet he came to a stop.[9]
[Illustration]
“Your Majesty, come and I obey,” said the seer.
The boys thought this bad grammar, and very rude on the part of a subject
(not knowing that he meant, “Command, I obey”); for, as Norval said to
Jaques, a subject giving dictation, instead of a subject being given in
dictation, was contrary to all their school experience. But they were
beginning not to be surprised at anything.
“Didst thou behold the mysterious signs just made by our herald? What
mean they?” said the king.
[Sidenote: AVERSE TO PROSE.]
“Will your Majesty deign to say whether you desire to be answered with
rhyme and reason or without rhyme or reason?”
“Whichever seemeth best unto thee, oh seer!”
“Then, seriously speaking, I would say that if a point of view be taken,
such as those who take points of view, with a view to getting the point
of view, that brings best into view the true view of the point, which
ought to be kept in view, in the view of getting at the point——”
“Oh, stop, stop, stop!” cried the king; “which is that—‘with’ or
‘without’?”
“‘Without,’ sire,” answered the seer.
[Sidenote: VAIN SOOTHE SAYING.]
“Then, for pity’s sake, let us have with, if it will save us from being
compassed with so many points. I feel pricked all over.”
Your Majesty shall be obeyed,
Although in sooth I am afraid,
A pointless rhyme is not the thing
To lay before so great a king.
You fain would know why herald’s nose
By aid of fingers longer grows,
And why by slap upon his mug
He makes a hollow sound like “jug.”
Methinks he by these signs would say,
’Twas well he stayed so long away.
By sound of cork he first would tell,
How waiting long, you waited well.
Fired by desire for subjects’ weal,
You ran about with plates of veal
And ham, hot kidneys, bottled stout;
In short, you wildly flew about,
The slave of all, though monarch great,
Good lesson in the cares of state.
He next the royal attention draws,
To all the tips on nose and paws,
By which he plainly means to in
dicate how ’twould have been a sin
Had he by quick return to you
Deprived you of the tips you drew,
While you were waiting on your p-
eople drawing corks and serving tea.
Indeed he’d say, by him your pop
ularity is now tip-top.
He therefore claims a pardon free.
The seer hath spoken.
[Sidenote: WHINES FROM LOW SPIRITS.]
“Fiddle-dee-dee!” cried the king; “to such defence I cannot listen. It
may be with rhyme, but is certainly without reason. If it comes to
anything it comes to this, that he kept me waiting so long in order that
I might get tips, eh? That is seeking to give the king the sack. I would
be mad ere I accepted such a mumm sham penitence. I declare it brand’ed
as a shabbily-concocted whine; so turn from it, and laugh it to scorn. He
shall have his mead. Summon the headsman, and let him whisk it off.”
The executioner at once appeared, set his block in front of the throne,
felt the edge of his axe, advanced to the herald, and began to drag him
forward.
“Friend,” said the herald (he had turned quaker at the sight of the
block), “why dost thou draw this way?”
“Because my business is funny cuts,” said the executioner, giving him a
sudden pull.
“Don’t ketch me up so if thou art a Jack in the box wood way; thou
shouldst not put such hard lines on a fellow.”
“I call you rather knave than fellow,” replied the executioner, getting
somewhat surly, “I don’t need you to tell me how to make the cuts on my
block.”
[Sidenote: HEADS OR TAILS.]
[Illustration]
The boys began to feel rather uncomfortable at the idea of seeing a
head cut off. They were somewhat relieved, however, to notice that the
executioner and attendants, on getting the herald to the block, did not
apply his neck to it, but made him sit down. They then began searching
among the many trouser-legs that hung behind him, and were so long at
this operation that Jaques, who, being a schoolboy, had an impression of
his own as to what they were after, suddenly exclaimed—
“Instead of fumbling that way, why don’t you take dow——”
But care-taker Norval stopped Jaques’ mouth with his hand before he could
get anything unmentionable out.
“We can’t find them, your Majesty,” said the executioner.
“Nonsense!” replied the king; “Darwin has put it in a book, and therefore
there must be. Besides, the Family Herald has lots of tales; and what a
Family Herald has, surely a Royal Herald can have too!”
