The Victorian Fairy Tale Book (Pantheon Fairy Tale & Folklore Library) (12 page)

“Why did he not marry the poor Princess?” asked Angelica, with a sigh.

“Because they were
first cousins
, madam, and the clergy forbid these unions,” said the Painter. “And, besides, the young Prince had given his royal heart
elsewhere.
”

“And to whom?” asked her Royal Highness.

“I am not at liberty to mention the Princess’s name,” answered the Painter.

“But you may tell me the first letter of it,” gasped out the Princess.

“That your Royal Highness is at liberty to guess,” says Lorenzo.

“Does it begin with a Z?” asked Angelica.

The Painter said it wasn’t a Z; then she tried a Y; then an X; then a W, and went so backwards through almost the whole alphabet.

When she came to D, and it wasn’t D, she grew very much excited; when she came to C, and it wasn’t C, she was still more nervous; when she came to Be,
and it wasn’t
B, “O dearest Gruffanuff,” she said, “lend me your smelling-bottle!” and, hiding her head in the Countess’s shoulder, she faintly whispered, “Ah, Signor, can it be A?”

“It was A; and though I may not, by my Royal Master’s orders, tell your Royal Highness the Princess’s name, whom he fondly, madly, devoutedly, rapturously loves, I may show you her portrait,” says the slyboots: and leading the Princess up to a gilt frame, he drew a curtain which was before it.

O goodness! the frame contained
A LOOKING GLASS
! and Angelica saw her own face!

The Court Painter of his Majesty the King of Crim Tartary returned to that monarch’s dominions, carrying away a number of sketches which he had made in the Paflagonian capital (you know, of course, my dears, that the name of the capital is Blombodinga); but the most charming of all his pieces was a portrait of the Princess Angelica, which all the Crim Tartar nobles came to see. With this work the King was so delighted, that he decorated the Painter with his Order of the Pumpkin (sixth class), and the artist became Sir Tomaso Lorenzo, K.P., thenceforth.

King Valoroso also sent Sir Tomaso his Order of the Cucumber, besides a handsome order for money, for he painted the King, Queen, and principal nobility while at Blombodinga, and became all the fashion, to the perfect rage of all the artists in Paflagonia, where the King used to point to the portrait of Prince Bulbo, which Sir Tomaso had left behind him, and say, “Which among you can paint a picture like that?”

It hung in the royal parlour over the royal sideboard, and Princess Angelica could always look at it as she sat making the tea. Each day it seemed to grow handsomer and handsomer, and the Princess grew so fond of looking at it, that she would often spill the tea over the cloth, at which her father and mother would wink and wag their heads, and say to each other, “Aha! we see how things are going.”

In the meanwhile poor Giglio lay upstairs very sick in his chamber, though he took all the doctor’s horrible medicines like a good young lad; as I hope
you
do, my dears, when you are ill and mamma sends for the medical man. And the only person who visited Giglio (besides his friend the Captain of the Guard, who was almost always busy or on parade), was little Betsinda the housemaid, who used to do his bedroom and sitting-room out, bring him his gruel, and warm his bed.

When the little housemaid came to him in the morning and evening, Prince Giglio used to say, “Betsinda, Betsinda, how is the Princess Angelica?”

And Betsinda used to answer, “The Princess is very well, thank you, my lord.” And Giglio would heave a sigh, and think, if Angelica were sick, I am sure
I
should not be very well.

Then Giglio would say, “Betsinda, has the Princess Angelica asked for me to-day?” And Betsinda would anwer, “No, my lord, not to-day”; or, “she was very busy practising the piano when I saw her”; or, “she was writing invitations for an evening-party, and did not speak to me”: or make some excuse or other, not strictly consonant with truth: for Betsinda was such a good-natured creature, that she strove to do everything to prevent annoyance to Prince Giglio, and even brought him up roast chicken and jellies from the kitchen (when the Doctor allowed them, and Giglio was getting better), saying, “that the Princess had made the jelly or the bread-sauce with her own hands, on purpose for Giglio.”

