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by Richard Huijing

  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.

  'Is so much gold not to art's benefit7' asked the king. I wish to give double that! Think of all the fine things you will be able to buy!'

  For a moment, Karel de Man thoughtfully let his long tresses slip through his fingers; then, smiling, he asked: 'And how many times would you wish to act?

  'Once will be sufficient.'

  'Let him act,' cried the others.

  'A bodice of white lace,' the mother-part whispered, lovingly stroking the king's knees the while.

  The innocent young thing whispered something at the ear of the young lover and the father-part spoke softly to himself: 'Down coverlets ... caviar ... mocha, and Havana cigars.

  Having hesitated a long time, Karel de Man then decided: 'So be it! Once! No need for me to worry, for the difference between us is too great.'

  'Indeed it is,' said the king.

  Then he was given his part and he left at once to go and learn it in a small chamber.

  Late that night the mother-part came knocking softly on his door. 'D'you know your part already, lovey?' she asked, 'and might a simple little woman be of service to you?'

  'Not yet,' whispered the king through a crack.

  A sigh was the reply to this.

  On a small stage, among tattered cloths representing the walls of a palace, the king would celebrate his triumph.

  Never before had he been so cheerful; he knew his part and did not doubt the success of his enterprise.

  Truth would vanquish make-believe!

  He felt he was about to do a great deed.

  Laughing, he allowed his face to be smeared with grease. A heavy beard was stuck to his chin. His eyes, lined in black, enlarged unnaturally, had exceptional sparkle and his perfect teeth glinted brightly in the fiery red frame of the painted lips.

  Long lengths of cloth pinned to his shoulders were his robes of state. A gilded crown rested on his hair.

  No one would recognise his face!

  The majesty of his person would have to prove his right of kingship.

  Through a little hole in the curtain, he saw many faces he knew: the mayor's, the governor of the province's and those of many dignitaries with whom he had often been bored to tears at table.

  These men will instantly recognise the monarch by the grace of god, he thought, but the star, standing in front of another spyhole, spoke, mezzo voce, while peeping at the same people: What on earth will all those fine gentlemen make of it.'

  Nervous, he continually talked to himself, for the calmness of the stranger had made him fearful.

  He had drunk much that afternoon to divert his thoughts, but he had remained surprisingly sober.

  The purse with gold weighed heavily in his trouser pocket.

  When the curtain was raised, he withdrew, trembling, into a dark corner whence he could see everything that was happening on stage.

  The contents of the play were romantic.

  A nobleman who loves a simple shepherd's daughter, vows to marry her, but the king, not wishing their union, has the lovers condemned to death, later - touched by their glorious faithfulness - to grant the ardent couple his forgiveness and their lives.

  Instantly upon their appearance, the lovers enthralled the audience. The simple father of the girl arrived and there was unstoppable mirth until the caring mother came tripping in who, by her heartfelt tenderness, moved many people to tears.

  Then the king strode, well-controlled, up close to the footlights.

  'Odious creatures,' he said loudly, but his first words were lost in a storm of bravos.

  'Odious creatures,' he said once more with greater conviction, for the expression of enthusiasm with which they received him he put down to the gloriousness of his appearance.

  Never had he been more conscious of his power; the great clauses of his role he spoke with splendid certitude and he moved the train of his robes in an uncommonly elegant fashion.

  It was quiet at first and then, slowly, a hubbub began in the auditorium and suddenly it rang out from the densely packed crowd: 'It isn't De Man! It's someone else! He's got nothing of a king about him!'

  The king did not let himself be put off by that cry. Witheringly, he looked into the auditorium and with the certainty of a man who knows he will gain victory, he continued with the euphonious lines of his part.

  Mocking laughter began to erupt.

  The king paled. He saw the dignitaries shake their heads at one another, winking, but he continued to speak.

  The laughter became even louder then, and with the despair of one who is being deprived
of his rights, he shrieked his words into the hall after this. But the laughter became uncontrollable and the more fervently he trod the boards, the more shudderingly the people moved about, gripped by hilarity.

  Hysterical screams were reaching him.

  Yet he went on.