[Sidenote: TAIL-KETCHING.]
At last they found them—two very small swallow tails indeed—one of which
was duly chopped off, but the other spared, as the king had forgiven half
the fault; and the executioner, taking his stand on the form used at
Charles the 1st’s execution, lifted up the tail and solemnly said, “This
is the end of a cratur.”
[Sidenote: ONE LEFT ON, THE OTHER RIGHT OFF.]
The herald looked very disconsolate, and the executioner, clapping him on
the shoulder as he sat on the block, said to him—
[Illustration]
“How do you feel now, old boy?”
“No thanks to you for axing; your chop’s a very cruel kind of cut let’s
say no more about it.”
“Pooh, my good fellow! you’re not so badly off; you’ve one all right.”
“No, I’ve one left—it’s the right one that’s gone.”
“Well, well, but you don’t need to have it left so; they’ll right you at
any retail place in no time.”
“Enough of chops, and cutlets, and tails,” suddenly shouted the king;
“now for the royal stakes—is that course ready?”
[Sidenote: RACY ENTREES.]
“Yes, your Majesty,” said the Secretary of Steak; “the entries are just
over, and so the beef-eaters can come on now.” They soon got through the
removes necessary, and the game course cleared; whereupon the king’s and
queen’s suites were set in their places, including the cream of society,
and a following which was quite the cheese.
“Now,” said the king, “every man shall have his desert. Go on with the
heats,”—heats being apparently the Blunderland substitute for ices.
[Sidenote: VERY DISTONGUEE.]
This injunction made the officials warm to their work, so that all
was quickly ready, and the competitors came running up to take their
places. They were a funny-looking set altogether. There was a fast young
gentleman, who looked as if he had not been in bed all night, but had
just come out of a bandbox. There was a scarlet-runner, who was the pink
of condition; a post-runner, who of course was clad in a mail suit; a
fore-runner, who went sometimes on his fore legs, and sometimes on his
four legs; and an old woman, who said she would warrant her tongue to
go faster, and to run on longer, than anybody on the ground. A solemn
discussion arose among the judges, upon the question whether a tongue
could be allowed to enter for the race; and it was at last decided that
it must not, as the race was a flat one, while the old woman’s tongue was
more than usually sharp.
[Illustration]
The aged dame was very angry at this, her much-despised member going on
at such a rate, that she, when told to hold it, excused herself on the
ground that it was going too fast to be caught up without a stretch of
imagination, which, at her age, was quite beyond her powers. So, as her
tongue could not be stopped, the police took a homœopathic process, and
simply ordered her and the offender to “move on;” whereupon, with female
contradiction, she did the very opposite, and moved off.
“That woman’s tongue is equal to any two,” said the clerk of the course;
“so, if a couple more would like to come forward and take its place, they
may do so.”
[Sidenote: A PAIR OF SCREWS.]
Thus invited, Norval and Jaques stepped out. Their appearance, with their
coils wound round them, was that of a pair of screws, and this led the
other competitors to look on them with contempt, apparently thinking that
such well-hooped casks could never run.
But the boys paid no attention to the sneers. They intended to run for
the sport of it—to win if possible, and to take it cheerfully if they
could not; which is the proper spirit for all boys, young or old, when
they are going in for a contest.
[Sidenote: ELONGATED PROJECTILE.]
[Sidenote: OVERREACHING.]
On the start taking place, the fore-runner was soon left behind, the
post-runner found his mail suit rather heavy, the scarlet-runner proved
to be only a creeper, and there were none left except the fast young man
and the two boys. At first Norval and Jaques with their young legs got a
good start, as the fast youth, not having been in bed, had forgotten to
wind up his watch, and being unaccustomed to get on without tick, had to
stop till he got it wound. But as the race was a long one, he soon made
up for lost time, and it looked as if the boys would get the worst of
it, for at the third round of the course, Jaques was many yards behind,
and his brother also losing ground; when, to the surprise of everybody,
Norval suddenly shouted “Neck or nothing!” uncoiled his neck, and
collared his opponent by shooting it out to the winning-post. This feat
was received with deafening cheers, which were redoubled when Jaques,
taking the hint, threw his long arms out over the head of the fast young
man, and vaulting on his hands, flew over him, far past the winning-post,
and got in a second before him.
