By then, Matt’s eyes hurt from reading. He threw away all letters that were too hard to read, though that really didn’t seem fair. Not long ago, Matt’s handwriting hadn’t been very good, even though he did sign important papers. A child might have something important to tell Matt and would write as best he could—it wasn’t his fault that his writing wasn’t nice and clear yet.
Clerks could copy out all the poorly written letters for me, thought Matt.
But when a couple of more hours passed and there were still about two hundred letters on his desk, Matt realized that he had done all he could.
I’ll finish them tomorrow, thought Matt. Feeling very sad, he went off to the royal bedroom.
Matt could see that it wasn’t a very good situation. If he had to read that many letters every day, he wouldn’t have time for anything else. But it seemed pretty rotten just to throw those letters out with the trash. Those were important letters, interesting letters. There were just so many of them!
THE NEXT DAY Matt got up very early, drank only a glass of milk for breakfast, then went right to his study. He had no lessons and he read letters right up until lunchtime. It made him as tired as a long march or a trip through the desert. Just as Matt had started to think about lunch, the royal secretary came into his study, followed by four people.
“Today’s mail for Your Royal Highness,” said the secretary.
Matt thought the secretary was smiling. That made him so angry that he stamped his foot and shouted: “A hundred cannibals and crocodiles! What’s going on here? Do you want me to go blind? No king could read through a stack of letters like this. How dare you joke with the king? I’ll put you in jail.”
The more Matt shouted, the more he realized he was wrong, but it was too hard to admit it.
“All these freeloading officials who don’t do a thing! All they know how to do is throw letters in the trash or give them to me to read.”
Fortunately, just then the Prime Minister came in. He ordered that the sack of letters be taken away and told the secretary to wait in the next room while he discussed the royal correspondence with the king in private.
Matt felt much calmer when he saw the four servants carrying the sacks of letters out, but he pretended he still was angry.
“Mr. Prime Minister, I cannot allow letters to me to be thrown out in the trash without being read. Why shouldn’t I know what the children of my country need? Why should a boy stay out of school just because he has no boots? That isn’t fair, and I’m very surprised that the Minister of Justice allows such things to happen. My friend King Bum Drum doesn’t wear shoes, but he lives in a hot climate.”
The meeting between King Matt and the Prime Minister lasted a long time. They called in the secretary, who had spent more than twenty years reading the letters sent to Matt’s father the king, and even to his grandfather the king, and so had a lot of experience in these matters.
“Your Royal Highness, when your grandfather was king, we used to receive a hundred letters a day. Those were good times. In the entire country, only a hundred thousand people knew how to write. Then King Stephen the Wise built schools and two million citizens learned to write. We started receiving six hundred to a thousand letters a day. I could no longer manage them all myself, and so I took on five officials to help. After our gracious King Matt gave the fire captain’s daughter a doll, the children started writing letters. Between five and ten thousand letters arrive every day. Most of the letters come on Monday, because the children don’t go to school on Sunday and have time to write letters. They love their king, and that’s why they write to him. I was just about to ask for five more clerks, because it’s too much for the ones I have, but—”
“I know, I know,” said Matt. “But what’s the good of reading the letters if they’re thrown out with the trash?”
“The letters must be read, because there is a book where every letter is given a number and we record who wrote it and what it was about.”
To be sure the secretary was telling the truth, Matt asked: “And was there a request for boots in one of those letters the servants were about to throw out yesterday?”
“I don’t remember, but we can check.”
Two clerks carried in an enormous book and there, indeed, next to number 47,000,000,000, was the boy’s name and address, and in the column headed “Contents of Letter” it said: “A request for boots to wear to school.”
“I have been an official for twenty years, and my chancellery has always been in order.”
Matt was fair. He shook the secretary’s hand and said: “My warmest thanks.”
They thought up a solution.
The letters would be read, as they had been, by the clerks. The most interesting letters would be selected for Matt but would be limited to no more than one hundred. Two special clerks would check up on the letters containing requests to make sure they were telling the truth.
A boy could write that he needed boots. But maybe he was lying. If the king sent him boots, he might sell them and buy himself all sorts of stupid things.
Matt had to admit that was a good point. He remembered that during the war there was one soldier in their division who sold his boots to buy vodka and then asked for a new pair.
“It’s a terrible shame that you can’t trust people.”
“There’s another way of doing it. The clerks can check to see if they’re telling the truth. Then the royal chancellery can send for the children to come for an audience where Your Royal Highness can grant their requests in person.”
Yes, that’s a good idea, thought Matt. I want to have audiences with children, not just foreign envoys and ministers.
Things had turned out well. Now Matt knew how he should act as the king of the children. He would have lessons until twelve o’clock. The royal snack would be served at noon. Then an hour’s audience for envoys and ministers; then he would read letters until lunchtime. After lunch, he would hold the audience for the children, then meet with his ministers until suppertime. Then to bed.