  It's the uncommonness of it that strikes them, he thought. They'll appreciate me better later on. But long after he had left the stage, people were still sniggering.

  'I'm not a king,' he said softly to himself, passing by Karel de Man sitting in his dark little comer rubbing his hands.

  'I told you so, yesterday,' the actor said with something of commiseration in his voice.

  Proud, the king straightened himself out, for suddenly he felt the humiliating nature of his position.

  'The second act will prove to you who I am,' he said, haughtily.

  'Ridiculous fool!' he heard the actor mutter.

  The second act brought him even greater disillusionment and the third the king could not bring to an end.

  Protesting loudly, the audience left the auditorium.

  Affably wiping the greasepaint from his defeated opponent's face, Karel de Man said, in order to comfort him: 'A man is never too old to You might still turn into something quite acceptable, Come and see, tomorrow, and then learn from me how a man of refinement does it.'

  The king said: 'Dear friend, I'm quite knocked for six. I cannot understand how you can be more regal than I.'

  'And that's your mistake,' the actor laughed.

  'Then I shall come and look, and if you are truly a worthy king, I want to learn from you,' replied the king simply.

  'His arrogant pride borders on insanity,' thought Karel de Man.

  The night the king now spent was one full of strange feelings. In his little hotel room, he went nervously from the wall to the window and from the window to the wall, his head sunk deep down on to his chest, his warm hands clenched stiffly together. Accustomed to the wide marble halls of his palace, he felt as if imprisoned in the small, pokey space. He dared not pace about loudly for fear of waking the actors sleeping in the rooms around him, and all the time he was seeing the grim faces of the crowd, mocking him. He heard their laughter and the sound of his own voice reciting the dramatic verse. It seemed to him that he could speak this far better now, that his voice could sound deeper and richer, that his posture had not been sufficiently regal, and yet he was certain never to have taken so much trouble to appear a man of importance than he had that evening.

  He had never declaimed his speeches from the throne in as carefully prepared a manner as this, had never understood their words as well. Those speeches had been received with acclaim, and writers, in rich and lengthy paragraphs, had praised the warmth of his voice. Time and again, courtiers had come to do him homage, many of them even with tears of emotion in their eyes. He had never doubted their sincerity; now, he no longer believed in anything.

  He felt himself closer to the people than ever before, but now he understood the people, he feared them. Humiliation, shame, fear: he had learned to understand all ordinary human feelings. It seemed to him as if he had suddenly been transplanted into another world.

  'So I shall get to know real life through ordinary people,' he thought. 'Through Karel de Man's success, I shall have to see how my people wish a king to be. An artist shall make me an artistking. So from De Man it is that I must learn; therefore my future behaviour shall be according to his example:

  He had forgotten the actor's strange manners and he no longer thought of his oppressive smell of drink.

  But when that tardy night had slipped away and the cheerful star patted him in greeting on the shoulder with the affability of one having the advantage, the king could no longer consider him so full of hope to be his master.

  'Ah yes,' said De Man, 'acting comedy seems easy but it's a great art. In order to be a good actor one must be able intensely to imagine oneself placed in all possible circumstances. If you want to depict a king, it is necessary to imagine oneself to be king, Fantasy must become reality! and he blinked 'the regal must be within you above all. That is what you lack, my good fellow, and I saw this at once.'

  Then the king felt the desire to shout out loud who he was, and it was only with difficulty that he was able to control himself.

  For the rest of that day, he stayed with the actor who continually rattled the ducats buried in his trouser pockets and who bought all kinds of things in a multitude of shops, things he called articles of luxury by which one recognised the man of refinement. He bought a multi-coloured collar, spats, pale-green shirts, handkerchiefs of floral-print silk and a long, carved meerschaum cigar-holder. He also purchased strong scent because a rich scent is indispensable to a civilised man.

  Of everything offered him for sale, he took the most expensive, and while making his choice the ducats tinkled the song of riches in his trouser pocket.

  The father-part spent his share on his favourite dishes, of which there were many he had never tasted before, and the mother provided herself with colourful dresses.

  The king had pleasure from his money.