[Sidenote: LOUD YET DISALLOWED.]
[Illustration]
The fast young man lodged a protest, maintaining, in a style even louder
than the style of his trousers, that Norval had won by neck-romantic
arts; and that Jaques, instead of going on foot, had taken a fly, and so
cabalistically over-reached him by craft. After the judges had looked
very wise for ever so long—in fact, as long as Norval’s neck itself—they
decided that the neck being a neck, it did not matter whether it was
romantic or not; and as it could not be alleged that Jaques had used any
other craft than handicraft, his using feats of arms for feats of feet
was quite allowable, he having only availed himself of his own handy
capacity; and that as to his taking a fly, it was not a handsome thing to
call it cabalistic, and an argument that only a for weal or woe begone
growler would think it fair to take his hackneyed stand on. Norval was
therefore declared first, and Jaques second, amid loud applause; and the
fast young man, with his views dissipated, went off a bad third.
The next race was a blindfold one. The competitors having their eyes tied
up at the winning-post, were led back to the scratch, and started; the
rule being that, if any one wandered to the side of the course and fouled
the ropes, or went beyond the post without touching it, he was out of the
race. Now Ranulf, who came forward to run, kept wondering to himself
what he should do to win.
“You see,” he said, speaking to himself, “I’ve not got anything but a
nose; and how can a long nose help me to see? and it’s the blindfolding
that is the bother. If I only had an eye at the tip, that would be jolly,
only it wouldn’t be fair not to tell them to tie it up too. What _am_ I
to do?”
[Sidenote: A SWEET IDEA.]
[Sidenote: BACKER STOPPER.]
Now Ranulf had still some of Victoria’s sweetmeats in his pocket, and
Ranulf was a boy; so it fell out that when he felt perplexed and did not
know where to turn, he, as a matter of course, thrust his hands into his
pockets, and it followed naturally that the sweetmeats got into his hand,
and that his hand set off on a journey to his mouth. They had a most
delicious perfume, so strong that though Ranulf’s nose was wound round
him so many times, the scent got through it into his head in a jiffy,
or rather in a sniffy. The moment this happened, he began to rub his
head very hard, as if something had struck him. He was struck, as it so
happened; and although it was only by an idea, it had got so firmly into
his head that it must have struck him pretty forcibly. He immediately
set himself to work it out. When the competitors were ready to start,
Ranulf shot his nose out up the course, sniffing for the first thing he
had noticed lying on the side of it that could be discovered by smelling.
It looked so funny to see this projection waving about, like some dozens
of those long wooden serpents that they have at the toy-shops put end to
end, that the whole crowd set up a tremendous shout of laughter. One man,
however, did not seem to like it at all. He was the backer of another
competitor, and rushed up in a very forward manner (particularly for a
backer), shouting—
“I object; it’s not fair!”
[Sidenote: ANTITIPATHY.]
Upon this the umpires were at once summoned; and after being told what
the matter was, one of them addressed the backer, and said—
“We understand you have some objection to this gentleman’s nose; state
your proposition.”[10]
“He’s got his nose out in front of him; it’s not the correct tip.”
The referees again looked very wise, pursing up their mouths, as if the
words that were to come from them were gold; and after comparing notes,
one of them solemnly said—
“While it seems to the referees that it is scarcely their province to
sit upon long noses, these not being matters of course, we think we are
justified in holding that a gentleman who wishes to follow his own nose,
and trust to his own tip, instead of getting a tip from anybody else, is
entitled to do so.”
The backer at this got very excited, and shouted, “Nay, nay, but you
surely won’t go so far——”
“Sir,” said the referee, sternly, “this is a foot-race, so you need not
mount your high horse, neighing at us in that way. The referees have
carefully considered the length of the gentleman’s nose, and, long as it
is, their opinion goes that length. So let there be an end of it.”
The backer, seeing he could make nothing of it, marched off, muttering,
“End of it, indeed! it’s _no_ end of a nose that fellow’s got. There’s
one comfort, it can’t be called a straight tip.”
