“Do you think that one is then competent to place others?” asked the King abruptly.
The Fool stopped twirling his bauble (his boutonnière, I mean, of course). “One is never competent,” he said slowly, “one is only less stupid than before. One’s sense of values is in better equilibrium. With your Majesty, for instance——”
“Yes?” The King bent toward him eagerly.
“The King can do no wrong,” began his Fool pompously. “Which is only another way of saying that the King is left no chance to do anything but right. He is not an ordinary person.”
“He is,” contradicted the King calmly. “At least he is going to be. Your next King, my dear Fool, is to be just an ordinary person!”
Limply the Fool leaned against a balustrade. “Your Majesty is too exotic in his fancies—quite too exotic,” he protested feebly. “I beg your Majesty to allow me to retire: I am so truly a fool that a joke quite unnerves me. Besides, His Royal Highness is coming—see, yonder he is—an idea, smiling at a makeshift! I beg leave to take the makeshift within the Palace, Sire.”
“So then, Father!”—one felt with a thrill the onslaught of Youth—“you have been railing at the world, with the help of that soberest man at Court. Fie upon you! And you, sir, off with you! I will not have my father’s Fool turn him into an old sobersides!” The young Prince ran lightly down the steps from the terrace and came laughing to the King’s side.
“I suppose I should have said ‘your Majesty’ before him,” he apologized, locking arms with his father, as the Fool vanished within; “Mother told me only this morning that I did not sufficiently realize the respect due you as a monarch. But how can I? Why, we’ve always been such pals, eh, Father? And if ever I’m a king and have children—well, I’ll try to make them forget I’m a king, that’s all.”
“Have I made you forget it?” asked the King wistfully. “Do I seem to you just—just your father, Jack—you know what I mean, just an ordinary man?”
“You seem”—his son regarded him half puzzled—“an ordinary man? Well, no, Father. Of course, you’re keen for sport, as keen as I am; and then in your heart you’ve that passion for the flute—ah, yes, you have! You needn’t shake your head: you know you’d pawn the Palace if only you could play the flute. But something’s always hindering you. I suppose something always hinders a king, Father?” The King’s own wistfulness had crept into the young voice.