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 behaviour, 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 centre 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!
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.
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.
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 door-mats. 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 armour 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 armour, with his vizor
up, and bearing a letter on the point of his lance.
‘Ha!’ exclaimed the King, ‘by my fey, ‘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.
‘The King’s uncle hath been deprived of the crown he unjustly wore,’
said Hedzoff gravely. ‘He and his axminister, 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 velour, 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! tortures,
rack-men, 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 BEHAVIOUR 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 written 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 hatbox, 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 ‘Take off that 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
beefeaters, 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.’
‘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 advance guard, you may be sure, kept that monarch
acquainted with the enemy’s dealings, and he was in nowise disconcerted.
He was much too polite to alarm the Princess, his lovely guest, with
any unnecessary rumours 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 favour 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 humour, and good humour 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 honour, 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 Honour.
‘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 armour, 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 armour 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 armour, the Prince had a fairy horse, which would
gallop at any pace you pleased; 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 velour 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.
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.
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 armour, 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.