[Sidenote: SCENTENTIOUS.]
All this wrangling had served Ranulf’s purpose, for it gave him time to
con over his lesson. And a very funny lesson it was. He had observed all
the smelly things on the sides of the course that the people in taking
their refreshments had thrown on the grass inside the ropes; so his
lesson went thus:—
Right side, Peppermint-drop.
Left side, Ginger-beer bottle.
Right side, Cigar-end.
Left side, Skin of onion.
Right side, Orange-peel.
Left side, Nosegay.
[Sidenote: NASAL TACTICS.]
The winning-post was opposite the place where the ladies and gentlemen
sat, and of course they did not throw orange-peel, or anything of that
kind, about. Ranulf had been greatly puzzled how to find his way there;
but, luckily, a lady had put a splendid nosegay on one of the posts, and
Ranulf, in going forward to be blindfolded, had a good sniff of it, so
that he was sure he would find it all right.
At last the race began, and a very queer business it was; for the
runners, in trying to avoid coming against the ropes, wandered about
in the most extraordinary fashion. But Ranulf’s performance was quite
irresistible, and it would have cured the worst fit of sulks in all
the world just to see him for a minute, stretching out his nose, and
working it from side to side, like an elephant’s trunk. He first found
the peppermint-drop, up to which he rushed, winding up his nose on the
ground like a coil of rope in a ship, then throwing it out again he found
the ginger-beer bottle, and so on. He was rather put out by coming upon
orange-peel just after passing the cigar-end; and when this happened, the
puzzled look of his nose, as it caught scent of the peel at the wrong
place, made the crowd roar again. The truth was, that some one in the
crowd was throwing orange-peel; but, fortunately, a piece hit him on the
nose, so that he guessed what was wrong, and with a bold sweep caught
scent of the onion-skin from afar, and on he went, winning easily by a
nose. The ladies were so delighted with this performance, that they all
wanted to kiss him at once, and for a couple of minutes his nose was in
great requisition.
[Sidenote: WINNING A PONY.]
In the distribution of prizes, Norval was made merry as a cricket by the
gift of a golden bat; Jaques being declared entitled to an armful of
toys, was able to claim enough to fill a bazaar by the aid of his long
arms; and Ranulf, whose greatest delight was horses, rejoiced in a real
Lilliputian pony of 25 pounds, the proper figure for a pony gained at
races. When the prize distribution was over, the boys were led to the
king’s table, on which an elegant feast was spread.
While they were enjoying it, there was a sudden flutter, and every eye
turned one way.
[Sidenote: BIG MAN—BIG FRIGHT—BIG WORDS.]
“Oh, here he comes! here’s Blunderbore!” was the cry that rose on all
sides.
“Blunderbore?” said Ranulf, turning rather pale; “that’s the giant with
the awful teeth and the big club. I thought Jack had killed him. Oh dear,
what shall we do?”
Norval did not feel quite comfortable either, but, seeing little Ranulf’s
pale face, he forgot himself, and, trying to cheer him, said as bravely
as he could—
“Never mind, Ranny; you know with my long neck I can make myself as big
as he is, and I will brandish my bat as a club—perhaps that will frighten
him.” He was not very confident of this, but put on as much appearance of
being at ease as he could, so as to encourage his little brother.
“It’s Jaques’ business to kill him,” said Ranulf, solemnly. “It’s a good
thing he has got long enough arms.”
Jaques did not seem to see it, and the whole three were anything but
comfortable in their minds.
[Sidenote: A GREAT BORE.]
It was somewhat reassuring, however, to notice that the news of the
arrival of Blunderbore appeared to distress none of the rest of the
company. The ladies were all looking through their opera-glasses, with
faces which showed that he had no terrors for them. The gentlemen
seemed, on the whole, to be rather disgusted, as the announcement of
the giant’s approach appeared to throw them entirely into the shade so
far as the fair sex were concerned, and they looked at one another with
glances of pique and contempt, as the ladies twittered away in eager
conversation—eyes sparkling, lips smiling, and that curious buzz that
always heralds a great arrival running through the whole assemblage.
[Sidenote: HE STOOPS TO CONQUER.]