But his schedule made Matt sad. There wasn’t even an hour left to play. That was too bad, but he was the king. Even a little king can’t worry about himself. A king has to care for his subjects all the time.
Maybe later on, when he’d given everyone what they needed, Matt would have an hour a day for himself.
Well, thought Matt, I did do some traveling. I saw many wonderful things, I was by the sea for a month, I was in the land of the cannibals, but now I can’t play any more. Now I must do my duty as king.
That was that.
Matt studied in the morning, and then the letters were read to him. The clerks read very quickly, but it was hard for Matt to sit still for such a long time, and so he listened while pacing the room with his hands clasped behind his back.
The doctor said that since the weather was so beautiful and warm, the reading of the letters could take place in the royal gardens. And it really was much nicer there.
There were a great many audiences. The foreign envoys came to ask when Matt would open the parliament, because they wanted to come and see his democracy at work. The ministers came with the manufacturers who were building the seesaws and merry-go-rounds to ask the king how he wished them to be made. And savages came from the whole world over to tell Matt that their kings wanted to live in friendship with him.
They thought that if King Matt was now friends with Bum Drum, the king of the cannibals, then he wouldn’t look down his nose at them, because even though they were savages, they had already stopped eating people.
“We haven’t eaten any people for thirty years now,” said one.
“The last person we ate was forty years ago. And even that was an unusual case. That person was a good-for-nothing lazybones. And he was fat, too. When he was brought to trial for the fifth time for refusing to work, everyone voted that he should be eaten.”
King Matt was more careful now. He made no promises, he ordered that everything be written down and told everyone to come for a
n answer in a week because he had to confer with his Minister of Foreign Affairs, and as a rule, such questions could only be discussed at a meeting of the ministers.
Matt enjoyed the audiences with the children very much. The boys and girls were allowed into the throne room, where Matt granted the requests they had made in their letters. Every child was given a number, which was also on the package he was to be given. No one was admitted to an audience until the official had checked that the child really needed what he was asking for, and until it had been bought in a store on Matt’s command. Everything was orderly and all the children were happy.
One child would be given a warm coat, another the books he needed but couldn’t afford to buy. The girls usually asked for combs and toothbrushes. Children with artistic talent were given paints. One boy very much wanted a violin, because he had been playing the accordion for a long time and was bored with it. He even played Matt a tune on his accordion and was very happy when he received a new violin in a handsome case.
Matt would become very angry if anyone changed their request during an audience. Matt had given one girl a new dress to wear to her aunt’s wedding and then she asked for a doll that reached up to the sky.
“You’re a dope,” said Matt, “and because you asked for too much, I won’t even give you the dress.”
Matt was a pretty experienced king now and harder to fool.
ONE DAY, DURING the afternoon audience, Matt heard an unusual hullabaloo in the waiting room. At first he was not very surprised, because now the children were used to coming to the palace and did not sit still while waiting for their audience. But this was a different sort of hullabaloo, more like an argument. Matt sent a footman to find out what was going on. The footman returned to say that some stubborn grownup was insisting on seeing the king. Matt was curious and ordered that the man be admitted.
A long-haired young man with a briefcase under his arm came in and, without even bowing, began to speak loudly.
“Your Royal Highness, I am a journalist. That means I write for the newspapers. I have been trying to get an audience for a month now, but they wouldn’t let me in. They kept saying ‘Tomorrow, tomorrow.’ But then they’d say the king was tired and to come back the next day. And so finally today I pretended to be the father of one of the children, thinking I might get in quicker. I have several very important matters to discuss, and I’m sure Your Royal Highness will want to hear what I have to say.”
“All right,” said Matt. “But wait until I’m done with the children, because this is their time. And then I will talk to you.”
“Would Your Royal Highness permit me to stay in the throne room? I won’t make any noise, and I won’t interfere. And tomorrow I will write about the audience in the newspaper. That will be very interesting for our readers.”
Matt ordered that the journalist be given a chair. The journalist kept jotting things down in his notebook throughout the remainder of the audience.
“Well, let’s hear,” said Matt, when the last child had left the throne room.
“My king,” the journalist began. “I won’t take much of your time. I’ll be brief.”
In spite of his promise, the journalist spoke for a long time, but what he said was interesting. Matt listened closely, then finally interrupted him. “I can see that this really is an important matter. And so won’t you please have dinner with me now? Then we’ll go to my study and you can finish.”
The journalist talked until eleven o’clock that night. Matt paced back and forth in his study, his hands clasped behind his back, listening carefully. This was the first person Matt had met who wrote for a newspaper. Matt had to admit that the journalist was an intelligent person, and even though he was a grownup, he did not act like Matt’s ministers.
“Do you draw, too?”
“No, every newspaper has some people to do the writing and others to do the drawings. We would be most pleased if Your Royal Highness visited our newspaper.”
