'He was a monster!' my friend remarked, 'and you are quite the first
person, I should say, who has ever discovered anything humorous in him.'
And I gathered from Mr. Mafferton's tone that, while it was pardonable
to think badly of an English monarch, it was improper to a degree to
find him amusing.
Then I observed that they were all listening with Henry the
Eighth--Philippa of Hainault with her pink nose, and the Black Prince in
mail, and Catharine of Arragon embracing her monkey, and Cardinal Wolsey
in red, and Caxton in black, and Chaucer in poet's grey, listening
intently--you could tell even by their reflections in the glass--as the
orchestra went on--
The days that have been, and never shall be more!
Personally, I felt sorry for them all, even for that old maid in armour,
James the Second. Mr. Mafferton, by the way, could see nothing in the
least old-maidish about this sovereign. They must have had, as a rule,
such a very good time while it lasted--it must have been so thoroughly
disagreeable to die! I wanted immensely to ask Mr. Mafferton--but
somehow his manner did not encourage me to do it--whether in those
very early times kings were able to wear their crowns every day without
exciting comment, as Madame Tussaud distinctly gives you the idea that
they did. And it seemed to me that in those days it must have been
really worth while to be a king, and be different from other people,
in both dress and deportment. I would not go through the other rooms,
because I did not believe anything could be more beautiful than the
remains of your early sovereigns, and, moreover, Mr. Mafferton was
getting so very nearly sulky that I thought I had better not. But just
through the door I caught a glimpse of one or two American Presidents
in black, with white ties. They had intelligent faces, but beside your
Plantagenets I don't mind confessing they didn't look anything!