“Any room for me?” said a voice (which, though evidently kept as mild as
possible, made a sound very like the Westminster chimes striking the
first quarter), as a face about three yards long, below a three-cornered
cocked-hat, made its appearance under the fern-leaf fringe of the tent of
flowers. Blunderbore had been compelled to stoop down so low in order to
look in that his face was level with his knees, and as it was very round,
the effect was ludicrously like a circular clock on pillars. The moment
the face became visible, all strange and unpleasant thoughts began to
fade from the boys’ minds, for it was the picture of jolly good-nature.
His eyes, the balls of which were larger than a Christmas plum-pudding,
fastened themselves specially on Ranulf, and putting out a vast hand, he
shook a forefinger as large as a bolster at him, saying—
“Now, I know you are expecting me to say Fe-fo-fum, something about
grinding bones, and all that.”
“Y-e-e-e-e-s, sir,” said Ranulf, half frightened, but only half; for
the jolly face was so good-humoured that it was almost impossible to be
afraid.
[Sidenote: INVITING A LARGE PARTY.]
[Illustration]
“Well,” said Blunderbore, taking him up on his vast hand, “giants in
Blunderland don’t talk rubbish of that kind, and they are not such geese
as to grind bones when they want to make bread.”
“Come in, Blunderbore; we will make room for you,” came in a surging
ripple from hundreds of fair lips, while, with many a rustle of silk and
velvet, they cleared a large space on one side of the amphitheatre, the
seats of which rose in tiers one above the other.
[Sidenote: BEETLE-CRUSHERS.]
[Sidenote: A GREAT SWELL.]
“Well, but your ceiling is so low. However, perhaps old Blunderbore
can cure that for you,” said the giant, as, pushing his head in below
the _ombrelle_ of flowers, he placed his forefinger in the centre of
the white lily at the top, and, apparently without an effort, raised
the canopy aloft. Showers of diamond drops fell thick and fast from
between the fern-leaves as the gorgeous ceiling rose, faster and ever
faster, till at every leaf there stood a glassy pillar, glittering and
sparkling with wondrous lustre, and in a twinkling the bower became a
crystal floral palace, to which that of Covent Garden is but a dingy,
dull, depressing dungeon. Blunderbore then made his way through the
crowd with great care, of which there was much need, his feet being
nearly as big as the dingies of a ship of the line, and seated himself
on the side of the hall that had been vacated for his accommodation. He
certainly was very unlike the old kind of Blunderbore, from the top of
his three-cornered hat down to the red heels of his buckled shoes. A
magnificent single-breasted coat and long flap-waistcoat, with golden
stripes, separated by lines of rich maroon-coloured velvet, took the
place of the short armless blouse, and the great belt with a buckle like
a wicket-gate, that are supposed generally to be the orthodox costume
of gentlemen more than eight feet high. And instead of the gnarled
club or grievous crab-tree cudgel of the story-books, our Blunderbore
carried a most elegant cane with a golden top. It is true that the cane
was as thick as an ordinary lamp-post, but still it looked quite neat
and tiny, appearing slight enough in Blunderbore’s vast hand to suit
the most foppish taste. His breeches were of yellow satin, below which
were stockings of silk of the same colour, and his curly hair was of a
golden tint. Altogether, he made a most presentable-looking giant, and
seemed to be a special favourite with the ladies, to whom, as he sat
down, he kissed his hand right gallantly. This done, he produced from
his waistcoat-pocket a snuff-box, larger than a full-sized trunk, and
took a pinch out of it, giving his hand an elegant shake—in fact, quite
_à la_ Cox-comme il faut of the last century, sending a shower of snuff
from his fingers like the stream from the rose of a watering-pot. This,
the boys expected, would set every one sneezing; but such snuff was not
likely to get into any one’s nostril by accident, the particles being as
large as ordinary peas, and no one seemed inclined intentionally to make
his nose a _pis aller_ for what the giant threw away. As what remained
between his fingers would have stuffed an ordinary pillow, it proved that
Blunderbore was anything but a bad fellow at a pinch, and completely
allayed the fears of our little men, so that they were not the least
alarmed when he gave a terrific sneeze, like a squall of a north-easterly
gale—a perfect Blunder Boreas.