Matt hadn’t been away from the palace for quite some time, and so he was very glad to accept the invitation. He was driven to the newspaper offices first thing the next morning.
The large building had been decked with flags and flowers for Matt’s arrival. On the ground floor were the enormous machines that printed the newspaper. The office where the papers were mailed out and distributed was upstairs. There was a separate little office where people brought advertisements and payments. Even higher up was the editorial office, where people sat at desks writing the stories that would immediately be printed down below. Telegrams came in from all over the world, the telephones were ringing constantly, grimy boys ran around carrying the copy to the typesetters, people were drawing pictures, machines were clattering. It reminded Matt of war.
Matt was given a silver platter with a fresh copy of the newspaper, which contained a photograph of Matt and a story about the children’s audience. They had printed everything—what the children had said to Matt, and what Matt had said in reply.
Matt spent two whole hours in the newspaper building and very much liked how swiftly everything moved there. Now he was no longer surprised that the newspapers could carry stories about everything, no matter where it happened—fires, robberies, traffic accidents, or what the kings and ministers were doing throughout the world.
The journalist was right—the newspapers knew everything. The newspapers had been quick to write about what Matt did when he was the guest of the foreign kings, they reported everything about the war and even had seemed to know before anyone else when Matt was on his way back from the land of the cannibals.
“But how come you didn’t know that I ran away to the front and there was only a porcelain doll here?”
“Oh, we knew all that perfectly well, it’s just that we don’t write about everything. We only write what needs to be written in the papers. The whole country doesn’t have to know everything. And there are many things that shouldn’t be known abroad.”
That evening, Matt had another long conversation with the journalist, who now said that Matt was not making real reforms. Matt was not a real reformer yet, but he could become one. Matt wanted all the people to govern, but children were part of the people, too. And so he should create two parliaments, one for the grownups and one for the children. The children could elect their own members of parliament and tell them what they wanted the most—chocolate, dolls, jackknives, whatever. Maybe they’d rather have candy, maybe boots, or maybe they’d rather get money and everyone could buy what he wanted. The children should have a newspaper like the grownups did, one that came out every day. And they could use the newspaper to inform the king of what they wanted; otherwise, the king would do whatever came into his head. After all, a king can’t know everything, but a newspaper could. For example, not all children had received their chocolate that first time, because some officials just ate the chocolate themselves. And the children didn’t even know that they had chocolate coming to them, because they had no newspaper of their own.
All this seemed so obvious to Matt now that he even thought it was his own idea. After four evenings talking with the journalist, it all came together in his mind, and at the next meeting of the ministers he brought up the subject.
“Gentlemen,” began Matt, and then took a drink of water, because he intended to speak for a long time. “We have decided on a democratic form of government. But, gentlemen, you forgot that our country has children as well as grownups. We have several million children, and they should help govern the country, too. Let there be two parliaments—one for the grownups with grownup senators and grownup ministers. And the other one will be the children’s parliament, and there children will be the delegates and the ministers. I am the king of the grownups and the children, but if the grownups consider me too little for them, let them elect themselves a grownup king and I will be the king of the children.”
Matt spoke so long that he had to stop for water four times. The ministers realized that this was no joke, this wasn�
�t chocolate, skates, or seesaws, this was a very serious reform.
“I know this is difficult,” concluded Matt. “All reforms are difficult. But we have to begin somewhere. If I don’t succeed in everything, then my son, or my grandson, will finish these reforms of mine.”
The ministers bowed their heads. Never before had Matt spoken at such length and so wisely. And what he said was true—children were part of the nation, and they had the right to govern, too. But could it be done? Could they succeed, or were they too foolish?
The ministers couldn’t say that children were foolish, because Matt was a child. There were no two ways about it—they’d have to give it a try.
Setting up a newspaper for children was no problem. Matt had brought back a lot of gold, and so there was money to pay for it. But who would write for the children’s newspaper?
“I know a good journalist,” said Matt.
“And who’ll be the Prime Minister?”
“Felek will be the Prime Minister.”
Matt was very anxious to convince Felek that he was still his friend. Felek teased Matt often, saying: “Your good graces aren’t too reliable. Felek is fine when it comes to bullets and war. But Stash and Helenka are better for going to balls and theaters and collecting shells at the seashore. But Felek went to the land of the cannibals because that was dangerous and Stash and Helenka’s mother didn’t let them go. Oh well, my father’s just a platoon leader, not a captain. But the next time there’s trouble, you’ll turn to Felek for help.”
It is very unpleasant to be accused of being haughty or, even worse, of being ungrateful.
But now there was a way to show Felek that he was wrong and that Matt did not think of him only when he was in trouble. Felek would be just right for the job—he was always running around town and would be certain to know what the children needed.
POOR MATT. HE wanted to be a real king, to rule the country, to understand everything. And now his wish had come true. But Matt had never imagined how much work, trouble, and worry would come down on his head.
King Matt the First Page 14
