‘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.