[Sidenote: NOTES ON DEMAND.]
“Now, then,” said he, “what can I do to promote the harmony of the
meeting?”
“Give us some music; let’s have a Monstre Concert,” was the cry that rose
on every side.
“All right,” said Blunderbore; “will you have the Jolly Waggoner?”
“No, no! no Wagner, please; we don’t want the music of the future; no
promissory notes for us.[11]
“Well, I daresay you are right,” replied Blunderbore; “the music of the
future is no pastime. What do you say to a present of Chopin Morceaux?”
“The very thing,” arose in a shout of delight from every side.
“All right, then; here goes,” said the giant; “and I am sure you will
admit that I give you admirable concerted pieces.”
[Sidenote: 60 TO 1.]
The ladies seemed to know what was going to happen, for about 60 of them
at once clustered round Blunderbore.
“Are you ready?” said the giant.
“Yes,” rippled in feminine tones all around him.
[Sidenote: AN ORGANIC CHANGE.]
[Illustration]
[Sidenote: A VIGOROUS BREAKDOWN.]
[Sidenote: NO STRINGS NO CHORDS.]
[Sidenote: HARPEGGIO.]
Blunderbore at once stiffened up, in a manner that formed a marked
contrast to his previous easy affability, squared at the whole company,
and displayed any amount of brass. It soon appeared, however, that,
just like a great many other people when asked to give a little music,
he was making a fuss about the preliminaries, for presently, when he
had looked stuck-up for a minute or two, he executed a most elegant
breakdown, ending in a thoroughly organic change and brilliant musical
parts, which latter the ladies caught neatly as they fell, and there, in
a moment, stood a full orchestra, with a monster organ in the middle, as
Blunderbore’s gold-striped coat and waistcoat became gilded pipes, his
curly locks fell in a shower of cornets and French horns, his stock made
a full-sized drum, his cuffs a couple of brass drums, his cheeks a pair
of cymbals, the bones of his nose naturally became a group of trombones;
the fingers and nails scattering in a shower of violins, flutes,
piccolos, clarionets, and oboes, and the thumbs in violas and bassoons;
his arms making a splendid set of sax-horns, euphonions, and ophicleides;
the legs forming two enormous double basses, and his feet dividing into
two pairs of violoncellos; while the pin at his breast dropped down
as a neat jewel-mounted conducting-baton, the cane bent itself into a
magnificent harp; and, to crown all, his hat settled on the top of the
organ, forming an elegant carved screen over it. Tap, tap, went the baton
in the lovely hand of the conductress, as the gentlemen formed themselves
into animated music-desks, which, in the case of the ladies who held the
different classes of violins, reversed the usual saying, by giving them
two bows to their strings. Wave, wave, wave, swept the baton—one, two,
three, and off they went in a grand overture, the fair performers playing
their parts (of Blunderbore) to perfection. The lady with the harp was
the only disconcerted one, for, unfortunately, Blunderbore had lost the
cords and tassels of his walking-cane, so when formed into a harp the
instrument was stringless, and the lady holding it, who had a solo to
play, was in despair. Ranulf, seeing her distress, mounted the orchestra,
saying, as he looked and fumbled among the confused mass that forms the
proper contents of a boy’s pocket, “Here is something that will perhaps
do.” The lady, seeing the coils over his shoulder, misunderstood him; and
there being no time to lose, she, in the very act of saying, “Thank you,
dear,” slipped his nose off his shoulder, and before he had time to know
what was to happen, strung it on the harp, up and down, up and down, just
as the conductress turned towards her to indicate the time for her solo.
Her nimble feminine fingers were so gentle that Ranulf was not at all
put out, and there was little time to think, for the beautiful arms were
stretched out, the taper-fingers gave a rapid wave, and the harp poured
out its richest notes, so that all stood listening entranced, as the
graceful fingers made it speak, now in round rolling roughness, like the
storm; now in rich fulness of music; and now in gentle brilliant trills,
like the birds in a distant wood. Ranulf himself, who had a good ear,
drank in the sweet sounds with eager delight, wondering as nothing since
he left home had made him wonder. But, in an evil moment, forgetting his
good manners, which forbid speaking when a solo is going on, he exclaimed—
[Illustration]
“Oh, how awfully jolly!”