  De Man said to him: 'It's a pity that there are so few patrons of the arts, for artists such as I are a rarity. It's a disgrace that I cannot always sit on velvet.'

  The mother whispered: 'I also bought a saut-de-lit of Brussels lace. . .' and in her eyes the king read all-promising gratitude.

  The lover-parts did not speak but ate chocolates from one another's lips.

  The artistes spent their day relishing their suddenly acquired luxury and made their way to the theatre, singing joyfully.

  In the dressing room where he, too, had been decked out, the king saw how Karel de Man made himself unrecognisable. The artist stuck the same beard that he had worn to his face; with the same crown he adorned his hair, and he pinned the same red cloths to his shoulders in which the king had moved about the previous night.

  Once again the hall was full, for it had been made known in the town that the star himself would now play his role.

  'Of course,' spoke he when they came to tell him of the large influx, 'how could it possibly be otherwise?'

  The father-part sang a jolly ditty and the mother, enchanting in her new lace underwear, came to ask the king whether a freshly bought posy of roses in her hair honestly didn't look peculiar.

  At the stroke of eight the curtain went up.

  The king was sitting in one of the last rows of the stalls, which were full to bursting, and he had to crane his neck in order to see the stage.

  Once again, the lovers spoke intensely of marriage and faithfulness, the father arrived to make his clod-hopper comments and the tender mother wept so touchingly that the audience was much moved.

  Tension mounted as the moment of the king's appearance approached.

  'Oh, behold: the king,' cried suddenly the mother-part and at that moment the star stepped out from the gloom.

  It was an impressive moment.

  Calmly, he proceeded forwards, lips clenched.

  'Odious creatures is what you've got to say,' thought the king. 'He's not saying anything; drink has put him off his stroke! He has forgotten his part.'

  But a moment later he understood why the artist had kept silent.

  He allowed the audience to complete their jubilations, did not bow, made no move, but waited, his face a tense mask.

  Then, in the silence that followed the impudent clamour, the tightly clenched lips suddenly tore apart. The words 'Odious creatures!' he cried out with mighty roar and his eyes glinted wildly.

  Then it went quiet again.

  The king bent far forwards. His gaze burned on to the king of the stage, he kept his eyes wide open and he cupped his hands to his ears.

  He saw Karel de Man's wrath mount, heard the slow swelling of his voice to a roar, followed with eager eyes the broad gestures, saw the gathering of the faded, red cloths that looked in the distance like velvet wings, shook his head in time with the king's thudding paces and t
rembled at the sight of his glittering pupils.

  The actor had turned into an entirely different being.

  His voice sounded rich and dark, his words were of a different construction than in ordinary life.

  He did not say single is but rolled them instead, and of the n's he did not forget a single one. The r-become-r's gave a special expansiveness to the words, it rendered them more difficult to say and by this an effect was achieved as if each syllable had been carefully considered.

  The s's hissed into the auditorium, the T had a sharp, penetrating sound. The 'a' sped forth from a wide-open mouth and for the letter 'o' he pursed his lips to a little tube.

  The king repeated the words after him and attempted to imitate the facial gymnastics, but a young lady sitting next to him forbade it in an angry voice.

  The audience sat listening with bated breath.

  The king saw how the monarch became steadily more angry on stage. At first, it was only his voice providing the anger, but in due course everything about his body began to betray his unbridled temper. The eyebrows joined and parted brusquely; the nostrils billowed out as though they were elastic; the lips shrank, rounded, tensed; the chin hopped forward and cowered, while the twinkling fingers interpreted the fierce rushes of emotion. The cloak shrivelled, widened out, billowed and hung down straight as the sound of the words demanded. The legs of the actor arched and stretched. The feet moved rhythmically.

  Now on tip-toe, then stomping his heels, the indignant king made his way across the boards. His beard waved wildly about his face and the hair danced above his eyes.

  It was a terribly tiring job to follow all the gestures but the king did not miss a single one. He saw rivulets of moisture running down the actor's face and heard how the audience murmured approvingly as the colours melted and merged on the mobile countenance.

  Women pressed their handkerchiefs to their mouths, men moved their heads, nodding, and on all faces he read admiration.