to Padella, the proud wearer of the Crim Tartar 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 honour 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 handed 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 honour (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 dispatched 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 velour 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 honour?’ 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-humour 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.
When the Royal party arrived at the last stage before you reach
Blombodinga, who should be in waiting, in her carriage there with her
lady of honour 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 honour 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 ‘Smother the old witch!’ }
Hedzoff, the ardent Smith, and ‘Pitch her into the river!’ } the 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 honour?”’ 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 honour. 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 honour. 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 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.
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,’ cries 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.