When Giglio heard this he took heart, and began to mend immediately; and gobbled up all the jelly, and picked the last bone of the chicken—drumsticks, merry-thought, sides’-bones, back, pope’s-nose, and all—thanking his dear Angelica: and he felt so much better the next day, that he dressed and went downstairs, where, whom should he meet but Angelica going into the drawing-room? All the covers were off the chairs, the chandeliers taken out of the bags, the damask curtains uncovered, the work and things carried away, and the handsomest albums on the tables. Angelica had her hair in papers: in a word, it was evident there was going to be a party.

“Heavens, Giglio!” cries Angelica: “
you
here in such a dress! What a figure you are!”

“Yes, dear Angelica, I am come downstairs, and feel so well to-day, thanks to the
fowl
and
jelly.
”

“What do I know about fowls and jellies, that you allude to them in that rude way?” says Angelica.

“Why, didn’t—didn’t you send them, Angelica dear?” says Giglio.

“I send them indeed! Angelica dear! No, Giglio dear,” says she, mocking him, “
I
was engaged in getting the rooms ready for his Royal Highness the Prince of Crim Tartary, who is coming to pay my papa’s Court a visit.”

“The—Prince—of—Crim—Tartary!” Giglio said, aghast.

“Yes, the Prince of Crim Tartary,” says Angelica, mocking him. “I daresay you never heard of such a country. What
did
you ever hear of? You don’t know whether Crim Tartary is on the Red Sea or on the Black Sea, I dare say.”

“Yes, I do, it’s on the Red Sea,” says Giglio, at which the Princess burst out laughing at him, and said, “O you ninny! You are so ignorant, you are really not fit for society! You know nothing but about horses and dogs, and are only fit to dine in a mess-room with my royal father’s heaviest dragoons. Don’t look so surprised at me, sir: go and put your best clothes on to receive the Prince, and let me get the drawing-room ready.”

Giglio said, “O Angelica, Angelica, I didn’t think this of you.
This
wasn’t your language to me when you gave me this ring, and I gave you mine in the garden, and you gave me that k—”

But what k— was we never shall know, for Angelica, in a rage, cried, “Get out, you saucy, rude creature! How dare you to remind me of your rudeness? As for your little trumpery twopenny ring, there, sir, there!” And she flung it out of the window.

“It was my mother’s marriage-ring,” cried Giglio.

“
I
don’t care whose marriage-ring it was,” cries Angelica. “Marry the person who picks it up if she’s a woman; you sha’n’t marry
me.
And give me back
my
ring. I’ve no patience with people who boast about the things they give away!
I
know who’ll give me much finer things than you ever gave me. A beggarly ring indeed, not worth five shillings!”

Now Angelica little knew that the ring which Giglio had given her was a fairy ring: if a man wore it, it made all the women in love with him; if a woman, all the gentlemen. The Queen, Giglio’s mother, quite an ordinary-looking person, was admired immensely whilst she wore this ring, and her husband was frantic when she was ill. But when she called her little Giglio to her, and put the ring on his finger, King Savio did not seem to care for his wife so much any more, but transferred all his love to little Giglio. So did everybody love him as long as he had the ring; but when, as quite a child, he gave it to Angelica, people began to love and admire
her
; and Giglio, as the saying is, played only second fiddle.

“Yes,” says Angelica, going on in her foolish ungrateful way, “I know who’ll give me much finer things than your beggarly little pearl nonsense.”

“Very good, miss! You may take back your ring, too!” says Giglio, his eyes flashing fire at her, and then, as if his eyes had been suddenly opened, he cried out, “Ha! what does this mean? Is
this
the woman I have been in love with all my life? Have I been such a ninny as to throw away my regard upon
you?
Why—actually—yes—you are a little crooked!”

“O, you wretch!” cries Angelica.

“And, upon my conscience, you—you squint a little.”

“Eh!” cries Angelica.

“And your hair is red—and you are marked with the small-pox—and what? you have three false teeth—and one leg shorter than the other!”

“You brute, you brute, you!” Angelica screamed out: and as she seized the ring with one hand, she dealt Giglio one, two, three smacks on the face, and would have pulled the hair off his head had he not started laughing, and crying,

“O dear me, Angelica, don’t pull out
my
hair, it hurts! You might remove
a great deal of
your own
, as I perceive, without scissors or pulling at all. O, ho, ho! ha, ha, ha! he, he, he!”

And he nearly choked himself with laughing, and she with rage; when, with a low bow, and dressed in his Court habit, Count Gambabella, the first lord-in-waiting, entered and said, “Royal Highnesses! Their Majesties expect you in the Pink Throne-Room, where they await the arrival of the Prince of C
RIM
T
ARTARY
.”

