The Victorian Fairy Tale Book (Pantheon Fairy Tale & Folklore Library)

by Hearn, Michael Patrick

  XV

  We Return to Rosalba

  King Padella made very similar proposals to Rosalba to those which she had received from the various princes who, as we have seen, had fallen in love with her. His Majesty was a widower, and offered to marry his fair captive that instant, but she declined his invitation in her usual polite gentle manner, stating that Prince Giglio was her love, and that any other union was out of the question. Having tried tears and supplications in vain, this violent-tempered monarch menaced her with threats and tortures; but she declared she would rather suffer all these than accept the hand of her father’s murderer, who left her finally, uttering the most awful imprecations, and bidding her prepare for death on the following morning.

  All night long the King spent in advising how he should get rid of this obdurate young creature. Cutting off her head was much too easy a death for her; hanging was so common in his Majesty’s dominions that it no longer afforded him any sport: finally, he bethought himself of a pair of fierce lions which had lately been sent to him as presents, and he determined, with these ferocious brutes, to hunt poor Rosalba down. Adjoining his castle was an amphitheatre where the Prince indulged in bull-baiting, rat-hunting, and other ferocious sports. The two lions were kept in a cage under this place; their roaring might be heard over the whole city, the inhabitants of which, I am sorry to say, thronged in numbers to see a poor young lady gobbled up by two wild beasts.

  The King took his place in the royal box, having the officers of the Court around and the Court 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 body-guard! 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 farther 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 fay, ’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 i
f any gentleman of Crim Tartary chooses to find fault with his Majesty’s expressions, I, Kutasoff 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 ex-minister, 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 valour, 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 terrifc 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! torturers, 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 intrusted 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.

  “O, 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. “Besinda! 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 wrote 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 gloomy procession 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 policemen, 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 eaten 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. “O 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. “O, 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 hal
f-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 advanced guard, you may be sure, kept that monarch acquainted with the enemy’s dealings, and he was in no wise 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.