B007P4V3G4 EBOK (50 page)

Then, without having himself announced, he made his way to
the queen's apartments who, surprised at his unexpected arrival,
received him with suspicion.

'Ma'am,' he asked, 'can'st thou tell me why I am king?'

The queen, mindful of a trick question, replied hesitantly: 'Thou
art king to command.'

The king went and sat down in an armchair and let his head rest
in his hands.

Finally, he had a minister called in.

'Your excellency, why am I king?' he asked.

'Thou art king by the grace of God, by birth and by the love of
thy people, Your Majesty,' was the immediate reply.

'And why do the people love me?'

'Because thou art wise, Your Majesty.'

'How do they know I'm wise?'

'Your Majesty, when thou show'st thyself to the people even
the smallest child, at once,

'My people always see me from a great distance.'

Without pausing for thought the minister then said: 'Regal is
thy presence, Your Majesty, for thou art regal both in bearing and
deportment. The impression thou makest upon thy people is of an
almost divine eminence. By thy movements all feel how far above
them thou art through refinement of thought.'

'So I am different from others?'

'Your Majesty, thou art a king.'

This answer, too, could not satisfy the king.

He spent sleepless nights and dozed his days away in musing.

And now, too, while slowly making his progress along the wide
fields, he was engrossed in questions without finding a solution to
a single one of these.

As nightfall approached, he set himself down, exhausted, on a
rock by the side of the road.

The labourers passing by saluted him politely but not with
uncommon reverence. Nobody cheered. One or two said: 'G'day
to you, Sir.'

They do not see I am king because I'm wearing neither crown
nor robes of so the minister has deceived me, the king
thought, and he fell asleep from fatigue.

Suddenly, he woke with a start because of the rattling approach
of a cart.

It was morning.

Shaken, the king got up, attempted to walk, but the cold of
night had so stiffened his legs that he decided to ask the driver of
the cart to run him back to the city.

Whoa there, my good man!' he cried.

Well?' the coachman asked, as he brought two bony horses
unwillingly pulling a green, covered wagon, to a halt.

'Drive me to the city!' said the king.

'I've just come from there and I have no time to lose,' was the
reply.

The king was about to make himself known when, painted in
bright letters on the torn hood of the wagon, he saw: Karel de
Man's Theatrical Company.

The coachman was already applying the whip to the horses
when he restrained him, saying: 'My I would dearly like
to make your company's might I ride along with
I will reward you handsomely for it.'

'We can do with rich people, we can,' the coachman laughed.
'Get up on to the box but don't wake the artistes, for we have to
perform tonight. And because you're rich, you can start by giving
me something up front.'

The king, amused by this unusual familiarity, handed him a gold
coin at once, stepped on to a wheel, heaved himself up next to the
wagoner and a moment later the cart rattled on.

As they went along, the coachman told of how the company
had performed in the court capital, where receipts had been paltry.
And that's the king's fault, he said, for he knows nothing of art.

What plays does your company perform?'

'Royal Tragedies of course! Don't you know Karel de Man is
the finest king in the country? Every child knows him!'

'I see,' said the king.

He had thought of going to the mayor in the next town in
order to return to the capital in the mayor's coach, but during the
ride he changed his plans.

This adventure was one of rare enchantment to him, the wagoner
telling him tales never heard before, and strange smells, of paint,
old cloths and sharp scent, arising from the wagon. The fields
seemed wider to him than ever he had seen them before. The sun
shone more cheerfully and the king would certainly have sung out
loud had he known an ordinary song.

Impatiently, he awaited making Karel de Man's acquaintance. In
him he would see that he was not the only regal human being!

With gold coins, he urged the coachman into noisy song,
hoping the actor would wake up, but the latter continued to sleep
peacefully in the jolting cart.

At last some movement commenced under the hood and suddenly the leather covers fell down with a thud.

It was a peculiar spectacle the king then beheld. In the wagon,
beneath faded rugs, heads resting on torn pillows, men and women
were sleeping closely packed together.

A young chap, having jumped down on to the road, ordered the
coachman to halt, uttering many strange-sounding words in so
doing, words the pithy insults for which,
in angry mood, he had often impotently sought in vain.

Who's that sitting up there?' asked the young man.

The wagoner jumped down from the box, whispered something
into the questioner's ear, and then spoke loudly: 'A proper tleman! Might I present to our young

Just in time, the king read a name on a billboard in front of
which the wagon had halted.

'And where are you going7' the actor asked.

'I'd like to join the company.'

'Ever acted before?'

'Royal parts,' replied the king.

'Which company?'

'Freelance.'

'Don't let the old'un hear that you do his livelihood,' the young
man said, 'in that case he's sure not to take you on. You don t
know what actors are like.'

The royal artiste who, at the collapse of the hood, had raised
himself up a moment, stretching, was lying there snoring peacefully
again, but the eldest of the ladies had smoothed down her rumpled
clothing and she approached, smiling amiably. The young lead
introduced her as the mere noble.

Following her, a slight young girl arrived,
ingenue, so the young lead said, and it struck the king that the old
woman who had to play the mother-parts behaved like an innocent
slip of a thing while the girl busied herself with appearing to be a
woman worldly wise.

He, however, had no time reflect on this curious matter for the
player of father-parts approached him genially, a tremendously fat
man in peculiar clothes.

He had a red face with heavy double-chins that trembled at every word he spoke; his lips were thick and dark, the comers of
his mouth black, and his teeth had the colour of old ivory. He was
wearing a green velvet smock and his crooked fat legs, in yellow
stockings that reached up to his thighs, seemed to bear his heavy
torso with difficulty. His podgy left hand in which he held a small
cap with long feathers, he moved elegantly to his heart.