Prince Bulbo’s arrival had set all the Court in a flutter: everybody was ordered to put his or her best clothes on: the footmen had their gala liveries; the Lord Chancellor his new wig; the Guards their last new tunics; and Countess Gruffanuff you may be sure was glad of an opportunity of decorating
her
old person with her finest things. She was walking through the court of the Palace on her way to wait upon their Majesties, when she spied something glittering on the pavement, and bade the boy in buttons who was holding up her train, to go and pick up the article shining yonder. He was an ugly little wretch, in some of the late groom-porter’s old clothes cut down, and much too tight for him; and yet, when he had taken up the ring (as it turned out to be), and was carrying it to his mistress, she thought he looked like a little Cupid. He gave the ring to her; it was a trumpery little thing enough, but too small for any of her old knuckles, so she put it into her pocket.

“O, mum!” says the boy, looking at her, “how—how beyoutiful you do look, mum, to-day, mum!”

“And you, too, Jacky,” she was going to say; but, looking down at him—no, he was no longer good-looking at all—but only the carrotty-haired little Jacky of the morning. However, praise is welcome from the ugliest of men or boys, and Gruffanuff, bidding the boy hold up her train, walked on in high good-humour. The guards saluted her with peculiar respect. Captain Hedzoff, in the ante-room, said, “My dear madam, you look like an angel to-day.” And so, bowing and smirking, Gruffanuff went in and took her place behind her Royal Master and Mistress, who were in the throne-room, awaiting the Prince of Crim Tartary. Princess Angelica sat at their feet, and behind the King’s chair stood Prince Giglio, looking very savage.

The Prince of Crim Tartary made his appearance, attended by Baron Sleibootz, his chamberlain, and followed by a black page, carrying the most beautiful crown you ever saw! He was dressed in his travelling costume, and his hair was a little in disorder. “I have ridden three hundred miles since breakfast,” said he, “so eager was I to behold the Prin—the Court and august family of Paflagonia, and I could not wait one minute before appearing in your Majesties’ presences.”

Giglio, from behind the throne, burst out into a roar of contemptuous laughter; but all the royal party, in fact, were so flurried, that they did not hear this little outbreak. “Your R. H. is welcome in any dress,” says the King. “Glumboso, a chair for his Royal Highness.”

“Any dress his Royal Highness wears
is
a Court dress,” says Princess Angelica, smiling graciously.

“Ah! but you should see my other clothes,” said the Prince. “I should have had them on, but that stupid carrier has not brought them. Who’s that laughing?”

It was Giglio laughing. “I was laughing,” he said, “because you said just now that you were in such a hurry to see the Princess, that you could not wait to change your dress; and now you say you come in those clothes because you have no others.”

“And who are you?” says Prince Bulbo, very fiercely.

“My father was King of this country, and I am his only son, Prince!” replies Giglio, with equal haughtiness.

“Ha!” said the King and Glumboso, looking very flurried; but the former, collecting himself, said, “Dear Prince Bulbo, I forgot to introduce to your Royal Highness my dear nephew, his Royal Highness Prince Giglio! Know each other! Embrace each other! Giglio, give his Royal Highness your hand!” And Giglio, giving his hand, squeezed poor Bulbo’s, until the tears ran out of his eyes. Glumboso now brought a chair for the royal visitor, and placed it on the platform on which the King, Queen, and Prince were seated; but the chair was on the edge of the platform, and as Bulbo sat down, it toppled over, and he with it, rolling over and over, and bellowing like a bull. Giglio roared still louder at this disaster, but it was with laughter; so did all the Court when Prince Bulbo got up; for though when he entered the room he appeared not very ridiculous, as he stood up from his fall for a moment, he looked so exceedingly plain and foolish, that nobody could help laughing at him. When he had entered the room, he was observed to carry a rose in his hand, which fell out of it as he tumbled.

“My rose! my rose!” cried Bulbo; and his chamberlain dashed forwards and picked it up, and gave it to the Prince, who put it in his waistcoat.
Then people wondered why they had laughed; there was nothing particularly ridiculous in him. He was rather short, rather stout, rather red-haired, but, in fine, for a prince, not so bad.