[Sidenote: THROUGH THE NOSE.]
Terrible was the result. Everybody knows how horrid the sound is when a
person speaks holding his nose; but then he only grasps it at one place.
Now Ranulf’s, of course, was held at about a hundred places on the harp,
and so it sounded 100 times over the fearful twang, making everybody put
hands to ears; and the lady harpist, whose sweetest notes had been made
so false as to turn her harp into a lyre, was so struck that she looked
despair as black as blue eyes could.
[Sidenote: ANOTHER STYLE OF ORGAN.]
Instantly, an indignant but good-natured cry burst forth from the ladies
of the orchestra, as they turned upon Ranulf and sang[12]—
You’ve made a pretty mess, Sir Nose;
Why did you try to chatter?
A check you give to all our bows,
Our notes of hand you scatter;
Our organ’s drown-ed in a C
From nasal organ vile,
Which now by us shall punished be
In most pertickler style.
And so it was; for all the ladies that were immediately round the harp,
arming themselves with feathers from their hair, or flowers from their
bouquets, rushed off in a chorus and down upon Ranulf, to tickle his long
nose, singing—
[Sidenote: DEFENDING THE BRIDGE.]
Little rogue, ha! ha! I’ll make you pay
The false notes you have forced on us in this offensive way.
I’ll strike you with a feather,
I’ll stab you with a rose,
For making of our harp a liar,
By talking through the nose.
[Sidenote: TWO TOO MANY.]
And, suiting the action to the utterance, the feathers and the roses
were thrust forward in a score of dainty hands to tickle poor Ranulf’s
offending organ. But the lady who had strung him on her harp, though
she was shocked at the nasal twang he had brought out of her and his
instruments combined, did not forget the aid he had given when she was in
a difficulty; so, as the merry group came to the attack, taking Ranulf
up in her arms, she seated him on the very top of the harp out of reach
(where, though not gilded, and in knickerbockers, he did very well for a
Cupid), and did all in her power to protect him from the thrusts of the
feathers and roses. She succeeded pretty well while only her own sex were
engaged, for, being a harpist, she could move her hands rapidly over the
strings and wave off the attack in all directions. But what was Ranulf’s
horror to see Norval and Jaques, like a pair of rogues as they were,
unable to resist the temptation to join the fun, thrust their long neck
and arms over the bevy of fair ladies who surrounded him—Norval with a
rose in his mouth, and Jaques with a feather in his hand. Ranulf knew
at once that he must go off into fits, for the lady could not protect
him from the wild flights of the long neck and hands as they flew about
tickling his poor nose in all directions. He resigned himself to his
fate, slid down to the ground, and went off in screams of laughter, while
the merry chorus round him sang—
Lazy dog, ha! ha! wake up, I say,
You surely don’t intend to sleep upon the rug all day.
I’ll strike you with a feather,
I’ll stab you with a rose,
Unless you stop that horrid snore,
That’s groaning through your nose.
[Sidenote: CHANGE ARMS.]
And as he lay, the arms were still out to protect him, only, instead of
their being uncovered except by handsome bracelets at the wrist, they
seemed to get grown over with something very like brown merino; and
when a voice spoke, saying, “Now, boys, leave him alone, will you?—stop
tickling him at once,” it was that of his nurse (for whom his pet name,
appropriately, was Harpin); and there he lay, sprawling on his back on
the rug, as she kept his brothers off him.
[Illustration]
“But where’s my nose?” he exclaimed, as on putting up his hand to his
tickled face he found that his coils were gone.
This question was received with a shout of laughter, in which Harpin
joined, and Ranulf awoke to the fact that he had been dreaming.
[Sidenote: ABOUT THE END OF IT.]
But although he has returned from Blunderland, leaving behind him his
long nose, he has brought a pretty long tail home with him instead of it;
and now, as he was often taught never to be a tale-bearer, it has been
carried to the Black woods, and hid away in these leaves, in the hope
that it may amuse other little people who chance to unfold it.