I am well-known,' he said, 'but who art thou, noble stranger in
silks who honours our terribly poor company with thy respectable
presence? Dost thou come out of love for the lovable young girl
standing next to me?'

Demurely, the mother-part lowered her eyes.

'Dost thou bring us subsidy out of love for art, or art thou a rich
merchant who, in his spare time, has written an ugly play?'

'I seek to join your company,' the king replied.

'Hast thou money?'

The king nodded.

'Then there are no objections! Art is a beauteous young damosel. To
every man seeking her company she is a credit ... but ... possessing
her bears a heavy price ... From the poet she demands his lifeblood ...
from the merchant his rolls of gold! We are her representatives and
hope ye be a prosperous merchant, for we cannot live on lifeblood.'

Thereupon, the king proposed to celebrate their acquaintance
with splendid wines and precious fare in the nearest town.

They invited him in to the wagon and the coachman applied the
whip to the horses.

It was a cosy, jolly ride.

The mother-part, who had powdered herself with dexterity,
pressed her plump body warmly against that of the king; the
youth told risky jokes which the slight young girl listened to with
gleaming eyes; and the father-part recited the names of the many
dishes he was mad about.

The star of the company continued to sleep.

Toddlers by the side of the road who recognised the wagon
cheered the players, and as they drew nearer to the gates of the
town, more and more children came pouring out towards them
followed by callow youths, girls, old men and old women who
surged around the company in groups.

The young lead banged the drum with glee, the fat father sang a
cheerful song and the mother-part flirted seductively.

The king feared that people would recognise him but there was
nobody who took any notice.

The people demanded the appearance of the star and he, woken
from his stupor by the cries of 'huzzah', roused himself, searched
hastily for the torn, red satin sandals he had put away beneath his
pillow, put his hand with a flourish through his stubborn, auburn
locks and beamed at the people.

His laugh was cheerful and sad, all at once; his lips laughed but
he kept his eyes cast soulfully up to heaven. With a broad gesture
he swept a dark-red cloak round his shoulders and his auburn
beard fluttered in the wind.

The king thought him a preposterous king, but he made a great
impression upon the people. He opened his mouth and a suffocating
waft of brandy struck the king in the face. With pathos he spoke of
'beloved citizens', 'noble patrons of the arts' and 'loyal paladins'
while his lips laughed and his eyes looked soulfully up at the
heavenly expanse as if he was seeking his significant words in the
clouds.

The bass drum emphasised each of his sentences with a heavy
stroke.

The people were elated and more admirers arrived from all sides.

Only when they were sitting at table in a little hotel did the
artiste seem to notice his new travelling companion.

A few times, it had seemed to the king that the actor had seen
him much earlier on, but the latter, once he had been told that the
stranger would be treating them to precious fare, professed his
regret not to have been able to welcome him sooner. When I feel
inspired I do not see the people, he said by way of an apology.

The acquaintance made, he showed himself to be a charming
man. He ate a great deal of the precious fare, drank numerous cups
of wine and deprived the generous stranger of not a single detail
of his illustrious life.

With tears in his eyes, he related many touching events, with
the assurance that there was no more serious artist than he. I do
not say this out of vanity, said he, but a man who is aware of his
value must not pretend to be less than he feels himself to be.

The king thought him to be an interesting man but felt himself
to be the more regal personality.

When the star was talking about the masterly interpretations of
his royal parts, the truth was burning on the king's lips, but the
artiste made it easy for him to keep silent about his dignity for he
spoke with such fervour and with such short pauses for rest, that
no one other than he was able to utter a word.

The other players apparently couldn't care less; they adopted
attentive expressions but their actions proved that they only gave
heed to the popping of the bottles a dexterous landlord was
ridding of their corks.

The feast lasted for hours.

The mother-part acted more sweetly as time went by, the father
one became sleepy and the young parts began to make love,
visibly.

Then, slurring his words, Karel de Man gave the order that,
because of the absence of one of the artistes, the first performance
would not be taking place till next evening.

Having become maudlin with drink, he called his host an
exceptional man who proved by his attentive listening to be able
to appreciate genius, a man he would gladly call his friend.

And while he was uttering these charming words, the king
thought: This man, celebrated as the most regal actor in the entire
country, seems to me to be a most petty bourgeois creature. He
reeks of cheap drink, wears highly unkempt clothes, his hands are
clumsy and his nails have been gnawed down disgracefully. His
gait is unrefined and his entire appearance indicates low birth.

This parody of a monarch renders the quality of kings ridiculous.
The people led astray by him must through truth learn to see the
absurdity of his delusion. I myself wish to play a royal part. My
prime minister said: It is enough for thee to show thyself to thy
people so that all shall see at once that thou art king. If this be the
truth, the audience in the theatre must notice instantly that a true
king is walking the stage.

'I want the truth! I wish to act!'

Then, in reply to the actor's flattering words, the king said: 'I,
too, am uncommonly pleased to have made the acquaintance of a
gifted man. Your name is known in many countries and often was
the time when I longed to be allowed to address you as a friend. I
am very rich ... and the rich man often has curious whims. My
ideal would be to play a royal part in your stead for just one night.'

The actor began to laugh uncontrollably, put his arm round his
host's neck and said in his ear: 'Such a fool you would make of
yourself, my dear chap.'

But the king, who wanted the truth at any price, cast a purse full
of gold on to the table. 'I wish it!' It sounded like a command.

At the sight of so much wealth, all the artistes sidled up close to
the speakers.

'Let him act!' they cried.

'But it'd be ridiculous! We'd make immortal fools of ourselves,'
warned Karel de Man.

The father-part, stroking the heavy purse, spoke: What harm
can it do to be ridiculous when you possess those sweet, yellow
discs.'

'But art ..: the star resisted.