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<h2> I. SHOWS HOW THE ROYAL FAMILY SATE DOWN TO BREAKFAST </h2>
<p>This is Valoroso XXIV., King of Paflagonia, seated with his Queen and only
child at their royal breakfast-table, and receiving the letter which
announces to His Majesty a proposed visit from Prince Bulbo, heir of
Padella, reigning King of Crim Tartary. Remark the delight upon the
monarch’s royal features. He is so absorbed in the perusal of the King of
Crim Tartary’s letter, that he allows his eggs to get cold, and leaves his
august muffins untasted.</p>
<p>‘What! that wicked, brave, delightful Prince Bulbo!’ cries Princess
Angelica; ‘so handsome, so accomplished, so witty—the conqueror of
Rimbombamento, where he slew ten thousand giants!’</p>
<p>‘Who told you of him, my dear?’ asks His Majesty.</p>
<p>‘A little bird,’ says Angelica.</p>
<p>‘Poor Giglio!’ says mamma, pouring out the tea.</p>
<p>‘Bother Giglio!’ cries Angelica, tossing up her head, which rustled with a
thousand curl-papers.</p>
<p>‘I wish,’ growls the King—‘I wish Giglio was. . .’</p>
<p>‘Was better? Yes, dear, he is better,’ says the Queen. ‘Angelica’s little
maid, Betsinda, told me so when she came to my room this morning with my
early tea.’</p>
<p>‘You are always drinking tea,’ said the monarch, with a scowl.</p>
<p>‘It is better than drinking port or brandy and water;’ replies Her
Majesty.</p>
<p>‘Well, well, my dear, I only said you were fond of drinking tea,’ said the
King of Paflagonia, with an effort as if to command his temper. ‘Angelica!
I hope you have plenty of new dresses; your milliners’ bills are long
enough. My dear Queen, you must see and have some parties. I prefer
dinners, but of course you will be for balls. Your everlasting blue velvet
quite tires me: and, my love, I should like you to have a new necklace.
Order one. Not more than a hundred or a hundred and fifty thousand
pounds.’</p>
<p>‘And Giglio, dear?’ says the Queen.</p>
<p>‘GIGLIO MAY GO TO THE—’</p>
<p>‘Oh, sir,’ screams Her Majesty. ‘Your own nephew! our late King’s only
son.’</p>
<p>‘Giglio may go to the tailor’s, and order the bills to be sent in to
Glumboso to pay. Confound him! I mean bless his dear heart. He need want
for nothing; give him a couple of guineas for pocket-money, my dear; and
you may as well order yourself bracelets while you are about the necklace,
Mrs. V.’</p>
<p>Her Majesty, or MRS. V., as the monarch facetiously called her (for even
royalty will have its sport, and this august family were very much
attached), embraced her husband, and, twining her arm round her daughter’s
waist, they quitted the breakfast-room in order to make all things ready
for the princely stranger.</p>
<p>When they were gone, the smile that had lighted up the eyes of the HUSBAND
and FATHER fled—the pride of the KING fled—the MAN was alone.
Had I the pen of a G. P. R. James, I would describe Valoroso’s torments in
the choicest language; in which I would also depict his flashing eye, his
distended nostril—his dressing-gown, pocket-handkerchief, and boots.
But I need not say I have NOT the pen of that novelist; suffice it to say,
Valoroso was alone.</p>
<p>He rushed to the cupboard, seizing from the table one of the many egg-cups
with which his princely board was served for the matin meal, drew out a
bottle of right Nantz or Cognac, filled and emptied the cup several times,
and laid it down with a hoarse ‘Ha, ha, ha! now Valoroso is a man again!’</p>
<p>‘But oh!’ he went on (still sipping, I am sorry to say), ‘ere I was a
king, I needed not this intoxicating draught; once I detested the hot
brandy wine, and quaffed no other fount but nature’s rill. It dashes not
more quickly o’er the rocks than I did, as, with blunderbuss in hand, I
brushed away the early morning dew, and shot the partridge, snipe, or
antlered deer! Ah! well may England’s dramatist remark, “Uneasy lies the
head that wears a crown!” Why did I steal my nephew’s, my young Giglio’s—?
Steal! said I? no, no, no, not steal, not steal. Let me withdraw that
odious expression. I took, and on my manly head I set, the royal crown of
Paflagonia; I took, and with my royal arm I wield, the sceptral rod of
Paflagonia; I took, and in my outstretched hand I hold, the royal orb of
Paflagonia! Could a poor boy, a snivelling, drivelling boy—was in
his nurse’s arms but yesterday, and cried for sugarplums and puled for pap—bear
up the awful weight of crown, orb, sceptre? gird on the sword my royal
fathers wore, and meet in fight the tough Crimean foe?’</p>
<p>And then the monarch went on to argue in his own mind (though we need not
say that blank verse is not argument) that what he had got it was his duty
to keep, and that, if at one time he had entertained ideas of a certain
restitution, which shall be nameless, the prospect by a CERTAIN MARRIAGE
of uniting two crowns and two nations which had been engaged in bloody and
expensive wars, as the Paflagonians and the Crimeans had been, put the
idea of Giglio’s restoration to the throne out of the question: nay, were
his own brother, King Savio, alive, he would certainly will the crown from
his own son in order to bring about such a desirable union.</p>
<p>Thus easily do we deceive ourselves! Thus do we fancy what we wish is
right! The King took courage, read the papers, finished his muffins and
eggs, and rang the bell for his Prime Minister. The Queen, after thinking
whether she should go up and see Giglio, who had been sick, thought ‘Not
now. Business first; pleasure afterwards. I will go and see dear Giglio
this afternoon; and now I will drive to the jeweller’s, to look for the
necklace and bracelets.’ The Princess went up into her own room, and made
Betsinda, her maid, bring out all her dresses; and as for Giglio, they
forgot him as much as I forget what I had for dinner last Tuesday
twelve-month.</p>
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